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.03 J, e :aA4J!$V Mi JII I If 1 w : w s i .. ' ' . . r 1 11 11 J!y .Jl Jiy IL Is ill : J ' ' t "' t: . ; 1 j , 'DA. PLANTS ? ' T .r. A. PLANTS, Editor. ; t' , ( 5 ' : .' ' - . "Independent in AU Things -Nentral in Nothing."; B mclauohmh Pblishcrf, ..I. i - ' . . k , I ' II 1 ' ... . . . ' . I i y '. "i , I .VOLtnVIE III. . . 1 POMEROY, MEIGS COUNTY, OHIO, TUESDAY, MARCH 20, 1860. ' NUMBER 12 I ! -l.il' 1 1 " 1 I M. i m- , ' II I I - , THE OBAVS OP BEIT BOfcT. : Iths., graT? of, , sweet Alice they hare laijlj Ben Bolt, . , ' - 'Where often. ha longed to repose; For there he would kneel with the early spring , . -flowers,- ' ' v.-1 x .r.i r ' And "plant o'er his darling the rose.!, Ilis heart was as true as the star to his gaze, .When tossed on the billows alone; Brft.now it is cohj and forerer at rest, h .For he calmly lies tinder the stone.. ; . ' How often his eyes were seen .brimming with i. t i r .tears, ' . -1 . ... 1 wTonungle with others griefj But Joy would rekindle the light of his smile, "., When pouring the balm of relief. :; -At last he is gonetpjthe bright spirit land, . ' AindJ5npe,frqm All sorrow and pain,- ? Btolisiei the full raptures of angols abole, For he meets with sweet Alice again. . t "We'll gather the flowers from the green shady nook,'-' " ' ' ' '" ' 1 ""' "" ; And moss from the silent old mill, To strew o'er the grayes where obscurely repose " ' The hearts that death only could chill; Ami oft whenXhe soul has grown weary and sad', "js BsC0S11-J)y-tne twilight alone-) u To. muse o'er the spot where together Ben Bolt -a) Asd eweet Alice lie under the stone.1 .c3 ZT UlTTliiiES LOY; OR, HOW, A MISEB WAS RECLAIMED. ' ' Of all the houses which: Martin Ken driek owned, he used the oldest and 'tteanesyfbrjlua own-habitation. ' It was in an'; old, tamble-3own, building on a ..inarxQW; street, which had already lived t. out more than its appointed term of ser Tice, and was no ionger fit' to "cumber the' ground." But the owner' still clung to it, the toorej-perhspSj1 because as it ! stood there " In its desolation, "unsightly 6 and weather-beaten, it was no unfit em blem of himself. ..." Martinf the 'miser! Years" of volun tary privation, such as in most cases fol- lows only the train of the extremest pen- tad given "him. claim to the appel " lation. ' It might be somewhat inconsist ent with his natural character that, with the'eicejtion, of the one. room' whicb. he ,occupIedHthe remainder of the house was ' .left tenantless. After all it was not so dif ficult to account for. He could not bear the idea of having immediate neighbors. Who knows, jbut that .they might seize the opportunity afforded by his absence, l and rob him of the gains of many years, which; distrusting banks and other places T. of deposit he kept in a strong' box un der his own immediate charge. . . Martin had no always been a. miser. -Nd ;oae ever becomes so at once, though doubtless the propensity to it is stronger 'in some than in others., .ears ago so many that at this time the recollection only came to him ; dimly, like 'the, faint " sound of an almost forgotten tuneyears goj when the blood of youth poured its impetuous current through his veins, he married a fair girl whose life he had shortened by, t hia dissipated habits and t the.,;. indifference,, and even erueltyj to which they led. . :. ' r- ' ! -i ; The day of his' wife'seath the last ' remnant'of the property which lie inher ited from his father, escaped his grasp. These two events, eJthiSr'df which brought its own sorrow', completely sobered him. The abjectcondition to which he had re- duced himself was brought vividly to his mind, and he formed a sudden resolution, ' - rushing, as will sometimes happen, from one extreme td the other, that as prodi gal as his past life had been, that which succeeded' should be sparing'and penuri ous in the same degree, until, at least he had recovered his losses, and so lar as fortufiei'went,' was restored to the same position which lie had occupied at the commencement ot his eareer.u.' i lit But it is not for man to say,-"Thus far shalt thou go and no farther, "i to give himself upi:j3ody., and, bquI, to one en crossing ; pursuit, and at tne na 01 a JLinited time ween himself from it. ' Habit grows bv what it 'feeds on. ' It was not long before the passidn ofacqui- sition acquired a controlling influence over the mind of Martin Kendrick. He reached .the point 'where, he had pre scribed for himself,, but it stayed him notj Every day his privations, self-imr posed though they were, became more pinching, his craving for gold more in satiabtp. Iong,ago he had cut himself off from friendship-rail the pleasures and amenities of social intercourse, , He made no visits save to his tenants, and those only on., quartert day. Nor were those.visits of an agreeable character, to those favored with them, for Ma f tin was not a merciful landlord. He invariably demanded the Uttermost farthing that was due: and neither sickness nor lack of to soften his heart, or delay the execu tiofl "of his' purpose. 'His , mind was drawn inio' itself, and like an uncultiva ted (field, was left to. all the barrenness of dessolation. Such is always the case when the man .by his own. act, shuts himself put 'from his kind, foregoes their .sympathy and kind offices, and virtually eaysj "I am sufficient unto myself." Martin had one child, a girl, named Florence. At the time of the death of her mother, she was but six years of age. He had- loved ' her perhaps; as much as it was in his power to love any one; and .as long as she remained with him, he did not withdraw himself so entirely from human companionship. But at the age of seventeen she became acquainted with a young man a mechaftic-7-in whose fa vor her affections were enlisted.' He proposed for her hand, but her father, in whom love of gold was strong, on account of his poverty, drove him with scorn from his door. , ; . The young man was not to be baulked thus. He. contrived to' meet Florence