|Previous||1 of 4||Next|
small (250x250 max)
medium (500x500 max)
large ( > 500x500)
/ _ 0 NEW BRITAIN TIMES. VOL. III. NEW BRITAIN, CONN., SATURDAY, APRIL 7, 1860. NO. 100. T H E m m BmT&m mwasM ? A CONTIKUATIOK OF THE I T O I i T I I <Sc S O T J T H - L. M. GUERNSEY, Editor and Proprietor 5fctD Britttin, Conn. TERMS : $1.50 per annum, in Advance. In bundles of five or more to one address, $1.26. Hemberi of Normal School, lubaeribing i n »dv»neeforth* Ter«i f a m i s h e d a t t h e annual r a t *, o r ADveaTMiM : — For a Square on* •.••mui., 76 «*nt« naoh additional lnfiertion,25 cte. For half a 8 q a a r e , o no iaaertioD, 50 c e n t s ; each additional insertion. I £ c t s. n « 8 i u a r e f o r a y « a r , t l 0 . Half Square. t 6 . Business Cards, eontaiaing half square, per year, t 5 . 0 0. O- B - NGTirr^ sc 0 0 - , ^TEW BRITAIM-, COJ^JV., MANDFACTCBEB6 OF Malleable Iron Castings, Of superior quality. ^ Orders respectfully Bolicited. ^ ^ Jan. 21. 1860. « ni<»- VTB. CHAMBERLAIN, ATTORNEY AND COUNSELLOR AT UW. B al Estate and, Gentral Agent far Buying Selling, and Renting of Tenements. ^ Office, No. 3, Block. J S New Britain, Conn., Feb. 2-5, 1^60. [ lyr.94 L ^ E N T I S T K Y . DR. R. O. DUNHAM HAS MADE A PERMANENT LOCATION IN NR W BRITAIN Where he respectfully offers his services to the public and after eight years piactice in his profession, he feels prepared to perform any operation which may come un-der his care. Office in Miller's block, upstairs. Second door. H & C. S. ANDREWS, AirORNEVS AT LAW AND COUNSELLORS, FROCTOBS AND ABTOCATEB IN ADMIBAUTY, AKD SOUCITOBS OF PAIBKTS. OFFICK - - - - No. 130 NASSAU ST., N e w York. HORACE AKDEEWS. CHAUXS S. AKDREWS. MERUITT BRONSON. ATTORKEY AND COUNSELLOR AT LAW Office in Thomaon's New Boildinf. NEW BTTLTAIN. CT. Relief in Ten lllinntes! B R Y A N ' S PULMONIC WAFERS! THE nioFt certain and ipeedy remedy «r«r discovered for all Dis eases of I be CUBST AND LUNOS, COUGHS, COLDS, ASTilMA, Coosuinption, Broiichitia, Influensa, Hoarseness, Difficult Breathing, Sore Throat «-c., fcc. These Wafers ipve the most insUntaneoiis and perfect relief, and when prrmvered with accordiDK to rtirecti<«s, never tiul to effect a rupirt and lasting cure, 'i'liousands have been re»tored to per-feet health, who have tried oiber meaor in vain. To alt classes and all conviitiitions tbej ate a l)lewiB« and a cure—none need deopair, no matter liofr long thedisaaM may liave existed, or how-ever wvere it may bn, provided the orsanie siriictiiie of the vital or;: ins 18 not liopt-le«ely decayed. Every one afiUcted should cive ih**!!! an impartial trial. TO VOO .l.Ir^TS AND PDKLIO SPEAKERS, thei« Wafers a re peculiiirly vatiiahle; they will in UKB DAT remove the moat sever* <>r::H<i»iial tioar«<eoess ; aud their resuiar UMI for a few days will, at all times, increase the p«.«-er aad flexibility of the voic«, greatly iBuroving its toiie, compass find clearness, for which purpo** t h r y ace regularly used by many profaisional vocalists. J O » MOSES. Sole Proprietrtr, Kocbesier. N. T Price 25 cents per hot VOCALISTS AND PUBLIC SPEAKEES WILL FIND BETAS'S WAFEBS INVALUABLE TO RCHOTE HOARSENESS AMN SOBE TUBOAT, AND o t v E CLEARNESS TO TUE VOICE. THET BELIETE IN TEN MINUTES, OouoBS, COLDS, ANB ALL DISEASES OF THE CHEST AND LUNGS. SOLD BT ALL DBUGGISTS AT 2 a CENTS A BOX. Sold by H K. HALE & UO. Tii.e Great Engiisli Remedy! SIR JAMES CLARKE'S Celebrated Female Pills. m Prtpared from a protcrt/rfton of SIR J. CLARKE. MD., Physician Extraordinaiy to the Queen. Tm S well known Medicine is no impo»ition, but a eurt and safc remedy for Female Difficulties and Obstructions, from any eauss wfa'itever; and although a powerful remedy, it cuotaina Botbinj; hurtful to the constitution. To married Ijidies it peculiarly eaited. It will. ID A short time, bring on the monthly period with regularity. I n all cawit of Nervous and Spinal AITecaons, Pain in the Back a&d Limbs, Heaviness, Fatigue on slight exertion, PalpiUtion of the Heart, LovneM of Spiriu, tlysterics, Sick Ueadaclte, Whiten, and all the paiofu I diseases occasioned by a disordered system, theM PilU will effect a cure when all other mean* have fUled Tnest PilU haet never been kHotfH to fail where the dirttiion* the Seeoatf page of PampUrt art mil obtemed. If or full particulars, get a pamphlet free, of the agent. N B . - ( I aud six postage stamps encloecd to any authariaed agent, will insure a buttle, containing over 60 pills, by return aiail 6 IB JAMICS CLARKE'S FEMALE PILL9 ARE A SCIENTIFIC PBEPABATIOB. T a s r ARE SAFE, AND NEVER FAIL ,TO REMOVE ALL OBBTBCCTIONS, AND CURE ALL FEMALE COMPLAINTS, WHEN THE DIRECTIONS ARE FOLLOWED. THET ARE A BLESSING AND A CURE. AND CAM BE SENT BT MAIL FOR ONE DOLL.