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. . esa 'ne».'" ' ; 1 ' Bi * • 1 M 1 A ivis h?> u *1 M .- 6L1 fe|| 0 <H> , ii TERMS l Two Dollars a Year, INDEPENDENT IN EVERYTHiï.Jh NEUTRAL IN NOTHING." Invariably in Advance* i CLAYTON, DEL., SATURDAY MORNING, APRIL 25, 1868. YOL. IL NO. 1. it. to jrijjiital jpoctrg. (For the "Clayton Herald.") SONG OF THE LABORERS. BY REV. H. L. BOW ARB. To toil I to toll ! we haste to toil, Its welcome call we hear ; We haste to offer at its shrine, Our servlee and our cheer. YHhen early morn's advancing train Has chased night's gloom away, And village bells are ushering in The rosy new-born day. When lark and linnet from the bower Their anthems raise on high, And grove and hamlet echo far A new wrought melody. Then wakeful, rising, forth we hie, To seek our duties' sphere; To load each golden hour with toil. And guile its flight with cheer. When night, its sable curtain lowers, And hushed creation veils. And naught of business' wok'nlng hum, The drowsy sense assails. Then to the embrace of sweet repose, We y el Id our wearied powers ; While healthful slumbers guard our dreams And spell night's silent n Then welcome toll ! yes, welcome toil ! Its glad'ning call we hear; We haste to offer at Its shrine. -** -* wet enwr. * Philadelphia, April 16th, 1808. oun ftledfi) torg. THE BROAD WAY. BY RUTHELLA SHULTZ. 41 Many there be that go in thereat," and poor Percy Howell was one of the many." He was a frank, good natured, impul sive toy; the latest born and only sur viving child of his aged parents. One by one the others, whose brief lives were full of blessings, kad been buried in the village churchyard ; and, without a shad ow of doubting, the old oouple hoped to see their boy's promising youth ripen Into the fragrance and fruitage of a per fect manhood. Alas ! they never sat under the shadow of that tree, gazed on its beauty, nor partook of its bounty, for the axe was early laid at the root« ! Percy was just twenty when he left his native village for the distant city—his father's house with its simple cheer, for a homeless abode among Btrangers ; hi« -Müs, yontb, and the sweet girl of his choice, for the mixed multitude of the metrop olis. in haled its perfume, nor a Had you been there when the stage coach stopped at the lane gate ; had you «een the serious faces of the neighbors gathered round—the aged mother, wiping her streaming eyes; the feeble father, ut tering his blessing ; and Annie ColliUs, Percy's sweetheart, rushing distracted ly into the house, you would almost have thought that the same thing had never happened before. They, at least, thought so. The neighbors, as they walked home ward, said one to another that there were not many nowadays, like Percy Howell, The old couple, returning to their fireside, wept to see his vacant chair, his lonely dog, his empty place at table, and bis un pressed pillow. Surely no other son eo dear had ever left a home so sorrow ful! As for Annie Collins, she went back to her father's cottage, and quietly dischar ged her daily duties. But whatever oc cupied her hand or heart, there flowed a constant, under current of thought, and Percy was its burden, she whispered to herself a thousand times a day, as if to assure her sad heart of its blessed ownership. During the journey, Percy, with eyes on the lookout and ears on the alert, and with a heart fell of bright hopes and un tried expectations, went joyfully on, and* thought but little of the dear ones at home. Yet, when at nightfall, he found him self in a little hall room, containing a bed very suggestive of a bier in its six by-three dimensions and white covering ; a washstand of iron, with ordinary ac companiments, minus soap ; one chair and a diminitive looking glass, he began to wish himself at home. " Wh-e-w !" said he, giving vent to a deep drawn breath. " Wonder how An nie is!—S'pose she's thinking about me, this very minute. 'Fraid father won't get along with the out-door work ! Wish I hadn't ha' come ! Don't believe there's a fellow in New York that's got a mother like mine ! Wh-e-w ! guess I'll look at the news!" He had already seen everything of in terest in the daily paper, but he caught it up and glanced over it to keep the mois ture from gathering in his eyes. Run ning down the columns, he chanced upon the amusements, and the following at tracted his attention : " Clerks, young men from the country seeking employment, clergymen, the judges of the various courts, policemen, and all officers of the law, should visit the Widegate Theatre to see "The Old Man of the Moor." " Wasn't brought up to go to the thea ter," thought Percy, reading it again.