“THE WOULD WOULD BE THE BETTER 
FOE IT.” 
This noble poem has been often supposed to be of 
foreign authorship, but it is by M. II. Cobb, editor of 
“The Agitator,” in Wellsboro, Tioga Co., Pa. 
If men cored less for wealth and fame, 
And le** for battle-fields and glory, 
If, writ In human hearts, a name 
Seemed bettor than In song or story: 
If men, instead of nursing pride 
Would learn to hate it and abhor it, 
If more relied 
On love to guide, 
The world would be the better for it. 
If men dealt less in stocks and lands, 
And more in bond" and deeds fraternal, 
If Love’s work hod more willing hands, 
To link this world with the supernal; 
If men stored up Love's oil and wine 
And on bruised human heart* would pour it, 
If “yours’ 1 and “mine" 
Would once combine 
The world would be the better for it. 
If more would act the play of Life, 
And fewer spoil It In rehearsal; 
If Bigotry would sheath its knife, 
’Till good became more universal; 
If Custom, gray with ages grown, 
Had fewer blind men to adore it,— 
If Talent shone 
In Truth aland, 
The world would he the hotter for it. 
If men were wise In little things— 
Affecting less in all their dealings; 
If hearts had fewer mated strings 
To isolate their kindred feelings; 
If men, when Wrong heats down the Right, 
Would strike together to restore it,— 
If Right made Might 
In every fight, 
The world would be the better for it. 
[From the Cornhlil Magazine.] 
BEAUTY AND THE BEAST. 
BY MISS THACKERAY, 
AUTHOR OR “ THB VILLAGE ON THE CLIFF,” ETC. 
PART I. 
I. 
Fairy times, gills, music and dauces are said 
to be over, or, as it bas been said, they come to 
us so disguised and made familiar by habit that 
they do not seem to us strange. 11. and I, on 
either side of the hearth, these long past winter 
evenings, could sit without fear of fiery dwarfs 
skipping out of the ashes, or black puddings 
coming down the chimney to molest, ns. The 
clock ticked, the window-pane rattled. It was 
only the wind. The hearth-brush remained 
motionless on its hook. Pussy dozing on the 
hearth, with her claws quietly opening to the 
warmth of the blaze, purred on and never once 
startled us out uf our usual placidity by address 
ingois iu human tones. The children sleeping 
peacefully up stairs were not suddenly whisked 
away and changelings deposited in their Cribs. 
If H. or i opened our mouths, pearls and dia¬ 
monds did not drop out of them, but neither 
did frogs and tadpoles fall from between our 
lips. The looking-glass tranquilly reflecting 
the comfortable little sitting-room, and the stiff 
ends of ll.’s cap-rib bone, spared us visions of 
wreathing clouds parting to reveal distant scenes 
of horror and treachery. Poor H.! I am not 
sure but that she would have gladly looked in a 
mirror in which she could have sometimes seen 
the images of those she loved; but our chimney- 
glass, with Its gilt moulding and bright polished 
surface, reflects only such homely scenes as two 
old women at work by the tire, some little In¬ 
dian children at play upon the rug, the door 
opening and Susan bringing in the tea-thiugs. 
As for wishing-eluths and little boiling pots, 
and such like, we have discovered that, instead 
of nibbing lamps or spreading magic tablecloths 
upon the door, we have but to ring an invisible 
bell (which te even less trouble,) and a smiling 
genius in a white cap and apron brings in any¬ 
thing we happen to fancy. When the clock 
strikes twelve, II. puts up her work and lights 
her candle; she has not yet been transformed 
into a beautiful princess all twinkling with jew¬ 
els, neither does a scullion ever stand before 
me in rugs; she does not murmur farewell for¬ 
ever and melt through the keyhole, but “ Good 
night,” as she closes the door. One night at 
twelve o’clock, just after she had left me, there 
was indeed a loud orthodox ring at the bell, 
which started us both a little; II. oeme running 
down again without her cap, Susan appeared in 
great alarm from the kitchen. “ It is the back¬ 
door bell, ma’am,” said the girl, who had been 
sitting up over her new Sunday gown, but who 
was too frightened to see who was ringing. 