\R AND SIX POSTAGE STAMPS. 6otr Sold by n . K. HALE A Co, New MrStara. SOHG. Drenched by the wintry seas. Sallied and torn. Dove of tlie distant trees. Where wast thou bom ? Who, when the autumn breeze Rifted thj nest, Drove thee, with sighs like these. Straight to my breast ? Spread not thy wings for me. White pluma^ dove; Whither should Sorrow flee. Cradled by liovh? Wet through thy pinions be, Fair thine eyes shine. Tears, if they fell on thee. Trembled from mine. From the Watchman and Reflector. *'I>EAD TREE HOLLOW." AN AFFECTINQ SKETCH. •*0f all odd mortals, Helen White, I must saj that you're the oddest." "Whj? Because Tto going on a mission of good will and chariryT" answered a lovely girl, as she smoothed the dark bands of hair beneath her bonnet, and turned away from the mirror. "No, but I shouldn't dare go to see that Debby Hathaway; she's an awful creature, and would just as lief kill you as not. "But you know I go for her good, and I'm sure of the favor of Him who controls all hearts; is not that protection enough T" "Perhaps so—but I wouldn't dare," responded the other timidly. "Besides, you don't know what a fiendish creature she is; her very eyes terrify one* I believe there isn't a sonl in this town, man, woman or child, but is afraid of Debby. And then—then—" "Out with it, Annie," said Helen, in her quick merry way. Annie spoke low, coloring a little, "Why, you know she is not fit for its to vi>it." "I wonder if the Saviour would say so," spoke up Helen, somewhat hurriedly, and in a tone in whidi, without meaning it, there was a shade of sarcastic reproof. "I wonder if He would say to us. You are my disciples; I have washed your robes so that they are snow-white; now don't go outside the pale of good society. Don't go near that poor sinner, Debby Hathaway. She's too bad to save. You've got nothing to do but to keep your own garments clean. Hers are cov-ered with crimson and bordered witb black— don't go near her. The contrast is too (^reat, be-tween you saved and her lost. O! Annie, An-nie, this is not the language of the Master. Poor Debby Hathaway! She should be pitied as much as blamed. I heard her history yesterday. Her mother died when she was born. Her father wai posfiiooate. and at times very cruel, while her brothers tyrraniied over her till she had no peace of her life. You and I may never know her temptations, Annie; let us thank God that He has spared us such fearful anguish as has filled the cup of her afTiiction. I do believe that the woman is dead at heart for the want of a little kindness. Poor soul! to think how few gentle words she has ever heard ! I'll try to plant a flower there." So saying, Helen hurried from the house, and took her way to Dead Tree Hollow—so named from a blighted oak of gigantic size that had for years stood in that bleak, deserted place. A lit-tle cottage, black and decaying, in which were two rooms; a small garden that was a miracle of thrift and neatness; these were all the signs of human habitation for an area of nearly a mile. Dark, heavy woods surrounded the place, and a sensation of desolateness at sight of the entire scene would have overcome a less hopeful spirit than that of Helen White. Debby Hathaway, like the oak, was blight-ed. For five years she had shunned all con-nection with the inhabitants of her native town. With her one little child the inheritor of sorrotv and shame, she seemed determined that evil should be her good. A few kind people had ventured to expostulate with her, perhaps to .sym-pathize, but either they did not carry with them the rijht spirit, or