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VOLUME XIV.--NUMBER 7.
REV. K Jf . BRLCEI.ARIDGE. TS?e ar. extract frota his letter in favor of •he Union *nd Free Government, in the PKKSS OF Suv. 11, ISCI.] He's worthy of his name, He's worthy of his race ; As teacher of the Gospel pure, He's worthy of his place. He* loyal to his God, * He's loyal, too, to man ; Among hilt country a loyal hosts A leader of the van. Of tyranny and wrong He'd promptly spurn the sway; But for the right and true He'd fight as well as pray. A government of law, And of the people's choice, He always h s upheld With heart, and soul, and voGe. 0, had his kinsman heard His words of truthful tone, A traitor's deep disgrace His uatuc had never known. But so the Gospel reads: We oft encounter those, Our very nearest kin. Among our direst foes With honied words of peace, The traitor paved his way, And mar.- ha I'd his deluded friends Into the niurd'rous fray. * And with the mischief done. rheep's clothing's cast aside : A wolf he seems, us wolf lie is, And sneaks away to hide. This "neutral friend of peace" Is a sworn rebel now ; And Haunts his treason in the light I'pou his brazen brow. Truth is Ithuriel's spear ! It's kten and pointed goad Shows to the world so clear. The Devil in the toad ! * Not o his uncie brave ! With heart so large so leal, He battles fur hi- country's cause With courage true as steel ! 0. Breckinridge, the false, And Breckinridge, the true. Were ever two of kindred blood iyo much unlike as you ? 1 ewisburg, Fa., Nov. idol. JAMKS AZKN. ~sre M iton s "Paradise host, Is>ok iv., * •ne 61 4 TILKEE TIMES A lU\. "Adela, my darling ! Adela !" "."lia has gone uu:. grandpa." "Gone out ? with whom ? Na> she lclt nie here alone with you. Julietta." "Little Mary i> here, grandpa, ( laving witn the dog; and Marianne is in the kitchen. getting dinner ready." ibis Conversation was held between a '•tt.e girl about utue yeats old. and the iLrou St Andrews, an old man of eigutv he was a knight of che order ot Si * i iiad received his knighthood ami in ' euia form the hand- of Luui> the Six 'with, Iviug of Franco. Ii? wa> nw, a wever, quite blind, and consequently helpless. Little Mary, a ciiiid of six years of age made the third one of the party. "Juiietta!" resumed the o!a man after 1 *ltort silence, "did your si-ter say any tnittg to you when she went out ?" "ies, grandpa." replied Julietta. "she to me,' "Take care that. little Mary dots uot t.oub;e grandpa, and if he wishes to eo into the garden, give him vour hand, and take care not tu let him tum ble over anything, because he can't see, or grandpa . ami God has given him to us, his children, to take care of him. and tu obey him, and to make him as happy d * We Cu,J "Oh, I know it all by heart,! gnrtdpa, Decau.se Adela tells it to me l -':ee times a day ; every time just before sue goes out." lio. every time she gives out? does * < often go out i" asked the old man. * lose venerab'e brow seemed ruffled bv SOQI- fainful thought. "Fnree times every day !—once in the morning, before you come down, from I * r en to nine o clock ; another from eleven to one, and the third from three to five *kcn you are asleep. You see, three tune* a day. Did you think that I could, hot reekou ?" "What o'clock i it now?" asked the iLrou, rather with the hope of finding •oaie discrepancy in Julietta s reckoning. it struck one just now," Julietta an '*tred. "\nd here comes Adela; I ' r l^e garden gate opening; and she ' *paking to Mary and the dug. They come to meet her." i i a tew mouieuts Adela entered. She a young and lovely girl ; so young, i •hf seemed scarcely emerged from girl .**l, and yet, so serious and so thougbl w,u fc^e expression of her countenance 7 that the premature care* of life had, as it were. blighted the flower of youth. "Adela!" said the old n an, in a ton? so sad and sericns that it brought tLe quick color to the young gill's face, -whence come voui" ana stretching fo r th his baud, lie seized that of Adela, which she had extended towards him, took it between both his own, gently stroked it, and at last said in a mournful manner, -you arc agitated, my child. You un troubled ! you tremble! Whence come you ?" The young girl did not reply. Obtaining no answer, the Baron St. Andrews continued, and the slow solemn accent with which he uttered each word, showed t lie sad feelings of his heart.' 