secretly, and after a while persuaded her . to forsake her home and unite her for tunes with his with the less difficulty, since that home had offered but few at tractions to one of her age. Her father's indignation was extreme. All advances toward reconciliation on , the part of the newly wedded jair, were received with the bitterness of scorn, which effectually prevented their repetition. , From that time, Martin Kendrick settled down into the coldV.apathetic and solitary existence which MS bvcen described above. Grad ually the love of gain blotted out from his memory the remembrance of his chil dren, whom he never met. They had renioed from the cityr though, he knew it.. no V and the total want of interest which he displayed respecting them, dis couraged any idea they: might ; have en tertained informing ;hini. . i "It's a cold night," quoth Martin to himself as he sat before jthe Jeast glim mering "that could be decently called a fire in the apartment which he occupied. He cast a wishful glance toward a-pile of wood which lay beside the gate. He lifted one, and poised it for a moment, and glancing meanwhile at the fire, as if he was debating in his mind whether he had best place it on. He shook his head, however as if itv w'ere too great & piece of extravagance ;to be?, thought of and softly laid it back. He then moved his chair nearer to the fire, as if satisfied that this would 1 produce' the additional warmth with the drawback of expense. It was indeed a cold night. The chill blasts swept with relentless rigor through the streets, sending travelers home with quickened pace, and the guardians of the public peace, as they stood at their ap pointed station's io wfapCtheir overcoats more closely about , them. On many a hearth .the fire blazed .brightly; in 'com posed defiance of :their" insidious visitor, who shun? ..the abodes of opulence, but forces his unwelcome entry into the hab itations of the poor. A child, -thinly clad, was roaming through the streets. Every gust, as' it swept along, chilled her through and through, and ; at length, unabble to go farther, she sank down at the portal of iviartin fvendnefc s dwelling. Extreme cold gave her courage, and , with trem bling hand she lifted the huge knocker. It fell frdm her nerveless grasp, and the unwonted . sound ponetrated into the rooni . where Martin sat cowering over his feeble ;fire. He was startled-terri-fied even as .that sound came to his ears, echoing through the empty rooms in the old house. "Who can; it be? Robbers?" thought he, as he walked to the door. "I will wait to see if it be repeated." It was repeated. "Who'sl there?" he exclaimed, in a somewhat tremulous voice, as he stood with his hand upon the latch. "it s me, said a low, shivermg voice from without. . -J ' ' : "And who's me?" ' .' "Floy, little Floy,", was the answer. "Andwhat do you want here at this time-'of night. .. '."I; am jfreezing.; iL)etne(bme in and sit by the' fire; if only' for a moment. I shall die upon your steps.!' V 'J? 1 he 'old man deliberated. "You re sure' you re . not trying to get in after money what little I have? There isn't anybody with you, is there?" - ; - "No one. lhere is only nj.. O, sir, do let me in! I am so cold?" ' - The bolt' was cautiously withdrawn, and -Martin, opening' a crack, peered forth suspiciously. But the only object that met his gaze was a little girl, of ten years of age, crouching on the steps in a way to avail herself of the warmth she had. v; ;. : . ; "Will you let me come in?" she said, imploringly.' . ; "You had better go somewhere else. I haven't, much of a fire. I don't keep much, it burns put fuel so fast..,, "You had better go where they keep;be,tter fires." " :"" , : ;.' ;'.:. "' "Oh, sir', the least fire will- relieve me so much; and I haven't strength to go any farther." '-' ' " . "Well," you may come in--if you're sure you haven t come to steal any thing." ! ' v " ,. v "I never steal; it's wicked." "Umph! Well, I' hope you will re member it. ' This is the way." ... ," , i ,.' He. led her into a little room which he occupied.. She sprang to the , fire, little inviting as it was, and eagerly spread out both hands before it. . She seemed actually to drink in the heat, scanty as it was, so : welcome did it prove to her chill and benumbed limbs. -' A touch of humanity 'came to: .' the miser, or,' perhaps his own experience of the .cold stimulated him to the act, for, af ter a few moments' deliberation, he took two sticks from the pile of the fuel, and threw- them a. upon ' the fire. They craetea and burnt, diflusmg warmth for a time, ' and a cheerful. glow about the apartment. The - little girl looked up gratefully, and thanked him 1 for what she regarded as an act 1 of kindness to herself. 'Fuel's high, very high, and it!, takes a fearful quantity to keep the fire going." "But what a pleasant fire it makes," said the little girl, as she looked at" the flames curling aloft. "Why yes, , said Martin, in a', solilo quising tone, "it is comtortable, but it wouldn't do to have it burn so bright. I-wotrfd-rain m'eeompletely.'" 'Then you are poorl" asked the little girl; looking about the room. The fur niture was scanty, consisting only of the most indispensible articles, and those of the cheapest kind. They had all been picked up at second-hand stores, for little or nothing. It was no wonder that little Floy asked the question. Nevertheless, the miser looked suspiciously at her. as if there was some convert meaning in her words., uut she looked so onenlv nnd frankly at him, as quite to disarm any suspicions he might entertain.! i "i'oorr ; he tat length answered. "Yes, I am, or should be, if I plunged into extravagent living and expenses of every Kind, and he looked half regret fully at the sticks which " had burned out, and were now smouldering' in the grate. Well, said iloy, "A am poor, too; and so were father and mother. But' I think I am poorer than you, for I have no home at all, ne house to live in, and no fire to keep me warm." . "Then where do you live? asked the miser. "I don't live any! where,',' said the child, simply. - "But where do you stay "Where I can. I generally walk about the streets in the day time, and when I feel cold I get into some store to warm myself. . They don't let me stay long. They, call me ragged, and a beggar." ' I suppose," she continued, casting a glance at her thin dress, which I in some places was torn and dirty, from long wearing, "I suppose it's all true, but Ican't help it." : "Wheredo you think of going to night?'