I may as well explain that our little house is 
in a street, but that our back windows have the 
advantage of overlooking the. grounds of the 
villa buionging to our good neighbor and friend, 
Mr. Griffiths, in Castle Gardens, and that a door 
opens out of our little back garden into his big 
one, of which we are allowed to keep the key. 
This door had been a postern gate once upon a 
time, for a bit of the old wall of the park is still 
standing, against which our succeeding bricks 
have been piled. It was a fortunate chance for 
us when'our old ivy-tree died and w T e found the 
quaint little doorway behind it. Old Mr. Grif¬ 
fiths was alive then, and, when I told him of my 
discovery, be good-naturedly cleared the way on 
his side, and so the oak turned once more upon 
its rusty hinges to let the children puss through, 
and the-nursemaid, instead of pages and secret 
emissaries and men-at-arms; and about three 
times a year young Mr. Griffiths stoops under 
the arch on his way to call upon us. I say 
young Mr. Griffiths, but I suppose be is over 
thirty now, for it is more than ten years since 
his father died. 
When I opened the door, in a burst of wind 
and wet, I found that it was Guy Griffiths who 
stood outside, bareheaded in the rain, ringing 
the bell that w inter night. “ Arc yon up ?” he 
said. “ For Heaven’s sake come to my mother, 
she’s feinted ; her maid is away; the doctor 
doesn’t come. I thought you might know what 
to do.” And then he led the way through the 
dark garden, hurrying along before me. 
Poor lady, when 1 saw her I knew that it was 
no fainting-tit, but a paralytic stroke, from which 
Bhe might perhaps recover in time; I could not 
tell. For the. present there was little to be done: 
the. maids were, young and frightened; poor Guy 
wanted some word of sympathy and encourage¬ 
ment. So far I was able to be of use. We got 
her to bed and took off her finery,—she had been 
out at a dinner-party, and had been stricken 
on her return home,—Guy had discovered her 
speechless in the library. The poor fellow, 
frightened and overcome, waited about, trying 
to be of help, but he was so nervous that be 
tumbled over us nil, and knocked over t he chairs 
and bottles in bis anxiety, and was of worse than 
no use. His kind old shaggy face looked pale, 
and hie brown eyes ringed with anxiousness. 1 
was touched by the young fellow’s concern, for 
Mrs. Grifiiths had not been a tAnder mother to 
him. How she had snapped and laughed at him, 
and frightened him with her quick sarcastic 
tongue and hard unniotberlike ways. I won¬ 
dered if she thought of thi* at she lay there 
cold, rigid, watebiug us wjtji elf& s y, senseless 
♦yes. 
The payments and debts and returns of affec¬ 
tion are at all times bard to reckon. Some 
people pay a whole treasury of love in return 
for a.stone, others deal out their affection at 
interest, others again take everything, to the 
uttermost farthing, and cast it into the ditch, 
and go their way and leave their benefactor pen¬ 
niless and a beggar. Guy himself, hard-headed 
as he was, and keen over his ledgers in Moor- 
gate street, could not have calculated such sums 
as these. All that she had had to give, all the 
best part of her shallow store, poor Julia Grif¬ 
fiths had paid to her husband, who did not love 
her: to her second son, whose whole life was a 
sorrow to his parents. When he died she could 
never forgive poor Guy for living still, for being 
his father’s friend and right band, and sole suc¬ 
cessor. Bhe had been a real mother to Hugh, 
who was gone; to Gny, who was alive still and 
patiently waiting to do her bidding, she had 
shown herself only a stepdame; and yet I am 
sure no life-devoted mother could have been 
more anxiously watched and tended by her son. 
Perhaps—how shall I say what 1 mean V—if he 
had loved her more, and been more entirely one 
with her now, his dismay would have been less, 
his power greater to bear her pain, to look on at, 
her struggling agony of impotence. Even pain 
does not come between the love of people who 
really love. 
The doctor came and went, leaving some com¬ 
fort behind him. Guy sat up all that night burn¬ 
ing logs on the lire in the dressing-room, out of 
the bedroom in which Mrs. Griffiths was lying. 