4 In 1844 I was a widower, Adela, and. of my numerous family, only one was left me, tny sainted daughter, Henrietta, your mother. Your father fell at Waterloo ; you were then only twelve Adela ! Adela ! what can I ray ? liy all my oast miseries—by my unceasing grief—by my gray hairs— I entreat you tell me whence come you? Whither go you three times a day '." -My fat IK f," said Adela, -I am only iseventeen years old. it is true, and yet, yuung as I am, sorrow and care have a! ready left their impression upon mv brow." "Three years ago mv mother died, yet the sad scene is still ever present to my mind, as vividly as it if had been yester day. I still bear the weak Voice, regain ing momentary strength, address me. "Adela," she said "I leave you two daughters, be a mother to them. And in) poor f.tlier—l entru-t him to you Guide the two first in their course thro' life; show them its thorns and its dan gers ; hide from lie second everything that Would pain hiin." ".Such were her words, and I have tried to obey them. I go out three times a day, and that troubles >ou; but you do I not coiisidt-r that I am the mistress of a family—the housekeeper, and yet more 1 have to take care of you all Are ; not these duties enough to call me out three times a day ? Have confidence in your Adela, uiy dear giand.'aiher—trust in her I"' "That is ail 1 desire ; it i> all my heart wishes, my daughter Well, well ! you have been out to day. you will not go out again! Am I light? You do not an swer me. Adela !" Adela, as if site had not heaid hi> words, turned to Ju'ie.ta and questioned her concerning the studies which she had to ivci'e to liei in G.e evening, and thus udroiil) changed the conversation Bhe ri.en remained for some time with the lii tie party on the piazza, until Marianne summoned them to the dinner table. — Nft wll lisiaioiill g her efforts lo please and entertain her gran father, she observed with pain that hts mind was still troub led. and fearing that he Would resume his attempt- to dissitadi her from again venluung out, she com toiled Iter own feelings and chatted incessantly with the litile <>:,e all the time, however, niinis tering to ine old man's wants. As sO'-n as the meal was finished, site directed Julietta t" hat! her grandfather back to his -eat on the piazza, while she her-elf remained a- ii to altind to her huii-ehohi duties At the end o! half an hour, Ju tietta saw her with her bonnet on her head, and her gloves in her hand, walk quickly through the gatden and pass out of the gate, which she closed behind her with the least |l|l ibie muse Ihe old i. an's firth sen-Cot heating, however, had instantly detected, and if we may so-peak, had followed all the movements of his grand daughter, and when the gate cosed he said with a deep sigh, as if speaking to himself, ••Site has gone out a grin !" Then, pit bnblv to divert the solitude which was tormenting liirn, he dincted Julietta to go and tell tiie servant girl to take little Mary out for a walk, and added : "Btit-g with you, when you come back, the new.-paper that you will find on the table in tiie saloon, a"d come and read to; me tiie article upon the public rejoicing of last week." "That v.iii amu-e both you and me." Julietta obeyed. A short time after-1 wards. Marianne and Mary went cut for their walk, and Julietta returned, and seating herself upon a stool near her grandfather's feet, began to teaci the ar ticle which he had mentioned It was a very long one and she had to stop now and then, to spell some of the long and more difficult words ; and she had not quite finished it when sevctal knocks on the garden gate were heard "There is no one to open if. grandpa." said the little giri, interrupting her reading "You must go then." said the Baron. Tiie garden gate was not far enough from the piazza to prevent the old man front hearing the f dlowing dialogue,whim, tuol: place betweeu bis niece and a lady —a stanger. -Does not a young lad v. a teacher of the piano, live here?" asked the lady. \o of Jrt|i Jhtyoctyqj, af)D 11?e Si&ctyiifttici) of JLiiqjrtftilre ft* Irs. COUDERSPORT, POTTER COUNTY, FA., WEI EE SrAY. JANUARY 29 ; 1862. I -No, madam," Julietta replied. -)t must be here, certatulv, my dear! • I bad the exact directions to litis house ■ given iue. She may be a boarder, whom . you do rot know, my little one." i -In the whole house, there is no one but my grandpa, why is blind," art.