they failed in tact and delica-cy. At any rate, they came away with senti-ments of horror at her debasement, protesting that Debby was certainly sold to the evil one— that she was a blasphemer, a Deist, a fiend, and there was no hope for her. Helen, as she came in sight of the weird oak, whose withered arms bid defiance to the strong North wind, and whose huge roots had gathered to themselves coverlets of gray-green mosses, saw that the door of the cottage was open,and that a lit-tle child, sweet-featured but sad, sat on the worm-eaten step. The shadows of the black house fell forward, enwrapping her, types of that darker shadow thrown by her mother's sin. The child seemed to sit, aimlessly, her arms half-crossed upon her lap, her head, around which clustered a wealth of golden curls, just swaying to the slum-ber that dimmed her dreamy eyes. The very air was drowsy. The trees, few and stinted, stirred not a leaf, and one bee hummed droningly round the crimson cup of a rose, only ceasing when he lay like a lump of gold within its folding leaves. The sound of coming footsteps seemed to arouse her. She looked up, lilted her head in a startled way, edged back as if she would retreat, but still sat gazing timidly, charmed by the S^ll of a loving smile. "Won't you come to me ? ' coaxed Helen, in the lowest, softest of tones. The pretty child lifted herself with a smile, looked back to see that no one perceived her, came down with thit cautious, unwilling motion that betrays the half-fear, half-assurance that blends in a little child's reasoning; but in another moment her dimpled hand rested in the clasp of the fair young girl's finger*. "I have brought you something pretty," said Helen, bringing to light a gay-color^ toy. "Forme? for met" cried the child, breath-lessly, her cheek crimsoning, hef eye flashing. "Yes, darling, if you will give me a kiss," said Helen, charmed with the child's lovely face. "I'll kiss you." said the little one, eagerly stretching forward to hold out her lips, when a rough grasp parted the linked hands, and Helen caught sight of a dark face and vengeful eyes.— The child was lifted up by two strong arms, borne into tho house and the door closed with a spiteful violence. It had all passed so suddenly that Helen felt more bewildered, than grieved of indignant. For I a moment she turned to go, but tjie child had bc- I gan to cry with a wail that was beart-rending.— j 3be bad lost the only trea^jure ever offered her, I while it was within her grasp. Helen, made bold by her sympathy, hurried round to one of the windows, through which she saw the child. "Do let mo give her this, it will make her so happy !" she said imploringly. . "What do you waut witj me or mine ? Qet you gene," cried Debby Hathaway. "1 want to be your friend," said Helen quiet-ly- "What! my friend ! That's good, now." cried Debby, as the child grew quiet, hoping for the toy. "What sort of a friend, I wonder ?" she sneered, her dark, forbidding face growing more evil. "Such a friend as I wish others to be to me," said Helen, in a sweet, gentle voice, her face lighted up witb interest and feeling. The woman seemed struck with the reply. "If you're one of those canting religionists, come to tell me how wicked I am, and how good you are, the quicker you taie* yourself off the better," she said—in a milder tone, however. "I have no goodness of which I can boast," said Helen, softly; "and as 'for you, who can know your heart but Ood 7 Why should I re-prove you, who may be weaker than you, if trial comes ?" O ! humility, most blessed of God's handmaid-ens ! Thou hast opened the door a little way. Mercy may enter. "Well, you do seem different from the others," said Debby, the hard lines of her face softening somewhat. "May I come in and rest; I am very weary ?" asked Helen. "If you've a mind to—yes; Minnie, open the door." It was done by the diild with a glad shout. "And may I give your little girl this toy T She is a sweet child." "Yes, give it to her if you will; she don't have many." "How old is she 7" "Five—older than I ever hoped to see her." "You don't mean—" "Yes I do; you needn't look so frightened. I wish