Every now and then I went in to him and found 
him sitting over the hearth shaking his great 
shaggy head, as he had a way of doing, aud bit¬ 
ing his lingers, and muttering, “ Poor soul, poor 
mother.” Sometimes he would eomo in creak¬ 
ing on tiptoe; but his presence seemed to agi¬ 
tate the poor woman, and I was obliged to mo¬ 
tion him back again. Once when I went in and 
sat down for a few minutes in an arm-chair be¬ 
side him, he suddenly began to tell me that there- 
had been trouble between them that morning. 
“ It made it very hard to hear,” he said. I asked 
him what the trouble had been. “ I told her 1 
thought 1 should like to marry,” Guy confessed 
with a rueful face. (Even then I could hardly 
help smiling.) “Selfish beast that 1 am. I up¬ 
set her, poor soul. I behaved like a brute.” 
His distress was so great that it was almost im¬ 
possible to console him, and it was in vain to 
assure him that the attack had been produced 
by physical causes. “Do yon want to marry 
any one in particular ?” I asked at last, to divert 
his thoughts, if I could, from the present. 
“No,” said he; “at least—of course she is out 
of the question—only 1 thought, perhaps some 
day 1 should have liked to have a wife and chil¬ 
dren and a home of my own. Why, the couut- 
ing-house is not so dreary as this place some¬ 
times seems to me.” And then, though it was 
indeed no time for love-conlidences, I could not 
help asking him who it was that was out of the 
question. 
Gny Griffiths shrugged bis great round shoul¬ 
ders impatiently, and gave something between a 
groan and sigh, and a smile,—(dark and 6ulky as 
lie looked at times, a smile brightened up his 
grim face very pleasautly.) 
“She don’t even know my name,” he said. 
“ 1 saw her one night at the play, and then in a 
lane in the country a little time after. I found 
out who she was. She’s a daughter of old Burly 
the stock-broker. Belinda they call her,—Miss 
Belinda. It’s rather a silly name, isn’t it?” 
(This, of course, I politely denied.) “I’m sure 
I don’t know what, there is about her,” he went 
on in a gentle voice; “ all the fellows down 
there were head over ears in love with her. I 
asked,—in feet I went down to Formborough in 
hopes of meeting her again. I never saw such 
a sweet young creature,—never. I never spoke 
to her in my life.” “ But you know her lather ?” 
1 asked. “Old Barly?—Yea,” said Guy, “hie 
wife was my father’s cousin, and we are each 
other’s trustees for some money which was di¬ 
vided between me and Mrs. Barly. My parents 
never kept up with them much, but I was named 
trustee in my father’s place when he died. I 
didn’t like to refase. 1 had never seen Belinda 
then. Do you like sweet sleepy eyes that wake 
up now and then V Was that my mother call¬ 
ing?” For u ininnte he had forgotten the 
dreary present. It all came rushing back again. 
The bed creaked, the patient bad moved a little 
on her pillow, and there was a gleam of some 
intelligence in her pinched face. The clock 
t-truck four in quick tinkling tones; the rain 
seemed to have ceased, and the clouds to be 
parting; the rooms turned suddenly chill though 
the tires were burning. 
When I went home, about five o’clock, all the 
stare had eomcout and were shooting brilliantly 
overhead. The garden seemed fall of a sudden 
freshness und of secret life stirring in the dark¬ 
ness ; the sick woman’s light was burning faint¬ 
ly, and in my own window the little bright lamp 
was lliekering which H.’e kind fingers had trim¬ 
med and put there ready for me when I should 
return. When we reached the little gate Gny 
opened it and let me pass under some dripping 
green creeper which had been blown loose from 
the wall. He took my old hand in both his big 
ones and began to say something that ended in 
a sort of Inarticulate sound as he turned away 
and trudged hack to his jjost again. I thought 
of the many meetings and partings at this little 
postern gate, and last words and protestations. 