-weicd Juiietta, in the impatient tone of a little , girl who liked not her word to be doubted. . -and Adela, my oldest sister; and Mari anne, the cook, and her husband, the Igardner; and my little sister Mary, and the dog, and I! and no one else. But sometimes a young lady comes here who teacnes the piano, and perhaps site is the ■ one ynu want to see." "1 wish to see Miss Adela St. Andrews, who teaches the piano to :lie family of—" 44 1 never tell fibs, ma'am," said Julietta. impertinently interrupting her; "uty sis ter Adela is not a teacher of the piano. Don't you think I ought to know ?" "Dues the Baron St. Andrews live here ?" askc-d a young utau stoppiug at the half open gate. "Ws, Sir.' "Then, certainly, the young ladv for whom vuu tire inquiring lives here, mad am,' lie said to the lady who was ques tioning Julietta; "and doubtless the Baron St. Andrews, whom I seek, is her grandfather." A ltd to Ihe intense surprise, and even auger of Julietta, who still insisted that her sister was not a teacher of inu.-ic, the young man made his 'way to the piazza, approached the blind'grandfather, and. 1 aving assured himself that he was speak ing tu the Barou St Andrews, said, — "Baton ! 1 have the pleasure of an nouncing to you that your pension is re stored." "Sir, sir! you must certainly have tak en me fur some one else," the Baron said, his surprise almost as great as that of Ju lietta, "for my pension has never been taken from me How, tlteu, can you say it is restored ?" "Are you not the Baron St. Andrews who served in the reign of Louis XV, and Louis X 3 1, in the Veudean war? who had lost five sons io the wars of the Km : v** pi re; "Yes. sir !" the Baron answered. " Your giatiddaughler—t he young ladv, Adela St. Andrews, does she not give ies sous on the piano in the house of the Minister of War, — ill fact to tny sisters?" "Explain yourself, sir! explain your self ! ' the old man exclaimed. "My pt*u -ion lost ! Adela ? Three times a day ! Oh, I entreat you to explain !" "it is a very simple matter," the young IHRII .-an! ; "but how can you be ignorant of all this?—lt is a fact t• •nt I have two si.-ters ; and about a year ago when thev were seeking a teacher of music, vour granddaughter, the voung lady Adela, offered iter services. Bhe was recom mended by the Countess de Bricouut, whose daughters she was -j!.-o teaching. Alter some months had passed.—know ing that I wat in the war office, and that I am the Minister's nephew, she told me that your pen-ion had been discontinued for two years, and no cause had been as 1 s gimd for it; and, she added, "Neither a blind old man n >r a voung girl like me can take the necessary steps to a-eeitain the reason." "Make your mind easy up on that point," I-aid to her; will take 1 charge of the matter." I have fuitil'ed my promise; and now I have the pleasure of cuinniuuicating to you the pleasing in telligence! the orders have been given not only f-r the restoration of your pensions, but also for the payment of all arrears " "Oh, Adela! noble and worthy girl!" exclaimed lite old man raising lii- sight less eyes to heaven. "Oh my daughter, so unjustly accused ! you have concealed all this from me, —all, —even the labor which your filial love induced you to uti dvttake! Oh, where i> she?" Why does she not come? Go, go, and seek her." Julietta went out its if for that pur pose; and the Baron, gradually overcom ing his emotions; related to the young man and the strange lady all that had passed that morning,—! is fea r s and bles sings which the old man lavished upon the absent Adela met full sympathy from at least one of his hearers. "Oh, Baron, mv dear sir!" the voung man said, "you do not know ne yet I ain a stranger to you : but I will give you ample satisfaction coi c ruing tny family. I have ioved your granddaughter; she d ies net reject me Give her to me, 1 implore you. fur my wife " At this moment, a cry of joy from Ju Tietra announced the return of Adela When the latter saw the two persons who wore standing near her grand-father, she blushed deeply, and hesitated in herap-j proaelt ; but the old man called her to him, and, foudly cmbtacing her said. — ••Everything is discoveied,you darling! you little rogue! And here is one whu claims the right to be your husband, and to separate you from me." "He who claims that right." the still blushing girl answered, with a strange mingling of tiiuiduess aud firmness, "must also take upon him the charge of an old man and two little ones, tor i\ • ! welfare and happiness I a.u re-pousible • ; the eves of God." "All, all, whom you love shall be most dearly welcomed, dearest iadv." Adela educated her two sisters, and saw them happily married, —as happy as her self; and none could wish a happier lot. The