! asked Martin, abruptly. "I don t know I havn t any place to go to, and it's very cold. 1 Won t you let me stay herer asked the cnnd im ploringly. 'i :-.'': : The miser started. : ' . "How can t your.stay here? Here's only one' room, and this I occupy." "Let me lie down on the floor any where. ; It will be better than to go out into the cold streets." - . t The miser paused. Even he, callous as his heart . had become, ,: would , not willingly thrust out a young girl . into the street, where, in all. probability un less i succor , came,, she would perish from the severity of the weather.-.. ; , After a little" consideration, he took the fragment of a candle, .which was burning on the table and, bidding Floy follow him, led the way into, arooni near by, which was quite destitute of furnf ture, save a small cot bed in the corner. It had been left there when Martin Kendrick first took possession of the house, and had remained . undisturbed ever since. A quilt, which, though tattered, was still .thick and warm, was spread over it. 1 . 1 , . "There," said Martin, pointing it out to Floy, who followed him closely, "there is a bed. , It hasn't been slept in for a great many years, but I suppose it will do as well as any other. You can sleep there if you want to." , ; , "lhen 1 shall have a bed to sleep in, said Floy, joyfully; "It is some time since I slept on anything softer than i. board, or perhaps a rug." t .. Martin was about to leaye,"her alone, when he chanced to think the room would be dark. "You can undress in the dark, can't you!" he inquired. "I havn't; got but one light. I can't afford to keep more." "O, I shan't take my clothes off at all," said the younggirl. . "I never do." She got into bed, spread the quilt over her, and -was1 asleep in less than five minutes. Martin Kendrick went back to his room. He did not immediately retire to his bed, but sat for a few minutes pon dering on the extraordinary chance, for in his case it was certainly extraordinary, which had thrown a young girl, as it were, under his protection, though but for a limited time. He was quite be wildered, so unexpectedly had the event happened, and could scarcely even now realize that it was so. ' But the warning sound of a neigh boring church clock, as it proclaimed midnight, interrupted the train of his reflections, and he prepared for bed, not neglecting, so strongly was the feeling of suspicion implanted in hinii to secure thiTdoor by means ofa bolt." -WTienEe awoke, the sun was shining through the window of his room. He had hardly dressed himself when a faint knock was heard at the dow of his room. Open ing it a little ways, he saw Floy standing before him. - 1 'fWhat,' you here now?" he inquired. "Yest ' Where should Igo? Besides, I did not want to unlock the front door without your permission." "lhat is quite right, said Martin. "Some one who was ill-disposed might have entered and stolen, that is: if he could have found anything worth taking." "And now, sir, if you please, 1 11 make your bed" said the child, entering the room. "I've made the one I slept in." Martin : looked on without a word, while Floy, taking his silence for assent, proceeded to roll back the clothes, shake the bed vigorously, ' and then spread them over again. Espying a broom at the corner of the room, she took it and swept up the hearth neatly. She then glanced toward the miser, who had been watching her motions, as if to ascertain whether they met with his approval. : "So you can work," said he, with a pause. , . . . .'... ; , "O yes, mother used to , teach ; me! I wish," said she, after a while, brighten ing, up, as struck with a new ; idea, "I wish you would let me stay here; Iwould make your bed, take care of your room, and keeep everything nice. Beside, I could get your dinners." .... ., . 'Stay with me! : Impossible. , I don't have much to do; besides,. I couldn't af ford it." . ,: . ., ; ., ,.j "I won't cost you, anything," said Floy, earnestly. "I know how to sew, and when I am not doing something for you, I can sew for money, and give it to you.". ; . ; ..- This idea ;seemed to produce some im pression upon the miser's mind. ., : : "But how do I know," said he, a por tion of his old suspicion, returning, "how do I know but you will steal off some day, and carry something with yui : - - . .. : 1 never steal, said rloy, halt mdig nan tly; "beside, l have on place to go if 1 should leave here. This was true, and Martin, consider ing that it would be against her interest to injure him in any such way an ar gument which weighed more heavily than any protestations on her part would have done at length said: . "Well, you may stay, at least awhile. I suppose you are hungry. There's a loaf of bread in the closet.' You may eat some of it, but don't eat too much: it's its hurtful to the health to eat too much." " "When will you be at home to eat dinner?" asked the child. "About noon. Perhaps I will bring sewing tor you to do. , "O, I hope you will. It will seem so nice, not. to be obliged to be walking about the streets, but to be seated in a pleasant room sewing." .. When Martin came home at noon, in stead of finding the room cheerless and cold, as had been wont, the fire was burning brightly, diffusing a pleasant warmth about the apartment. Floy had set the table in the center of the room. with some difficulty, it must be confessed for it was rickety and would not stand even owing to one of the legs being shorter than the rest. , This, however. she had remedied by placing a chip un der the deficient member; ; There was no cloth