Some may have been more sentimental perhaps 
than tills one, hut Guy’s grunt of gratitude was 
more affecting to me than many a long string of 
words. I felt very sorry for him, poor olil fel¬ 
low, as I barred the door and climbed up stairs 
to my room. He sat up watching till the morn¬ 
ing. But I was tired and soon went to sleep. 
Bomb people do very Well for a time. Chances 
are propitious, the way lies straight before them 
up a gentle inclined plane, with a pleasant pros¬ 
pect, on either side. They go rolling straight on, 
they don't exactly know how, and take it for 
granted that it is their own prudence and good 
driving and deserts which have brought them 
prosperously so fur upon their journey. And 
then one day they come to a turnpike, and des¬ 
tiny pops out of its little box and demands a 
toll, or prudence trips, or good sense shiec at a 
scarecrow put up by the wayside,—or nobody 
knows why, hut the whole machine breaks down 
on the road and can’t,be set going again. And 
then other vehicles go past, it, hand-trucks, per¬ 
ambulators, cabs, omnibuses, and great prosper¬ 
ous barouches, and the people who were sitting 
in the broken-down equipage get out and walk 
away on foot. 
On that celebrated and melancholy Black 
Monday, of which we have all heard, poor John 
Barly and his three daughters came down the 
carpeted steps of their comfortable sociable for 
the last time and disappeared at the wicket of a 
little suburban cottage,—disappeared out of the 
prosperous, pompous, highly-respectable circle 
in which they had gyrated, dragged about by 
two fat bay horses, in the greatest decorum and 
respectability; dining out, receiving their 
friends, returning their civilities, Vliss Barlys 
had left large cards with their names engraved 
upon them in return for other large cards, upon 
which were inscribed equally respectable names, 
and the addresses of other equally commodious 
family mansions. A mansion—so the house- 
agents tell ns—is a house like another with the 
addition of a back staircase. The Barlys and all 
their friends bi I back staircases to their houses, 
and to their daily life as well. They only wished 
to contemplate the broad, swept, carpeted draw- 
imr-ronm flurlife Indeed, to Anna arid Fanny 
Barly this making the best of things, curd-leav¬ 
ing and visiting, seemed a business of vital im¬ 
portance. Ttn- youngest of the girls, who had 
been christened bv the pretty silly name of Be¬ 
linda. had only lately come home from school, 
and did not value these splendors and proprieties 
so highly os her suffers did. She had no great, 
love for the life they led. Sometimes looking 
over the balusters of their great house in Capu- 
let Square she had yawned out. lond from very 
weariness, and then she would hear the sound 
echoing all the way up the skylight and rever¬ 
berating down from ballister to Imlnstcr. If she 
went into the drawing-room, instead of the 
yawning echoes the shrill voices of Anna and of 
Funny were vibrating monotonously as they 
complimented Lady Ogden upon her new ba¬ 
rouche, until Belludaconhl bear it no longer and 
would jump up and run away to her bedroom to 
escape it all. She had a handsome bedroom, 
draped in green damask, beearpeted, four-post¬ 
ed, with an enormous mahogany wardrobe, of 
which poor Belle was dreadfully afraid, for the 
doors would fly open of their owiu accord in the 
dead of night, revealing dark abysses and depths 
unknown, with black ghosts hovering suspended 
or motionless and biding their time. There 
were other horrors: shrouds waving in the 
blackness, feet stirring, and low creakings of 
garroters, which she did not care to dwell upon 
as she hastily locked the doors and pushed the 
writing-table ugainst them. 
It most therefore be confessed, that, to Belinda 
the days had been long and oppressive sometimes 
in tills handsomely appointed Tybumean palace. 
Anna, the eldest sister, was quecn-rognaut; she 
bad both ability and inclination to take the lead. 