blind old Baton lived to an exr uie | old age, and at length died in the arms !of his granddaughter, bequeathing her i his lust fund blessing. For the Fatter Journal. Our winter is half gone, mild, pleasant and but little snu'v. The frost has but paitially bound the earth to chains, and tiie icy bridges scarcely span the oppo site shores. \\ here are the massive piles of lugs that formerly lined the banks" of ;Gur rivers aud lay piied around the [sawmills? The voice of the teamster's haw buck gee, is silent. The chills of war are upon us—the red clouds of war dim the horizou—but he who sits above the clouds will guide the storm. The winter thus far, is marked with tales of . sorrow. When did the mourners ever go about our streets as at the present? , \Yhere aie Judd and Crosby? Let the . students, ii they can, bow in submission to the will of Gou and say, never will they instruct us again. Let parents sym patliize with the bereaved parents. Ltt the whole community feel iis loss. War. war has done it—and from whence the war? Slavery vs Freedom. Human, intellectual and moral elevation on our part, the reverse on the other. Who can torgut I lie seeues of the present winter? \\ lien we see our frienus aud relatives leaving Coudeisport by hundreds—the weeping—the lonely tread of the heart broken wite, as she returns to take the sole charge of the little family, and then to hear, "Ma, iias I'a gone?" "How j long mil he stay, Ma?" ''Won't he come back to-uiorrow ?" What answers can be given to such sunple and child like questions ? But when, (as is so com mull now,) the rad news of death comes, with what teiiderne>s aud caution di es she tell them dear children "Fa is dead ! ' I have a son. a dear sun too, in tie army, and if lie falls, my Consolation will be, that he fell where duty called him. " B. MATKIMOMAE. I have lived solitary long enough ; I want somebody to talk at, quarrel with, then kiss and make up again. Therefore I am open to proposals from young ladies and fresh widows of more than average respectability and tolerably tame dispo sition. As near as I can judge of myself, I am not over eighty or under twenty-five years uf age. In height. lam either eight feet five or five feet eight, I forget which. eight, 1:15, Jlsor 581. I recollect each figure perfectly well, but as to their true arrangement lam somewhat puzzled. 1 have a whole suit ol hair, dved b nature and free from da'idrull. Eyes butternut , brindle, linged with pea green. N btunr, according to the lonic order of arcitecture, with a touch of the composire Mouth between a catfish and alligator's, made especially tor ora'oryaud the recep tion uf large oysters. Ears palmared, long and elegantly shaped. 31 v whiskers aie a combination of dog hair, moss and briar bu-ii, well behaved aud fearfully luxuriant. I am sound in limb and on the nigger question Wear boots No. 0 when corns are troublesome, and can write poetry by the utiie, W'.tli double rhyme on both edges, to read forward or backward cross wise and diagonally. Can play the bass di am, jewsiiarp, and wui.-tie Yankee Doo dle in Spanish. Am very correct in mv murals, and first rate at ten-pins ; have a regard tor the Sabbath, and never drink, except when invited Am a domestic animal aud perfectly docile, when towel are clean and shirt buttons all right. It I have a predominating virtue, it is the trait ot forgiving every enemy whom I deem it hazaidous to handle. 1 say uiy prayers every night, mosquitoes permit ting. and as to whether I snore in n:v sleep. I want some one to tell me. Mon ey is no object as I never was troubled with any aud never expect to be. A BLATUEUSKITE. A SAD FAULT.—33 hen Gen. Lee was a prisoner at Albany, be dined with an Irishman. Before entering upon the wine, the Genera! remarked to his host, that after drinking, he wa; apt to abu.-e Irishmen, for which he hoped the lio-t wouid xcuse him in advance "By my s>ul, General, I will do that," sai l ht> host, "if you will excite a trifling fauit which I have myself. It is this : "when ever I hear a tnau abuse ould Ireland, I have a sad fault uf cracking his sconce with my shiiialy !" The Geueral was civil duiing the whole evening. It is surprising how little love we can be weil content witb, when that love is more than the persoD givmg it gives to anybody else. Original. Lines on the Eve cf my Thirty-Third Birth-Day. Ah bless me ! with to-morrow's sun Another year its course has run ; And in the fading ogof I >ee The bourne which murks me thirty-three. That day's