every morning that she may die before night. Many's the time I'd put her out of the world, if I dared." There was a strange mixture of ferocity and affection in the speech and action, for even as her eyes glared with some hidden hate, she pressed the child to her bosom, kissed its forehead, then looked yearningly into the sweet face now up-turned to her- "Do you think I'd wish her to grow up to be sneered at and despised for my faults ? Just im-agine a mother willing for such a fate! I wish to heaven I had died when my mother died— I hope with all the hope m my soul, that she will never grow up." "That is as God sees fit," responded Helen, al-most horror-stricken, by the woman's words. "Not always," was the reckless reply. "In-deed, I quef«tion whether there is a G^. No just being would have placed me where I was placed, would have hedged me about and left me to misery, shame and hate." The woman's words were of too bitter and painful character to be longer listened to, and Helen, with womanly tact, sought to divert her thought sinto a pleasanter channel. During the conversation, the child—sitting in its mother's lap—had fallen asleep. "See," said Helen, "your little one is bleeping. She is very beautiful. How you must love her!" "I do love her!" sricd the woman, diverted for a moment from her own suffering, while the tears began to gather in her eyes, "1 do love her.— She is a l f l have to love." "Now, how would you feel if some one stand-ing near you bent over yon as you bend over that child, and loved you as you love her 7" asked Helen, softly. "How would I feel 7 Don't ask me that ques-tion ; don't mock me,' else I shall think you're not what you seem," cned the woman passion-ately. It's like asking a starving man how he would like food, while you give him nothing." "But there is One who desires to love you with a thousand times stronger love than you feel for your child," murmured Helen. "One who desires to love me—what do you mean girl ?" "The love of Jesus Christ," said Helen, "is greater than ever mother bore her child. He is speaking to you now through my words. He says, 'come unto me,' you who are 'weary and heavy-laden, and I will give you rest.' O, if you could realize what deathless love He gives to the heart-broken, fon^aken ones who love Him, you would seek to find a resting-place in Him for your poor, wearied heart." The woman drew a long breath. She turned troubled glanccs about her. First, her face was stony. Then the muscles worked. Again, the frown of hate, the flash of defiance would gleam out, and then the eye would fall and the lips quiver. "It's no nse," she cried at last, so violently that the child started in its sleep; "it's no use to be ugly as I feel now. I'm the wretchedest mor-tal on the face of this wide earth. I hate in the morning, and at midday, and at night. If I see man or woman pass me, there s p r i n s f s a curse to my lips. I'm almost tired of hating," she said slowly and mournfully, her bosom heaving with a weary sigh. "I have known the time that I have ached here," she added, pressing her heart, "with the very evil of n.y feelings and my wishes, when it seemed as if some awful trouble would be a relief to me. I've gone aut there, yes, and taken Minnie in my arms under that old wither-ed tree, and dared the lightning to strike me when the thunder rolled from one end of the world to the other. I don't wonder you shndder, you're too young, and know too little of wretch-edness and suffering to understand such things, but"—she sighed again—"1 fejl like another creature while I'm talking to you. I wish it might last, but there, what am I, afrer all ?" "One of God's children, and my sister," sob-bed Helen, overcome with the intensity of her feelings. The woman began to rock back and forth, and large, heavy tears fell unwiped as she heard the words. "I thought I was hardened to everything," she said, stooping forward, her foot working, her fin-gers olasping and unclasplpg over the sleeping body of her child. "I thought I was given over, I thought I was lost—but—but—I—don't know as I am,*' she sobbed now, as if her very heart would break. The child, as if it were dreaming of angels, smiled; the sunlight played goldenly over her face; the woman, the very cottage, seemed transformed in the rays of the glory that gladdened the whole west. "Lost! O, no, no," said Helen, "none are lost who come to Christ and accept Him as their Lord and Saviour. Yes, your heart is soft again.