— " Don't believe in it ; but—" A knock at the door. Instead of calling "come in," as a man does when he has been six weeks in a boarding house, Percy cautiously opened the door and peered out. A fine looking fellow, be side whom he had sat at the six o'clock dinner, said: " Beg pardon ! As you're a stranger, I thoughtyou might be lonely. Wouldn't you like to go out for a short stroll ?" Percy was very grateful, and said my Percy!" a much ) then took his hat and followed his neW frietid down the stairs, and out into the lighted street. They went directly to Broadway«— Walking along that brilliant thorough fare. Percy tried to appear as if he no ticed nothing ; but he saw much, and thought more. Among other things, he observed that a majority of young men carried a slender walking stick, which seemed to add grace and dignity to the bearers. An air of elegance surrounded these men, which, to Percy's mind, came directly from the fanciful reeds which they waved coquettishly with daiutly gloved fingers. Moreover, they afforded employment for otherwise unoccupied hands ; and Percy wished for a cane.— Kingsley—that was the name of his new friend—carried 44 a beauty," the top rep resenting an exquisite leg and foot, the knee joint forming the bend of the han dle. Percy resolved to have one just like it. In fact, he greatly admired Kingsley, He took on no airs; was neither super cilious nor patronizing; and Percy, grate, ful for his attentions, pronounced him a first rate fellow. "Do you drink, ley, parsing nemetfi liantly lighted saloo 44 No," said Percy, tut if ashamed ; "I— 44 Neither do I," said the other, moving I take a glass of champagne occa sionally ; but champagne is light, you know," Percy didn't know, but he said: 44 Yes, certainly." 44 1 am a temperance man," continued Kingsley, with an emphatic gesture; 44 1 don't mean to say that I am in favor of total abstinence. That is simply intem perate abstemiousness. The Bible says, 'Let your moderation be seen of all men.' Now, total abstinence is just as immod erate as total drunkenness. We should shun both extremes. In my opinion, the pledge has made more drunkards and consequently more liars, than any other ^>ne thing on the face of the globe! Do you play billiards?" 44 Not much," replied Percy, unwilling to admit that he had never seen a billiard table. owell?" said Kings ingly before a brll-. on. " Come in and try a hand," said his companion. Percy would gladly have excused him self, but with ashow of alacrity followed Kingsley up a flight of broad steps into a brilliant room where a number of men were engaged at play, it fîfl'nn» Ui ■■i kÿ tt .mS la , rather tired," aaid lie, as they entered. " I suppose so," said Kingsley, throw ing himself on a luxurious lounge.— " Make yourself comfortable for awhile." Following his example, Percy took a sofa, and in the course of an hour gath ered some knowledge of the game.— True, he heard some things suid that sent the blood tingling to his brow ; true, he observed that the players invariably sup plemented their game with a visit to the bar below; and he thought of his moth er and of his Annie. Nevertheless, he was determined that he would learn to play billiards. "Come in and have a drink," said Kingsley,as they ran down stairs. "Only aglass of lager; itwill make you sleep." So Percy, yielding, found himself stan ding at the marble bar and drinking from a glass held in a richly wrought receiver of silver a beverage which, to his un. taught palate, was exceedingly offensive. " It is better, certainly, if one has one's own house, and can afford to keep a bil liard room," said Kingsley, wiping his mustache as they left the saloon. " Then a fellow can choose his company. But, since we can't bave our private billiard rooms, are we to be deprived of this manly and elegant pastime ? Of course, the society at these peaces Isn't just the thing, but wbat can a man doT" Percy thought of poor Tray, who was cruelly beaten for no other reason than being found in bad company, but said nothing. When he reached his room it was near ly midnight. Though very tired, ha took up the paper, and looked again at the singular advertisement that hud interes ted him before going out. It seemed to apply to him. He was a " young man from the country, seeking employment, and he might get some very useful hints from the " Old Man of the Moor, clergymen went, as the advertisement implied, he might, surely. And he be lieved he would go. Next morning ho rose late, and took breakfast with a very pretty young lady, who declared, with a bewitching smile, that since they sympathized in the mat ters of rising and breakfasting, they must ba firm friends. Her hands were so small and white, her complexion so delicate, her waist so slender, and her hair beautifully arranged in rolls and crimps and curls, that Percy regarded her with intense admiration, and mentally trasted her with Annie Collins. It hard ly need be said that his conclusions were very unfavorable to the sweet girl whose devoted heart was ever magnifying his graces and accomplishments. Meantime, the young lady, whose name was Sybil Pearson, entertained him with her pretty chit-chat, and he lingered long over his coffee. At last, with some constraint, he Baid : " Do yon ever go to the theater f" "If Oh, yes ! I never lose an oppor tunity," said she, with a look which meant, "try me and seef" " Have you seen the 'Old Man of the Moorf" " No ; hut I want—oh ! ever so much to eee it I" "1 would like—I mean, I intend to go. Would you-«" li so con 44 Go with you? Of course I would !" "When shall we go?" said he, ani matedly. 