return, which when a boy , Was sure to bring it* bouk or toy, i Brings now more t >:ls than toys to mc Vet still I welcome thirty.three. My childish feet in summer bowers Chased day by day the languid hours; From manhood's fe -t how fast they flee, 1 How soon I've com; to thirty-three! How sweet is sleep to childish eyes ! How soft the youthful pillow lies! bleep oft from m in hood s lids will flee, 1 restless toss at thirty-three. To-d.ty I scan with childish glee Kncli "burial place 't" memory ; How varied Life's web may be From blithe thirteen to thirty-three ! f * As memory back to-day Along my winding devious way, Forecast attempts old age to see, And finds all blank from thirty-three. 1 1 ■ I May I be spared in inort il strife To weave complete the web of life. Each added year wit t tlniuks shall be 1 Received, till three times thirty-three. SHAVING A MIELIONAIIii:. Let any man become immediately wealthy by bis own exertion, uud straight 1 way you shall hear numerous anecdotes illutiatirig the means by which lie at 1 tamed his riches, the eft'eci they have up ou him, his disposition of tiiem, or his. ! sayings, his peculiarities, and eccentrtci-, ? ties. Astor, Girard, and Billy Gray, have furnished illustrations for uiany a clever! isketcher. 3\'e heard a few clever anec dotes tiie other day of Billy Gibbons, a, ' New Jersey millionaire* one of which we give to our readers It seems tV.at Billv, while in a country 1 village in which he owned some property, 1 stepped into a barber shop tu get shaved. 1 The shop was full of customers, and the ' old gentleman quietly waited for his turn 1 A customer whu was under the barber's hands when the old gentleman came in, asked the "knight of the razor," in an undertone, IF he knew who he was, aud on receiving a negative reply, he inform ed him in a whisper, it was "old Billy Gibbons, the richest man in the State." , "Good," said the barber, "l'il charge! him tor his shave." Accordingly, after the old man had that • 1 operation performed, ne was somewhat surprised, upon asking tlie price, to be. told—"Seventy five cents." "Seveuty-five cents !" said he quietly, "is not that rather a high price?" "It's mv price," said he of the lather brush independently, "and as this is the only barber shop in the place, tlieui as comes into it must pay what I ask." To tiie old gentleman this was evident ly a knock down argument, fur he drew three quarters from his pocket, paid them . over to the barber and left the shop. A short time after lie was in close con versation with the Landlord of a tavern hard by, and the topic of their conversa tion—"hai hers' shops." "33*hy is it ?" said he, "there's only ore barbet's simp in town? there seems to be nearly enough work for two " "Well, there used to be two," said the landlord, 44 1i11 last winter when this man came up from the city and opened a new simp, and as everything in it was tresh and new. folks sort of dose: ted Bill Har rington's shop, which had beeu going for nigh fourteen years." "But didn't this Bill do good work ? did lie not shave well and cheap?" "33 ell, as for that," said the landlord, "Bill did his work well enough and cheap enough, but his shop wasn't on the main street like the new one, and didn't have so many pictures, and handsome curtains, and filksgot in the way of thinking that the new chap was more scientific and brought the most city fahioDs with him. though, to tell the truth," stroking his 1 ciiitt down with a beard resembling screen wire, "i never want a lighter touch, or a keener razor, than Bill Harrington's." < "City fashions --eh I ' growled the old i man. "so the new man's city fashions shut up the other barber's shop." "3Ve!l, not exactly," said the landlord, "though things never did seem to go well with Bill after the new shop opened— : first, one of his children died of a fever, then his wite was sick for a long time, aud Biil had a big bill to pay the Doctor, i then, as ula.-t misfortune. Ins shop burned i down one night, tools, brushes, furniture < and all, and no insurance." !< "Well," said 'he old man pettishly, i "why do.i't he start again ?" . "Start again !" said the communicative i landlord, "why bless your soul, he hasn't < anything to start with " j, "H—in—m! where does this tcau i live ?" asked the old .nan. I He was directed and ere long was in P3 f conversation with the unfortunate tonsor. who correboixted the landlord's awry. ji TERMS.