on; for this was an article which Martin did not number among his pos sessions. Floy had substituted two tow- pels, which, united, covered "perhaps half tne raoic. A portion of the loaf, for there was but one she had toasted by the fire, and this had been placed on a separate plate from the other. On the whole, therefore, though it was far from being a sumptuous repast, everything looked clean and neat, and this alone adds in creased zest to the appetite more than usual, and between them the two dis patched all that had been provided. "Is there any more bread ' in the closet?" asked Martin. "No," said Floy, "it is all gone." "Then I must bring some home when I return to supper." - !i "I have ' been thinking," sai 1 Flo hestatingly, "that if yod would trust u tq do it,: and would bring home the 'ma terials,' I would make some bread,' am! that would be cheaper than buying it; beside, it would be giving me something to do." - -: '; (i " ;;!" ' "What!" asked Martin, as he looked with an air of surprise at the di ""nn ive form of little Floy, "do you know how to make bread? How came a child like you to learn?" : "Mother used to be sick a good deal, said Floy, "and was confined to her bed so that she could do nothing herself.1 She used to direct me what to do, so that, after awhile, I came to know how to cook as well as she." ' "What should I have to bring home?" asked the n iser, when the hint of its being cheaper bad enlisted in favor of the plan. ' . "Let me see," : said Floy, as she sat down and began to reflect. "There's flour, and saleratus, and salt; but we've got the salt, so you need only get the first two. . . - ' "Very well, I will attend to it.. O, I forgot to ask which sewing you know how to do. ; Can you make shirts?" "Yes, I have made a good many." "Then I will bring you some to-night if I can get any." ' When she had cleared away the din ner dishes, washed them, and put them .-a i . 1 . in the closet an operation wmcn tne simplicity of the meal rendered a short one bloy began to look round her to see what else she could do. A desire seized her to explore the old house, of which so many rooms had for years re mained deserted. 1 hey were bare and desolate, inhabited only by spiders and crickets, who occupied them rent free. It might have been years, perhaps, since they echoed to the tread of a human foot. They looked dark and gloomy enough to have been witnesses to many a dark deed of midnight assassination. But it was all fancy, doubtless, and in little Floy it produced no other feeling than that of chilliness. She rummaged all the closets with a feeling of curiosity, but found nothing in any of them to re ward her search until she came to the lastrFhere wHsli'TaTge' rblT oT'some-" thing on the floor, which, on examina tion, proved to be a small carpet, quite dirty, and somewhat moth-eaten. It had probably been leit there inadvertently, and remained undiscovered until the present moment. Floy spread it out and examined it critically. An idea struck her, which she hastened to put into ex ecution, .threading her way back to the miser's room, she procured a stout stick which stood in the corner, and, go ing back, gave the carpet a sound drub bing, which nearly stifled her with dust. Nevertheless she persevered, and soon got it into quite a respectable state of cleanness. She then managed, by a con siderable effort, to lug it to Martin's room, and in an hour or so had spread it out, and finally fastened it by means of some tacks which she found in one corner of the closet. The effect was cer tainly wonderful. The carpet actually gave the room a very cosy and comforta ble appearance; and little Floy took con siderable credit to herself for the meta morphosis.' :: i " W hat will he say?" thought she. . "I wonder whether he will be pleased?" It was but a few minutes after this change had been effected that Martin came in. It was about 3 o'clock, sooner than Floy expected him; but lie had thought she might require the materials early, in order to make preparations for the evening meal. As he opened the door, he started back in surprise at the changed appearance of the room. It occurred to him for a mo ment that he had strayed into the wrong place; but the sight of Floy sitting at the window reassured him, and he went in. "What is all this?" he inquired, in a bewildered tone. Floy enjoyed his surprise. She told him in what manner she had effected the change, and asked him if he did not like it. He could not do otherwise than an swer in the affirmative, and in truth an unusual sense of comfort came over him, and he sat down and looked about him. . Floy had taken possession of the flour, and was already kneading it. "Now," said she, after this was done, "I must put it down by the fire to rise. That will not take long, and then it will be ready to bake. "Have you got any shirts for me?" she inquired, alter awhile. "Yes," said Martin, recollecting him self, and unrolling a bundle which he had piacea on the table, "lhere are half a dozen for you to begin on, and if you do them well, you can have some more." Floy looked pleased. "Now," said she, "I shall have some thing to do when you are away." "You like to be doing something?" said Martin, inquiringly. "O, yes, I cannot bear to be idle." ; Martin did not go out again that af ternoon. About six o clock, Floy set the table, and placed upon it a plate of warm cakes, which might have pleased the palate of an epicure. It was the best meal the miser had tasted for years, and he could not help coniessmg it to him self. Floy was gratified at the appetite with which he ate. . Thus matters went on. The presence of the little girl stemed to restore Mar tin to a part of his former self. He was no longer so grasping, so miserly as be fore. . Through little Floy's ministry, he began to have more of a relish for the comforts of life, and less to grudge the expenses necessary to obtain them. It was not many weeks before he fel sick, in consequence of imprudent expo sure to the rain. A fever set in, and he was confined