44 1 am engaged for to-night and to morrow eveuing and the next. I can go on Thursday." Percy thanked her most gallantly, and as it w r as now half-past nine, excused himself and went after the morning pa pers. Sitting In his little room he ran over the columns of 4 Help wanted,' and lound two or thrc e dozen advertisements which he decided to answer« Not having the slightest doubt that among them all he should find a situation, he concluded which places he would like the best, and started. But everywhere he went the answer was invariably to the effect that they were suited. And this morning, in late rising, pro longed breakfast, and tardy applications for work, was but a sample of many that followed. He was ever too late to obtain a position. Some lucky fellow was al ways ahead of him. He forgot his good old father's maxim: "the early bird catches the worm." Indeed, he seemed altogether to have forgotten home and friends. Ho neglected writing because ne had no "good news,," He intended to write so soon as he procured a place ; so three weeks passed, and the lonely, anxious hearts of aged parents were un cheered by tiding8of the absent boy. Meantime he went with Miss Sybil to see the 'Old Man of the Moor.* He was dazzled, bewildered, delighted, and pro posed going again. But the young lady reminded him that there were plenty other theatres as good as the Widegate, and many other plays as good as this, and that he had not yet seen them. So they went the round of the theatres to gether, and at the end of a fortnight Per cy found himself without money and without work. He stood at nightfall in his little room, considering what had best be done. To ask his father for as sistance was out of the question. He knew that only by the most frugal and self-denying care the old man l ad pro vided him the fifty dollars with which he left home. He drew his watch from bis pocket and looked at it. It was his father's gilt. 44 If I could sell or pawn it," said he. "What do I want with an old silver watch?" An hour later he stood at a pawnbro ker's counter. 44 What do you want ?" asked the Jew. " Teo tolj»r I T »ay r ol I give -Q" I Ken tollar—no more ! What you say?" 44 1 say no !" cried Percy, angrily.— Then, on second thought, " Well, give me three 1" But this was not enough, even for his immediate need. Undera desperate im pulse he stepped into a drinking saloon, and midnight found hihiatthe gambling table. Pretty Sybil Pearson had shuffled cards for him with her delicate, beautiful fingers, had taught him to play. Under the tutelage of his temperance friend, the elegant Kingsley, he had learned to drink more than lager ; but how and when to stop drinking uad not been a part of his instructions. What need to tell more? You find his history repeated in that of thousands who throng your great cities, and end a short career of crime upon the gallows. The gray hairs of his aged parents were brought down in sorrow to the grave, and Annie Collins' golden curls were covered with the fresh turf of spring time. , a to to II PLAYED AWAY HIS HOME.'' " I am sorry to hear that William Jack son intends opening a billiard saloon here," said one of my neighbors, as his family rose from the dinner-table. " Why, father," said a bright looking young man, "billiards is a beautiful game, and, I think, a Very gentlemanly one—I shall be glad to have the opportu nity of learning. Bill will keep a very respectable saloon, and will notallow the common run of loafers at his table." " I know it is called a beautiful game and a gentlemanly game, James," said his father, " bat It is a very fascinating game, and even if no betting or gambling or drinking is allowed there, I hope you will never learn to play. I can tell you a sad story which I know to be true, showing the danger of first steps. In my native town, one of the quietest of onr New England villages, a would-be enterprising young man, who wished to introduce a few city customs among our people, opened a billiard saloon in the basement of a large store, had good ta bles, and intended keeping a very respec table, quiet place where the gentlemanly game might be played without molesta tion. li " A friend of mine, George W—, had a great desire to learn the game. He was a young lawyer of some ability, had a most excellent wife, three little children, and though not at all rich, by constant industry earned a very comfortable sup port for his family. When his wife first learned that the saloon hud been opened, she entreated him not to learn the game ; "you cannot afford either the time or the money, George," she said; "if you have any leisure, do let your family have the benefit of it. " But George paid no heed to his wife's entreaties ; he Degan by slipping into the saloon when no one was round, and would play one or two games a day, and then quit. Finally, every evening was spent there, and in less than ten years that man had played away his home at eighteen pence a game, and yet he neither