She was short, broad und diguified, aud some 
years older than either of her sisters, Her 
Fattier respected her business-like mind, admired 
her ambition, regretted sometimes secretly that 
she had never been able to make up her mind to 
aucepl any of the eligible young junior partners, 
the doctor, the curate, who had severally pro¬ 
posed to her. But then, of course, as‘Anna 
often said, they could uni possibly got on with¬ 
out her at home. She had been in no hurry to 
leave the comfortable kingdom where she 
reigned in undisputed authority, ratifying the 
decisions of the ministry down stairs, appealed 
to by the butter, respectfully dreaded by both 
of the housemaids. VY ho w as there to go against 
her? Mr. Batty was in town all day, and left 
everything to her- Fanny, the second sister, 
was her laithlul ally. Funny was sprightly, 
twenty-one, with black eyes und a curl that was 
much admired. She was fond of fashion, flirt¬ 
ing, and finery, inquisitive, talkative, feeble¬ 
minded, aud entirely devoted to Anna. As for 
Belle, she had only come back from school the 
other day. Anna could not. quite understand 
her ut times. Fanny was of age aud content to 
do as she was but; here was Belle at eighteen 
asserting herself very strangely. Anna and 
Fanny seemed to pair off somehow, and Belle 
always had to hold her own without any assist¬ 
ance, unless, indeed, her father was present. 
He had a grout tenderness and affection for his 
youngest child, and the happiest hour of the 
day to Belinda was when she heard him come 
home and call for her in his cheerful, quavering 
Voice. By degrees it seemed to her as she list¬ 
ened, that the cheerfulness seemed to be dying 
away out ol' his voice, aud only ihe quaver re¬ 
mained; but that may have been fancy, and be¬ 
cause she had taken a childish dislike to the 
echoes in the house. 
At dinner-time Anna used to ask her father 
how things were going in the city, and whether 
shirtings had risen any higher, and at what pre¬ 
mium the Tre Rosas shares were held in the 
market. These were some shares in a Cornish 
mine company of which Mr. Barly was a direc¬ 
tor. Anna thought so highly of the whole con¬ 
cern that she had been anxious to Invest a por¬ 
tion of ber own and her sister Fanny’s money 
in it. They had some small inheritance from 
their mother, of part, of which they hud the con¬ 
trol when they came of age; the rest was in¬ 
vested in the Funds in Mr. Griffith’s name, and 
could not be touched. Poor Belie, being a 
minor, had to be content with sixty pounds a year 
for her pin-money, which was all she could get 
for her two thousand pounds. 
When Anna talked business Mr. Barly used to 
be quite dazzled by her practical clear-headed¬ 
ness, her culm foresight and powers of rapid 
calculation. Fanny used to prick up her ears 
and ask, shaking her curl playfully, how much 
girls must have to be heiresses, and did Anna 
think they should ever be heiresses? Anna 
would smile and nod her head bi a calm and 
chastened sort of way, at thus childish Impa¬ 
tience. “ You should be very thankful, Frances, 
for all you have to look to. and for your excel¬ 
lent prospects. Emily Ogden, w ith all her fine 
airs, would not lie sorry to be in your place.” 
At which Fanny blushed up bright red, and Be¬ 
linda jumped impatiently upon ner chair, blink¬ 
ing her clear gray eyes, as she hud a way pf doing. 
“Icau’t bear bilking about money,” said she; 
“anything is bettor.” Then she stopped 
short and blushed. 
“Papa," interrupted Fanny,playfully, “when 
will you escort us t.o the pantomime again ? The 
Ogdens are all going next Tuesday, and you have 
been most naughty and not, taken us anywhere 
for such u long time," 
Mr, Barly, who rfiiely refused anything any¬ 
body asked him, pushed his chair away from the 
table and answered, with strange impatience lor 
him, “My dear, I have hail no time lately for 
plays and" amusements of any 6ort. Alter work¬ 
ing from morning to night lor you all I am tired, 
and want a little peace of an evening. I have 
neither spirits nor-” 
“Dear papa,” said Belinda eagerly, “come up 
into the drawing-room and sit in the cosy-chair, 
and let me play you to sleep." As she spoke, 
Belinda smiled a dcligthful, fresh, sweet, tender 
smile, like sunshine felling on a lair landscape. 