to his bed. At the urgent solicitation of Floy he consented to have a physician called, though not without something of reluctance at the thought of the fee. ' . . Then it was that he began to appre ciate more fully the importance of Floy's services. Ever ready to minister to his wants, no one could wish a more faithful nurse. As she sat bv his bedside in the ong days through which his sickness was protracted, busily engaged with her sewing, he would lie for hours watching thfe motions' of her busy fingers with pleasing interest. Occasionally, for he had nothing else to do, his mind would wander back to the scenes of his early manhood, and he would sigh over the recollection of the happiness that might have been his. Then his thoughts would be." borne along the dreamy years that had intervened, uhlighted by the rays of friendship, and uncheered by the pres ence' of affection: The image of his daughter, whom he had cast off, and of whose after-late he knew nothing, came up before him, and he could not repel it. A. change -a bene&ial change was coming over his mind, the fruit of those ong, involuntary hours of sickness and self-communing. On the first day succeeding his recov ery he invited Floy to go.out with him. It,, was an unusual request, and Floy haydly knew what to make of it. She got her bonnet, however; for shawl she had none, and complied. It was a chilly March day, and the thin dress which she had worn from the time of her coming to Kendrick's, was but an ill . protection against the weather, and she -shivered involuntarily, lou are cold, said Martin, "but you will not need to go far." " He led the way to a dry goods store. "Have you any warm shawls suitable for a little girl?" he inquired. He se- ected one and paid lor it. "Show me some dress patterns," he continued. Two different ones were chosen. Mar tin paid for them. "Can you direct me. he inquired, "to any good dress-maker sr The clerk, who had at first been in clined to laugh at the old man, whose attire, though warmer, was no better than . Floy s, but the promptness with which he had paid for his purchases, and the glimpse which had in this way been obtained of a well filled pocket-book, in spired him with a leehng of respect, and he readily complied with his request. "iNow, said Martin, cheerlully, to loy, "we will have you a little better dressed, so that you need not fear the cold." "I am sure," said Floy, gratefully, "that I am much obliged, and I don't now how I can repay you. "You have already," said the old man, with feeling. "I don't know how I should bnve-gtrtratoTig without you when was sick. "Floy," said Martin, thoughtfully, as they came out from the dress-maker's, 'although you have been with me for some time, I have never thought to ask your name I mean your other name be sides Floy?" .-r "My name is not Floy," said the child, They only call me so. My real name is Florence Florence Eastman." , ... , "1 lorence .hastman! said the old man. starting back in uncontrolable agitation, 'Who was your mother? Tell me quick." "Her name, said the child, somewhat surprised, "was Florence Kendrick." "Who was her father:. "Maytm Kendrick." "And where is he? . Did you ever see him? :. "No," said Floy, shaking her head, He got angry with mother for marrying as she did, and never would see any of us."-, "And your mother," said Marten, striv ing to be calm. "Is she dead?" "Yes," said Floy, sorrowfully. First my father died, and we were left very poor. 1 hen mother was obliged to work very hard sewing, and finally took a fe ver and died,' leaving me alone in the world. For a week I wandered about without a home, but at last you took me in. I don't know what would have be come of me is you had not," she said, gratefully. "I loy, said Martin, looking at her steadfastly, "do you know my name?" "No, said rloy, "1 have often won dered what it was, but never liked to ask J0VL' . "lhen, said he, in an agitated tone, you shall know now. am Martin Kendrick, your Grandfather!" Floy was filled with amazement, but after a moment threw herself into his arms., "Will you forgive mother?" she asked. "I will I have! But alas, she has much more cause to forgive me! Would that she were still alive!" Every day Martin Kendrick became more alive to the claims of affection. His miserly habits gave way, and he be came more considerate in his dealings with his tenants. The old house in which be lived so many years was torn down and he bought a neat cottage just out of the city, where he and Floy live hap pily together. Floy who has been sent to school exhibits uncommon talent, and is fitting herself for the station she will soon assume as the heiress of her grand father. ' ' The New York Herald's Opinion about tne Presidential Election. The New York Herald concludes a long article on the Opposition party and its candidates with this sentence: The result of this election will be to break up either the Bepublican or the Democratic,1 and to make the new party the opposition during the next Presi dency. Thus, if the Democrats should be beaten, they will be extinguished as a party, and will have to fall into the ranks of the Union opposition; or should the Republican party be overthrown, that will be the last of them, and the scattered fragments will be absorbed by the Union party, which would thus in due time present a formidable opposi tion to the triumphant Democracy. t"The Democracy of Louisiana have resolved, in Statq Convention, to sustain their brethren of Alabama and Missis sippi in insisting on the adoption (sub stantially) of a slave-code platform by the .Charleston Coqvention, and in in structing their delegates to withdraw if. their efforts to that end are .unsuccessful. Is tne World Ungrateful! The Friends of Mi Iiamartine Think It Is. We are utterly disgusted with the self laudation which some of our second class great men are in the habit of practicing; and we mean to expose it, even though the task is a distasteful one. The vice is peculiarly, though not exclusively; French; and is found among the second