gambled nor drank to an excess. " One can hardly realize how great the fescinaticn was to him, and how easily so he yielded« Business, of csnrse, drop ped off, at first gradually, f<* often he could not be found in his office, and his clients did not care to follow liihj to the billiard saloon; family expenses of «ourse went on, money paying out all the time and none coming in. By-and-by, to raise money, he mortgaged his office, a|id then his law books. This eased matters for a while, but he did not take warning ; then his house, the home of his Wife aril children, was mortgagedandfinally sola to pay his debts. He went on ; becamk a misérable, worthless fellow, the victim of a billiard saloon, and in a short time died a wretched death, withouthope and without God in this world or the next. 41 Will not God require of him, or of any of us, to give Him an account of time and talents and money waited in indul ging in this Bo-called *1 gentlemanly game?" Do not many plap away their homes, and play away their own souls and hope of hereafter, as di^ my infatua ted friend George W—?" 41 Father/ 4 said the your# min, with tears in his eyes, 44 1 thank fou for this lesson. By God's help I will not yield to the infatuation. I wiUmever learn to play the grjnga 'It ter lar THE DRUMARD. Among the busy sce'es of the world, the most degraded oty ts which meet our gaze is the drunkar 1. A being who, bereft of all control ove his passions, is sinking into an early cl shonored grave. Years ago he was the oride of loving and indulgent parents. Maternal in fluence made his youtl the happiest epoch of his life. Cqull that mothers voice now breathe words of comfort and affection in those e which have so long been accustomed o harsh tones, virtue would supei-sçdo vice, and the wretch become a man. When manhood smiled upon him he was surrounded by those whose ages and employments foade his constant companions. The feiddy pleasures of the day soon won f r>m him the paths of rectitude and ho 1 er. Step by step he descended from in lusfcry to idleness, idleness to dissipatiol, from dissipation to wretched intemperei.ee. Friends have deserted him. Soon yeary of their en deavors to reclaim, th^y have given up in despair, lost, byj constant contact with vice, they shoqi-l become associ ated with it. Forgetful of the ^don which the llRSflSf drunkard, in the companionship of those who have lost all traces of virtue and humanity, becomes the hardened man of crime. At times there is no act, how ever wicked, to which he does not give assent; no deed of horror in which he refuses to become nn actor. During bis moments of frenzied drunkenness a hu man life is to him as a spider's web, which, without any thought of remorse, he sweeps into eternity. The home of the inebriate presents a scene alike of pity and of shame. The bare wall, empty larder, and half fam ished children show that care and pro tection are unknown and unappreciated. Here in one corner, desolate, sits she whom the drunkard won from her hap py home—she whom he swore to pro tect, to care for in sickqess and in health, in prosperity and in adversity. In her face the furrows of sadness and woe have made that which was once beautiful the picture of wretchedness and despair. In one glance she surveys the present and past; what the future will reveal she dreads to contemplate. As if painted before her in vivid cojlor, she sees her miserable husband, destitute of honor, turned from the society of the worthy, a branded felon. Despised and shunned, she sees him fallen tbTthe lowest depth to which a mortal can descend. To the drunkard's children the world offers a life mingled with disgrace. Though they may become blessed with knowledge —the Providence may endow them with a plentitude of worldly goods—though they may become all that is noble and good, they will ever remember with horror and shame the curse of intemper ance.— Santa Cruz Times. ——An old lady walked into a lawyer's office lately, when the following conver sation took place : Lady—" Squire, I called to see if you would like to take this boy and make a lawyer of him." Lawyer—" The boy appears rather young, madam ; how old is he?" Lady—" Seven years, sir." Lawyer—" He is too young, decidedly too young. Have you no boys older?" Lady—" O, yes, I have several, but we have concluded to make farmers of tho others. I told the old man I thought this little fellow would make a first-rate lawyer, so I called to see if you would take him." Lawyer—"No, madam, he is too young yet to commence the study of the profes sion, But why do you think this boy better calculated for a lawyer than your older sons?" Lady—"Why, you see, sir, he is jnst seven years old to-dsy. When he was only five he'd lie like all natur' ; when he got to six he was sassy aud impudent as any critter could be, and now he'll steal everything he can lay his hands on. - Witness —"This here feller broke c ur winder with a tater, and hit Isabel ler on the «Iber, while she was playing on the pian ner." Magistrate —"The conduct of the pris ona', and his general characta', reuda' it propa' that he should no longa' be a memba' of soeieta'," (Written for the "Clayton Herald.'') THE SOUTHWEST." Extracts from a Traveler's Note Book. Texas. I have often heard it said—"About as well go to Texas and be shot as any way"—signifying, that a person ran des perate chances there in the "Game of Life. when Texas was the " Paradise for Crim inals'—when it was the refuge for every one who had committed crime in the States and could get away, for the "min ions of Law" never followed him here. 