No wonder the little Etock-brokcr was fond of 
Ills youngest daughter. Frances was pouting, 
Agnu frowned slightly as she locked up the wine 
aud turned over in her mind whether she might 
not write to the Ogdens and ask them to let 
Frances join their party; as for Belinda, playing 
Mozart, to her lather in the dim drawing-room 
up stairs, she was struck l?v the worn and liur- 
russed look in his face as he slept, snoring gently 
In accompaniment to her music. It was the last 
time Belle ever played upon the old piano. 
Three or lour days after the crash came. The 
great Tre Rosas Mining company (Limited) had 
luilcfl, und the uld-estahlished house ol Barly <& 
Co. unexpectedly stopped payment.—[Contin¬ 
ued on page ;M‘J, this number. 
Homm lot % Holing. 
For Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
MISCELLANEOUS ENIGMA. 
I am composed of 16 letters. 
My 1, 3,14,12 Is used as feel. 
My 7, 14,15 is a human being. 
My 2, 8,11 Is an agricultural implement. 
My 7, 4, 9, 9 is a young girl. 
My 11, 10, 6 Ss congealed water. 
My 10,14,18, 8 I* the name of a college. 
My 7, S, ft, 10 are little animals partial to cheese. 
My whole Is an Interesting department of the Rural. 
Bethlehem, N. Y. A. Van Allen, 
f3BF* Answer in two weeks. 
For Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
AN ANAGRAM. 
Lal tinwhi nad lal houtwit em 
Fele a calmonyelh lirthl, 
Dan het sranksed snagh tobau em¬ 
tio, who listl 1 
Ot yin etef het evlrr delight, 
Hugorth eth wkoads’s lnsnel kard, 
No het termas eth etiwb nomo hidetr 
Dee! a quaber; 
Dan het delinn vaseel boave em, 
'Lilt I kinih inose stingli rethe eb 
In sith raayred drowl batt ovel em, 
Encv cm. 
Seneca Co., N. Y. A. M. Townsend. 
Answer in two weeks. 
»■»» 
For Moore’s Rural New-Yorker, 
ALGEBRAICAL PROBLEM. 
A farmer being asked how many cows he had, 
replied“ If to the square of the number yon add 
17, eleven (11) times the square root of the sum, plus 
one, equals one hundred, (100.)” How many tows 
had heV Elbert Place. 
Ciucinnatus, N. Y. 
gag- Answer in two weeks. 
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ANSWERS TO ENIGMAS, &c., IN No. 911, 
Answer to Grammatical Enigma:—Two hundred 
years ago. 
Answer to Miscellaneous EnigmaA new broom 
sweepe dean. 
Answer to Anagram: 
In memory's mellowing glass I gaze, 
And mirrored there are other days 
The sound uf which has passed away, 
Fraught as it was with melody. 
Answer to Problem:—4278. 
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eular maybe successfully accomplished, have issued a vs 
serie.s of 
FINE STEEL-PLATE ENGRAVINGS, 
which are put on subscription at prices much below 
their retail value. 
CERTIFICATE! -4 OF STOCK IN T1IE 
WASHINGTON LIBRARY COMPANY 
Will he issued, stamped with the seal of the Company, 
and signed by the Secretary. (None others genuine,) 
Any person sending us ONE DOLLAR, or paving th« 
same to out local Agents, will receive Immediately a flan 
Steel Plate Engraving, :it choice from the lollowlDg Hat, 
aud One Certificate of Stock, insuring One Present in 
onr published schedule. 
ONE DOLLAR ENGRAVINGS. 
No. 1—"My Child I My Child”' No. 2-“Tl.ey’rt 
Saved ! They’re Saved!" No. 3—" Old Seventy-Six ; or, 
the Early Days of the Revolution 1" 
Any person paying TWO DOLLARS will receive either 
of the following fine Steel Plates, at choice, and Two 
Certificates of Stock, thus becoming entitled to Two 
Presents. 
TWO.OOLLAH ENGRAVINGS. 
No. 1—“ Washington's Courtship." No. 8—*' Washing, 
ton's Last Interview with his Mother.” 
THREE DOLLAR ENGRAVINGS, 
Any person paying THKMfS DOLLARS will receive 
the beautiful Steel Plate of 
“HOME FROM THE WAR,” 
and Three Certificate* of Stock, becoming entitled tu 
Three Presents. 