- SI.OO PER ARNUffI. \\ iiy dm t \i.u lane a uew shop?" -aid the old man, "there's a new one in the block right opposite the other barber shop " "What !"' said the other. "you mast be crazy. Why that block belongs to old Hilly Gibbons; he'd never let one of ibote stores fur a bartier shop ) they're 0 mighty site to good, besides I haven't cut tweuty dollars in the worid to fit it up with." "You don't now old Billy Gibbons as well as I do," said the other. "NoW listen to me. If you can hare that shop all fitted up, rem flee, what will you work in it for by the month ? what is the leas* yon can live on V' This proposition somewhat startled the' unfortunate hair-dressor, who finally found words to stammer out, that perhaps, twelve or fifteen dollars a mouth would be about enough. "Pshaw!" said the old matt, "that won't do—now listen to me—l'll give you that store rent free, one year, and eu= gage your services six months, all on those conditions. You arc to shave and cut hair for everybody that applies to von, and to take no pay; just charge it ail to me and for your services I'll pay you twenty dollars a mouth, payable iri advance —pay commences now," con tin' ued lie, placing two ten dollar notes on the table before the astonished barber—* who it is almost unnecessary to state ac cepted the proposition, and who was still more surprised to learn it was Billy Gib bons himself who had hired him. * In a few Jays the inhabitants of thai village were astonished by the appearance of a splendid new barbershop. Over the door was inscribed : WILLIAM HARRINGTON, ! SHAVING AND IIAIIt-DRESSINO SALOOHi The people were no k long in ascertain ing, or slow in availing themselves of the privileges of this establishment, which J was full, while the other was deserted*— l The other held out some weeks, suspect ing this free shaving— lor Bill kept hit secret woii—was but u dodge to entice ; customers away, who Would soon be j charged as usual; but at the end of six weeks he found Billy working away, charging not a cent for his labor, and hiv ing money to spend iu the bargain, he came to tiie conclusion that lie must have stumbled on a gold mine, so he closed hi* shop in despair and left the place. Meantime Bill Harrington kept on bu sy as a bee, and one tine morning his em ployer stepped iu, and without a word, sat down and was shaved ; on rising frotn his chair lie asked to see the score for the six months past. The barber exhibited it and after a careful calculation, the old man said : "Plenty of customers, ch ?" "Lots ot 'em," said the barber} "never did such a business in uiv life I" "Well," replied Money Bags, "you have kept the account well. I see l'vn paid you one hundred and twenty dollar* for services, all right, and there are three hundred and thirty charged for shaving all that applied : now this furuiturc co*t one hundred and eight dollars, balance due you, one huudred and two dollar* Here it is. Now you own this furniture, laud you are to have this shop rent free six months longer, and after to day you are to charge the regular price for work, for your pay from me stops to day." This course the barber g'adly assented to. "Bill,'' said the old nan on leaving, "take care you never cheat a man by charging ten timet* the usual price for * shave ; for it may be another Billy Gib bous."' A MOTHER'S GRAVE. —Earth has iome sacred spots where we feci like loosening the shoes from our feet and treadiog with iiuiy reverence ; where common words of pleasure are unfitting; places where friendship's liauds have lingered iu each other's, where vows have been plighted, prayers offered and tears of parting shed. Oh. how the thoughts hover around such places, and travel back through tin meas ured space to visit them. l>ut of all tho spots on the green earth, none is go sa cred as that where rests, waiting the res* urrectioti, those we once cherished and loved. Hence, in all cges, the belter pot lion of mankind have chosen the loved spots of the burial of their dead,- and in those spots they have loved to* wander at eventide to meditate and weep. Hut among all the eharnal houses of th<r dead if there is one spot more sacred tharr ail the rest, it is a mother's grare. There sleeps the mother of our infancy—the guide of oar youth—the c-ounseller of our riper years—our friend when others de serted us ; she whose heart was a stranger to every other feeling but love, and who could always find excuses for us when s coufd Gud none for ourselves. There she sleeps, and wo love the very earth (of her sake. The certain way to be cheated is to fan* cy one's self more cunDieg thai; others,