'It is said in those days, every man who landed from the boats at Galveston, was invariably asked, ''What he bad done to run away"—guilt was understood. But those were the days of the Republic, when the bowie-knife and the revolver were the only law—as they are in some parts of the State yet. Texas is now being filled Up by a bet ter class of people, and they are pushing the former class back towards the fron tiers. They can't associate. The sav agest set of beings I ever saw, w«.*» a. /rrmfiernien. fchcat had been driving a drove of cattle in from the West. I saw them in Galveston on a spree. They were all quite six feet high, large, brawny fellows, with long, flaxy hair hanging half way down their backs. Some wore Indian head-dresses—circu lar pieces of red flannel, stuck full of gaudy feathers—which were, no doubt, the spoils of some fight. The rest of their attire consisted of a pair of buck skin trowsers and a red and white woolen shirt. Each had bucWed around his waist two six-shooters and a bowie knife, and carried a huge club in his hand, They inspired terror wherever they went. But such men as these are needed on our frontiers; none others could withstand tlicir life of hardships, surrounded, as they always are, by con stant danger from the Indians. The life of the frontiormen afford quite a study. They are the staunchest kind of friends, requiring no guarantees for their friendship, setting aside all prece dents—and who knows what tlieir Such may have been the case so a P might be—they repose their entire confidence in you, long as you act your part right. They are the kind of friends who will go through danger for one. But once betray their confidence, and they will view^ vnu as thov woni an Indian, as a dangerous being to the community, fit to bo shot down at the first opportunity. They are banded to gether by a sense of common danger, and are forced into these habits for their common safety. A regiment or two of these men, if allowed to fight in their own wny, would do more towards quel ling our Indian difficulties, than all the troops the Government has out on the frontiers. ' There are a great many Mexicans in this State. This is a sneaking, cunning looking race; their very step and action denoting craftiness and treachery. In talking to a person they will never look him in the face, but always keep their eyes bent on the ground, and oue can aee harm lurking in them. They have a dried up, dirty complexion, and keen black eyes, and ure of medium stature. In disposition very taciturn and mo rose. I always apprehended danger from this people. On one occasion I had to cross a prairie about ten miles wide, and when about halfway across I discovered a Mexican lying in the grass by the side of the trail. It was too lato then to change my course, as it would have shown signs of fear—for, like all Indian races, they will not attack fairly and squarely—so I went oh by him. But in doing so, took my rifle, which was my constant companion on such missions, and laid it across the pommel of the saddle, with the muzzle towards the Mexican. He then took up his gun, which before I had not ob served, and held it in ah upright po sition. We presented arms and passed by at mutual defiance. I will not deny that I was not somewhat frightened, I hurried on my mule to get out of his reach, and cast many a glance hack to see if he was taking aim at me. The only criminals receiving capital punishment in Texas are horse and cat tle thieves. The stockraiser's brand is sacred—every one being duly recorded at the State capital. I do not. mean to say that the thieves receive their sen tence according to the law, hut that they are lynched. Such a rigorous law as this is needed for the stockraisers pro tection, whose cattle roam over forty or fitly miles of country without any other safeguard. All cases of murder are con sidered in the light of duels. I never heard of an execution for this crime. Sometimes the culprit is arrested and kept in prison for a short time, but gen erally allowed to go unmolested. The women in Texas, like the women of the Sooth in general, are inveterate users of tobacco. This practice is not confined to the lower classes, but ex tends even into the highest circles. When young ladies visit each other, the snuff bottle is a constant companion. They (ot it in their midstand "dip." The people of the Southwest don't read much. They get all their outside in formation from their politicians, and, in consequence, are a prey to every de signing man. A young lady once told , that she did not exactly think the Yankees were beasts; but that she had an idea they differed from any race of human beings sho ever saw. To the negroes they were represented as hide ous looking monsters, with a born stick one ing out of the top of their head, and one eye in the middle of their forliead. The name was used in the same manner as Cœur de Lion was by the mothers of Palestine—to quiet their children. STRIVE FOR THE BEST. 