class of great men, but never among the first who are the real benefactors of the world. , Thomas Holloway, one of the latter, whose name is idolized in all parts of the world, and to whom it is not too niueb to say that million's of all creeds and complexions are indebted for the preser vation of their lives -Thomas Holloway. we say, is never heard appealing either to the gratitude or generosity of those who have derived the greatest of all earthly blessings from hia skill; he con tents himself with the assurance that his work has been done, and that the price has been paid. We have been led into these reflect ions by an appeal which is now put for ward on behalf of a second class French poet. Monsieur Alphonse Lamartine, it seems, though munificently paid for the productions of his pen, neglected to lay up any sufficient store for the sup port of his declining days; and now his voice is raised against "the ingratitude of the human race." The argument which he produces to strengthen his claim, is one which should rather make him blush for his extravagance; he says that millions of his productions have been sold, and that therefore the world is in his debt! But why? Was he not paid the price he asked for every copy? Or does he think that it sounds like common prose honesty to ask to be paid twice over. .' , He will answer, doubtless, that his po ems gave a pleasure the value of which their price could not approximate. Let us admit this rule, and apply it to an other case to test its merits. Health, we all know, is the chief of earthly bless ings; a boon which must be purchased, let the cost be what it may; a blessing, to be blessed with which the sinking monarch would resign his kingdom. Suppose then, that Holloway, instead of fixing such a price on his remedies as would afford him (when myriads were his customers) a fair and honorable profit, had apportioned the price of his pills and ointment to the exigencies of each case and the ability ot the sutterer to pay for his physical salvation! Why, in such a case, the great physician would long ago have owned all Europe in fee simple, and three-fourths of the remain der of the world for the royalties and nobilities of Europe were among his ear liests patients, but are still too proud to acknowledge that, they owe their lives to ttoffTsamer--irnplo iwit- aU-suflieing reme dies which have been . brought, by Hol- loway's philanthrophy, within ; reach of the meanest ot their seris. "lias JoelLe s Lettres." , A Quaker Mother to Gov. Letcher. Mrs. Ann M. Raley, mother of Edwin and Barclay Coppic, has addressed a let ter to Gov. Letcher, of Va in reference to her surviving son. She is an elderly Quaker lady of respectability, residing in Iowa.. She informs Gov. L. that her sons left home without informing her of their designs; , and after exposing the brutalities exhibited toward Brown and his cpmpanions, she tells the Governor that he "is hunting all through the land for a poor fatherless boy, who somebody had said that somebody imagined had had some connection with Brown." Al though her poor consumptive son has thus far been preserved, yet she declares she would be willing to give him up also, with the addition of her own life, if thereby the distressed bondmen might be liberated and their masters purged of sin. A postscript to her let ter says: ' "As thou seems so very anxious to have Barclay visit you, if he chooses to go, I shall expect him to receive that kind hospitality at'thy house, that one of thy sons would receive from me. Perhaps a tew months ot the genial cli mate of Virginia might prove beneficial to his health. I think you would soon become attached to him, as he is a pleas ant boy and loves dry jokes." The Heaven of Debtors. WiHonnsin has abolished the system of collecting debts by execution. The State must hereafter be considered the heaven of debtors. The following sections show the tenor of the bill lately enacted: Sec. 1. There shall hereafter no final execution be issued, upon any judgment rendered urion the action for the recov ery of money due or owing, by reason of any contract, expressed or lmpnea, ei ther for principal or costs. Sec. 2. Process in the nature of final execution, mav be issued for the sole purpose of restoring to the possession of cesti que trust, pieagee, mortgagee, lessee, or other person having a special lien upon, or interest in, specific property, personal or real, and entitled to such possession or lien, by the terms of the judgment of the Court. Sec. 3. This act shall not apply, to contracts in force at the time of its pas sage, nor to actions found upon tort. How to Seleet Flonr. First, look at color; if it is white, with a slightly yellowish or straw colored tint, buy it. If it is very white, with a blue ish cast, or black specks in it, refuse it. Second, examine its adhesiveness; wet and knead a little of it between your fin gers; if it works 6oft and sticky, it is poor. Flour from spring wheat is likely to he stiekv. Third, throw a lump of - j - ' ' dry flour against a dry, smooth, perpen dicular surface; if it falls like powder, it is bad. ; Fourth, squeeze some of the flour in vour hand: if it retains the shape given by the pressure, that too is a good Ul J.U.4. 