FOUR DOLLAR ENGRAVINGS. 
Any person paying FOUR DOLLARS shall receive the 
large aud beantltul Steel Plate of 
“THE PERIL! -4 OF OUR FOREFATHERS.” 
aud Four Certificates of Stock, entitling them to Four 
Present*. 
FIVE DOLLAR ENGRAVINGS. 
Any person who pays FIVE DOLLARS shall receive 
the large and splendid Steel Plate of 
“THE M A It KI AGE OF POCAHONTAS.” 
And Five Certificated of Stock, entitling them to Ive 
Presents. 
The Engravings and Certificate* will be delivered to 
each subscriber at onr Local Agencies, or sent by mall, 
post-paid, or express, a- may be ordered. 
The Wasliimtu Library Cornpi 
WILL AWAKD 
THREE HUNDRED THOUSAND DOLLAES 
IN PRESENTS TO THE SHAREHOLDERS, 
On Wednesday, Sept. 25,1867, at Philadelphia, 
Pa., or at the Institute, Riverside, N. J. 
SCHEDULE OF PRESENTS. 
weight 140 pound*, with set of superior Sin¬ 
gle Harness, &c., making a first-class estab- , M 
ualimenL. 
20 Pianos, *:«0u each.Mij* 
20 Melodeon*, f28S each .. f W 
5 Rosewood Sewing Machines,*200 each. 
to Family Sewing Machines, flOO each.J-'-W 
DO Fine Gold Watches, *200 each.10,W0 
100 Oil Painting*. by leading artists —aggregate 
value.. .... 
3 Camel’s Hair Shawls, 1 1,000 each . f'JJJ 
2 Camel’s H air Shaw Is, *.3,000 each. 6®, 
3 Haudsome Lace Shawls, *250 each. •?; 
10 Cashmere Shawls, $50 eaoli. , 
20 Silk Dress Patty run, 875 each.... LjJJj 
50 City Building Lots, $175 each.. 
The remainder will consist of Silverware, Mu¬ 
sical Boxe*. Opera Glasses, Pocket Illbles, 
and different articles of ornament aud use, 
amounting to ... . ^ 
Total. 
All the properties given clear of Incumbrance. 
HOW TO OBTAIN SHAKES AND EN¬ 
GRAVINGS. 
Send orders to us by mail, enclosing from II to 
either by Post-Office orders or In a registered letter, »* 
our risk. Larger amounts should be sent by uran v- 
express. . «* 
10 shares with Engravings. 
25 shaves with Engravings. 
GO shares with Engravings. 
75 shares with Engravings. Sim 
100 shares with Engravings. w? ' 
Local AGENTS WANTED throughout the United States 
The Association have appointed as Receivers, 
GEORGE A. COOKE A CO., whose wellki.ownffiW 
and business experience will he a sufficient guars 
that the money intrusted to them will he promptly 
plied to the purpose stated, 
PniXAPicLPHLL Pa-. *X&rary 
To the Officers caul Members (if the Washlnuton Liw 
To the Officers ami Members <f the Wash! ay ton L.w > 
Co., J\TS. HEEI), Secretary: r h . .m, 
(.KKIUHUN On receipt ot Y'>ur favor of thetJ^ 
liiKt., notifying us or our appointment . 
your Company, we took the liberty to aubintt a oopj^ 
vottr Charter, with a plan ol your enterprise, to the o>^ 
tlilzing With the the benevolent object Ol y°V, r „r£rohsu 
tion, viz; the education ami mnipto.ruuiee of the ora 
children of oar i.oldiorB and sailors at the w 
sticute, wc have concluded to accept tn« trust, 1 ; 1 
use our best effort* to promote so worthy an obJ£, - 
Respectfully, yours, &v., GEO. A. COOKE A CO. 
Address all letters und orders to 
GEO. A. COOKE & CO., BANKERS, 
33 South Third Street, Philadelphia, Pa.-> 
Receiver* lor the \\ ashlnglon Librai) 