'Tis better to give a kindly word Than ever so hard a blow ; To know we have by kindness stirr'd The man who was our foe ; To feel we have a good intent, Whatever he may feci— That gentleness with us is meant To make the old wounds heal. 'Tis better to give our wealth away Than let our neighbors want ; To help them in their needful day, While they are weak and gaunt. A kindly deed brings kindly thought, In hamlet and in city; A little help, we have been taught, Is worth a world of pity. 'Tis better to work and slave and toil, Than lie about and rust— An idle Is one of the very worst. He eats the bread that others earn, And lifts his head so high As if it was not his concern How others toil'd or why. upon the soil 'Tis better to have an humble heart, Living in faith and trust ; To act an ever upward part. Remembering we are «lust; To let the streams of life run past Beloved and lovingly, , trntït in jcy at vfe* The great, «fcnrnal «a» T r . The Mountain of Lovers. BY LEIGH HUNT. We forget in what book it was, many years ago, that we read the story of the lover who was to win his mistress by carrying her to the tep of a mountain, and how he did win her. We think the scene was in Switzer land; but the mountain, though high enough to tax his stout heart to the ut most, must have been among the low est. Let us fancy it a good lofty hill, in the summer time. It was, at any rate, so high that the father of this lady, a proud noble, thought it impossible for a young man so burdened to scale it. For this reason alone, in scorn, ho bade him to do it, and his daughter should be his. The peasantry assembled in the val ley to witness so extraordinary a sight. They measured the mountain with their eyes; they communed with one an other, and shook their heads; but all admired the young man, and some of the fellows, looking at their mistress, thought they could do as much. The father was on horseback, apart and P sufl^n^re^e!^îng'^niit'^fi\rTi^ ttt /lx "J/ *" I his daughter even to the show of such a hazard, but ho thought it would teach his inferior a lesson. The young man— the son of a small land proprietor, who had some pretensions to wealth, though none to n obi lit;"—stood respectfully looking, though confident, rejoicing in his heart that he should win his mistress though at the cost of noble pain, which he could hardly think of as pain, con sidering who it was he was to carry. If ho died for it, he should at least have had her in his arms, and have looked her in the face. To clasp her person in that manner was a pleasure he contem plated with such transport, as is known to lovers ; for none others know how re spect hightens the joy of dispensing with formality, and how dispensing with formalities ennobles and makes grateful the respect. The lady stood by the side of her fa ther, pale, desirous and dreading. She thought her lover would succeed, but only because she thought him in every respect the noblest of his sex, and that nothing was too much for his strength and valor. Great fears came over her, nevertheless. She knew not what might happen in the chances «ominon to all. Sl»e felt the bitterness of being herself the burden to him and ./the task ; and dared neither to look at her father, nor the mountain. She fixed her eyes now on the crowd—which nevertheless she beheld not—and now on her hand and her finger's ends, which she doubled up towards her with a pretence—the only deception she bad ever used, Once or twice a daughter or mother slipped out of the crowd, and coming up to her, not withstanding their fears of the lord ba ron, kissed that hand which she knew not what to do with. The father said, "Now, sir, to put an end to this mummery;" and the lovor turning pale for the first time, took up the lady. The spectators rejoice to see the man ner in which he moves off, slow, but se cure, and as if encouraging his mistress. They mount the hill; they proceed well • ho halts an instant before he gets mid way, and seems refusing something; then he ascends at a quicker rate ; and now being at the midway point, shifts the lady from one side to the other. The spectators give a great shout. The ba ron, with an air of indifference, bites the tip of his gauntlet, and then casts on them an eye of rebuke. At the shout the lover resumes his way. Slow but not feeblo is his step, yet it gets slower. He 8tops again, and they think they see the lady kiss him. The women begin to tremble, but the men say he will be victorious. He re sumes again ; he is half way between the middle aud the top ; he rushes, he stops, he staggers, but he does uot fail. An other shout from the men, and ho re sumes once more; two thirds of the re maining part of