'oil fsotl II Blgll. X 1UU1 LUaif mil o wnm . ivj . safe to buy. These modes arc given by old flour dealers, and we make no apol ogy for printing them, as they pertain to a matter that concerns everybody, namely, the quality of the staff of life. Omt Man Gone John Ford, a Revolutionary soldier, dir.d in Bibb countv. Goorsria. on the 28th of February, in the 105th year of i TT J i? TT- nis age. newas inarnea live rames. . jrim last wife survives him, and his only child is eigniy yearE oia. The Extradition of Owen Brown and Francis Merrlam Refusal of Gov. Deu nlson to Surrender them upon the Re quisition of the Governor of Virginia. Gov. Dennison's letter to Gov. Letcher, in' reply to his requisition, was as follows; State o Ohio, Executive Department, "i CotUMBCs, March 8, 1860. To Sit Excellency, John Letcher, Governor of "Virginia Sir: I have carefully examined the requisitions of your Excellency, and their accompanying documents, for the extradition of Owen Brown and Francis Merriam, charged as being fugitives from the justice of Virginia and as now being within this State, and am satisfied that no sufficient case is presented to author ize me to issue either of the warrants asked for. The reasons for this con clusion are fully set forth in the copy of the opinion of the Attoruey-GenCral of this State, to' whom I: submitted the papers in-the case, which I have the honor to transmit herewith. With sentiments of high respect, ' Your obedient servant, W.DENNISON. The opinion of Attorney General Wol cott is appended, viz: Office op the Attorset General, Columbus, O., .7th March, 1860. . Sir. r I have thoroughly considered the requisition of the Governor of .Vir ginia, made upon youT as Governor of Ohio, for the extradition of Francis Merriam and Owen Brown, which you have submitted for my opinion. These tfases are essentially alike the charges against each of the persons sub stantially similar the ann&xed docu ments of the same general import, and the requisition as to each in precisely the same form so that the disposition of one is in effect a disposition of the other. To avoid the endless multiplica tion of words, I shall consider only the requisition for Francis Merriam. . This requisition begins with a pream ble, reciting that "Whereas, it appears by the annexed documents, which are hereby certified to be authentic that Francis Merriam is a fugive from jus tice from this State Virginia, charged with conspiring with slaves to rebel and make insurrection, and for conspiring with certain persons to induce slaves to rebel and make insurrection," and then proceeds in the ordinary form to "de mand ot the Executive authority of the State of Ohio, the said Francis Merriam as a fugitive from justice, to be delivered to M. Johnson, who is hereby appointed agent to receive him on the part of this Commonwealth." : These are the parts of the requisition itself, material now to be noticed. The Only "documents annexed" are (1) a transcript of certain' proceedings had be fore the Circuit Court of Jefferson coun ty, ..Virginia from, which it appears that an indictment had been duly pre sented against Merriam; (2) a copy of that indictment, in which he is charged with the effenses mentioned in the re quisition; (3) an attestation by Robert J. Brown, Clerk of that Court, under its seal, "that the foregoing is a true transcript from" its records; and (4) the certificate of John Kennedy, "Judge of the Twelfth Judicial Circuit of Virginia, holding , a special term of the Circuit Court of Jefferson County' that Robert J. Brown is clerk of that Court, "and that this attestation is in due form." Upon this state of case, question ' is made concerning your power to issue a warrant for the snrrender of Merriam to the authorities of Virgina. No enactment of this State has clothed its Governor with authority to surrender to another State, fugitives from its jus tice, seeking refuge -here. Whatever power he may have in this behalf, must be derived from the Constitution of the United States, and the act of Congress "respecting fugitives from justice," ap proved 12th Feoruary, 1793, since these are the only enactments assuming to confer this authority, which have force in Ohio. These are so well known as to need no recital here. The act of Con gress, it is to be noticed, does not seek to enlarge the power of extradition be yond the limits imposed upon it by the Constitution, and any attempt at such enlargement would be utterly void. Recognizing those limitations, it simply defines the mode in which the power, as established by the Constitution, shall be executed. ' This power, both as to the condition of its existence, and the man ner of its exercises, is of the most special and limited nature. By their very terms, no persou can be removed from one State to another, in virtue of these constitu tional and statutory provisions, except m the simultaneous occurrence ot three distinct conditions. 1. He must have been charged in an other State, by indictment or affidavit, with the commission there of "treason, felony or other crime." 2. He must have fled Irom that Estate to escape its justice, and 3. Demand tor his surrender, accom panied by an authentic copy of the in dictment or affidavit on which the de mand is predicated, must have been made of the executive authority of the State to which he fled, by the executive authority of the State from which the flight was made. When these do concurrently happen, the power to deliver results and must be executed. Tkch, however, is in the na ture of a precedent condition, so that the absence of any one of them is not less fatal than the absence of all. These, and not less than these, are the limitations with which the right of ex tradition has been carefully hedged about by the Constitution and the act of Congress. In the very spirit indicated by these jealous safeguards, the right ought always to be exerted. For this power which relegates the citizen to another jurisdiction, and deprive; him of that protection which, as a general rule, the State owes to every sojourner within its limits is oi so high a nature as to exact the utmost care in its appli cation, even to the prescribed eases. Every one charged with its execution should see to it that all the securities by which it has been so anxiously sur rounded are observed with rigorous fidelity. . . Examining in the light of-these rules, the Requisition for Merriam, it will at once be seen that no case is made tor the exercise of this power. ' Thceis no allegation, stilMess is there any evidence that Merriam ever fled from the State of Virginia. , True, the pream ble to the, Requisition recites thaj'itf appears by the annexed documents that Merriam is a fugitive Irom justice from Virginia," but this recital docs not ac cord with the fact. No flight whatever These, as previously stated, consist only of the copy of an indictment found against Merriam in a Virginia Court, with such attestation and certificate -as was deemed requisite to establish its au thentic nature. In all these "docu ments," from the beginning to the end-. there is no word, no letter from- which. human ingenuity can draw the- vaguest hint that .Merriam had fled from : Vir ginia. Nay, more, there is nothing,jto l"- J' .1 . 1." ;t. U,A. snow mat ne yras ever wuuin me oiaiv, save" the allegationln the indictment, that the offense of which he is accused Was there committed, j Certainly, this is- not conclusively as to hc fact of his pres ence. For this formal averment of venae would equally have been made, Decause essent al to every indictment, whether the part borne by Merriam in the alleged, conspiracy had been acted altogether within, or altogether without, the limit of the State. In its legal. effect this averment is entirely consistent with- the hypothesis that he has never been within the boundaries of Virginia. Granting,, however, that this declaration imports the actual presenee ef, Merriam -aj the place where the commission ot . the- of fense is laid, it still remains true' th there is absolutely nothing in the papers accompanying the rcqusition to indicate' that he has since fled from or. otherwise left the State. If within it then, he may, for ought that appears in these paperav have continuously bided there up to the very moment when the requisition- wa niade, or even until now. Nor is there anything in the requisition itself which can supply this defect in its "annexed documents," as that nowhere avers a ' flight by Merriam. It merely refers ta these "documents,", as giving evidence of such flight, and docs nothing more. These, as has been seen, do not furnish any evidence whatever upon : that sub ject, so that the case stands without even an allegation of the existence of this yg tal condition. . " : f But if it should be admitted that the recital in the requisition is tantamount to a direct assertion that Merriam waif, in the language of that recitalr"a fugi tive from justice from Virginia," the ad mission would avail nothing. That as sertion is by no means equivalent to ,9 averment that he fled from that State -to elude its justice. It may lead to- an in ference of actual flight, or it may mean a. constructive one only. Whether it meai the one or the other, it is suiheiBBt to say that this extraordinary power is oof to be exercised on surmise or an infer ence. Beyond this, however, no mere formal, unsworn allegation of flight, be it ever so clear and unequivocal, can be deemed sufficient. In this, as in. all other proceedings which affect the right of personal liberty, every fact on which) the power of removal depends, must, be established by due and satisfactory evi deuce. The necessity of insisting- e rigid proof of flight will not be doubtedj by any one familiar with the fact that in some of the States, a practice has grows) up, of demanding the surrender,. ar"ftt gitives from justice from these : States,? of persons who have never been within; their limits, on.the legal fiction of a con-j structive presence and ; a constructive" flight. It is not known that th'd prac tice has attained in Virginia,. 9r .is im material to inquire, as ail requisitions,, from whatever State, must be, governed; by a uniform law. Moreover, while.thie custom sufficiently indicates the propria ety of the rule, the rule , itself rests on , larger foundations. It grows out of the . very nature of the power.; The, ianitts , nity of the citizen from arrest and. exile, would stand on the frailest ground if, held subject to the mere unverified dec-.,, laration of even the highest functionary , in the lani. It is not too much to say -that a power so arbitrary, can hayefo lawful existence in a free Government,; These considerations, it seems to me, r are entirely decisive.f . For the reason t that the requisition, with, its, "annexed f documents," furnished no evidence. off the flight of Merriam form,; yirgiHia,litr4 altogether fails, in my judgment, to niaks ; out a case which will warrant his extra-. T dition. Whether this defect,. ea;Jbe 3 cured, is a question which addresses , itself solely to the authorities of, that j State. Finding one barrier to the exer cise of the authority invoked by this requisition, it has not seemed . proper to ? inquire as to the existence ot any other. For all present purposes, it is enough to ; know that, as the case now, stands,: the,; objection is fatal. Very respectfully, Your obedient servant, C. P. WOLCQTI.-' To the Governor. r 1 ? i,.:2 Cattle Distemper in Mehett. ', .. Great mortality prevails among the'i cattle in the vicinity of Brook field,, Mass. From the number of deaths among tho i stock it was at first thought that poisoners had been at work, but exami-rf nation has revealed that the murrain, brr; something very like it, has broken 'out. Post mortem examinations made by Dr. u Dodd exhibited the chest filled with v serum of a straw color, portions fs which were coagulated, forming a color 4 less albumen. The lungs were very" much compressed.: One portion had a ' gritty surface, and sank when . placed. X in water. In some of the animals no lungs at all could be found, while in one the lungs wereexpauaea so as. us nil me .i ri i j - - . --. - mri it. - - entire' chest. Death from the Administratis af Quack Medicine. : '" Yesterday morning the proprietor ofVi V... TTnmn Hnnsa. No. 673 WcstiXth street, found one cf his. boarders Peter . Minch, lying dead in his room. afijit deceased had been ailing for some days, . Dutoaturaay eveuiog, juai uwum u i v- tired to his apartment for the night; re-rro plied, in answer to the laridlordtht he felt, in: excellent neann; , tne-- nexit ma was seen or heard of him he was a corpse Coroner Carey repaired to .the place fi I. J HAnSMw aj3 Vi fl A an 1 lnnnont ' the jury returning a verdict of death ' u -from. congestion, of fce-iraanV-accelera ted by taking quack medicine, for the cure of fever ana ague.--CVit i