the way aro conquered. They are cortain the lady kisses him on the forehead and on the eyes. The wo men burst into tears, and the stoutest men look pale, lie ascends slower than over, but seems to be more sure. He halts, but it is only to plant his foot to go on again, and thus he picks his way, planting his foot tft every step, and then gaining ground with an effort. The lady lifts up her arms as if to lighten him. See ; he is almost at the top ; he stops t he struggles ; he moves sideways, talc ing very little steps, and bringing one foot every time close to the other. Now —he is all but on the top ; be halts again ; he is fixed ; he staggers. A groan goes through the multitude. Suddenly he turns full front toward the top; it is luckily almost a level ; he staggers, but it is forward. Yes, every limb in the multitude makes a movement as if it would assist him; see, at lust, he iâ on the top; and down he falls flat witbhia burden. An enormous shout! He has won, he has won. Now he has aright to caress his mistress, and she is caress ing him, for neither of them gets up. If he has fainted, it is with joy, and it is in her arms. The baron puts spurs to his horse, the cfowd following him. Half way he is obliged to dismount; they ascend the rest of the hill together, the crowd bilent and happy, the baron ready to burst with shame and impatience. They reach the top. The lovers are face to face on the ground, the lad; With Ida reK«rnf>7~frfon hast practiced this feat before, on purpose to deceive me. Arise!" "You cannot expect it, sir," said a' worthy man, who was rich enough to speak; "Sampson himself might rest af ter this deed 1" "Part them 1" said the baron. Several persons went up, not to pert them, but to congratulate and keep them' together. These people look close; they kneel down; they bertd an ear; thsyhury their faces upon them. "God forbid they should ever he part ed more," said a venerablQ man ; "they can never he." He turned his old face st .ming with tears, and looking up at I he baron, said, "Sir, they are dead." a or • Spit tmb Tsb©m. _A young preacher, who bad juat started on his travels was one evening holding forth on the deluge; and after describing the man in which Noah built the Ark, and an itinerant, ner flllod it with animals of every kind by pairs, closed in a solemn tone thus:— •'Yon must know, my djear hearers, that it was an arduous talk for Noah (Vswfiitita T 7 «5 i 7* Lates iiut> -Some close observer says that all young ladies who are accustomed to read newspapers are sore to posses winning ways, bird-like dispositions, have culti- vated minds, never commit suicide, uor sing "No one to love;" are free from' gossiping, always select good' husbands, invariably make the sweetest and best wives, and cover apply for a divorce. -At a training down East, after an order was given to " return ramrods," one of the soldiers broke from the line, and was off at full speed. " Hallo !" bawled the commanding of floor, " where are you going?" ''Down to Squire Muggins, to return the ramrod I borrowed of him. Yon said, *• return ramrods." -A Clergyman in this city, cate chizing the youth of his church, put a question from a catechism te a girl. "What is your consolation in life and and death?" The girl smiled, but did not answer. The clergyman insisted. "Well," said she, ''since I must tell yon, it is a young man that lives on Water street." -"Have you ground all the tools right, ns 1 told you this morning when I went away?" said a carpenter to a rath- er green lad whom he had taken for an apprentice. "All but the band replied the lad very promptly;* 4 I couldn't get all the gaps out of that." -A girl who had become tired of single blessedness thus wrote to her in tended husband : " Dear Bill—Como right off, if you're coming at all ; Edward Keldermtm is insistin' that I shall Inn e him, and he hugs and kisses mo so continually that I can't hold out much longer." -Jonathan presented himself and his intended to the minister for the pur- pose of being married. Being question- ed if they had been published: "Oh, I guess so, for I told it to Uncle Ben, and he told his wife more 'an a week ago." -A young fellow once offered to kiss a Quakeress. " Friend," said she, " thee must not do it." "Oh, by Jove! but I must," said the youth. " Well, friend, as thee hast sworn, thee may do it, but thee must not make a practice of it." -Many a man thinks ita virtne that keeps him from turning a rascal when it's only a lull stomach. If every man's breast could be looked into, there would be found the image of some woman. -"How do you and your wife get on?" "Oh, rather badly, sbo gave me her hand a while ago and I thanked her, she gives it to me now every time I speak, and I'd not thank her too." -The printer of the BYeicrn Gazette recently published the following notice: "Dry stove wood wanted immediately at this office, in exchange for papers. N.B.—Don't bring logs that the devil can't split." -The Copperheads are jubilant, so aro the rebels; so were they both af- ter Iho battles of Bull Run and Fred- ericksburg. , sirr