— You yearn for somob^y to love you in your lone-some home. You long for somebody to go to, and tell all your sorrows. You will say you hive lost so many years of your life when you feel what He is, what he would have been long ago, if you would only give up this rebellion.— If, as a little child would ask its parent, you ask Him to love you, you will never wish yourself dead again, never—for you will have enough to fill all your heart and hands to train little Min-nie for Heaven." "Do you think so 7" cried the woman, "O! tell me how. I'm afraid when you're gone all these feelings will go too. It's ten years since I've shed a t e a r ; in nay bit4«ro«t trouble I've laughed; I've defied everything. Is it the tears that have made my heart softer 7" "No"—Minnie awoke as Helen knelt down be-fore the woman, and took her hands with a ten-der pressure—"no, it isn't the tears, though they've made you feel better; it's the coming back into God's family again, after being away and feeding on bitter husks ; it's the coming to One who will keep you from yourself, and love you with an unselfish love, and purify you, giv-ing you innocent thoughta and holy emotions, and blessings for others instead of hate. O! don't stop. Give him your whole heart; give it to Him, now. I will pray for jou. I will come here—I will be your friend, your sister, if you will let me. It is for you to say—wilf you ? "What shall I do ?" sobbed the woman. "Love Him. You must; He will draw yon; He will never let you alone now. His Holy Spirit has found entrance to your heart; will you let him purify all the dark places, and make it fit and clean for Christ to dwell in 7" "How can 17 What am I to do ?" cried the woman, while the little child sat gazing with won-drously solemn eyes, in which there was some-thing of fear; for when had she seen her mother weep? "Pray," said Helen, softly, "pray. You need no minister to tell you how now, for you alone know what you need. Your soul is heavy. He will lighten it; sad. He will make it joyful; re-vengeful, it needs to forgive the greatest wrong that was ever done to you." "No—no," interrupted the woman, shudder-ing, "I can't do that." "Yes you can," replied Helen, in low tones, "and as you forgive, so shall you be forgiven. You will not lose heaven for the gratification of one bad passion that only makes you wretched. Come, my sister, seek peace in Christ by asking Him for it, and bring this little lamb with you." There was one struggle. It played like hot flames upon that face, the whole being writhed under the fierce assault of the tempter. Then she sprang to her f^t, ciying with a strong voice, "I will—I WILL, for I had rather die by slow tortures than carry this burdened life with me another day. There must be rest somewhere, there must be; but O! it is so dark now." Yes, the resolve was made. In utter gloom she had determined to seek the Saviour. Not without many and fierce struggles did the soul, bound hand and foot as it were, come up like the sheeted Lazarus out of the tomb of its un-belief, and through God's grace, walk forth a new being to see new life and new beauty clothing even the very grass of the fields, and smiling from the gnarled limbs of the blasted tree where she had prayed for death and not life. It was the work of many days. It was compassed by much anguished pleading; by a true repentance. It was scaled by Christ, and in open profession of love to Him, she declared her allegiance and faith. [Concluded next voeek^ !E7" "Jane," said a wag, "it's all over town." "What's all over town 7" "Mud!" Jane's eyeff dropped. H i n t s a b o u t A v o i d i n g ^ F i r e s - Very many large fires, as well as many severe burns, may be avoided by understanding that air is necessary to produce combustion, and that the exclusion of air is as efi^tual as an application of water. Indeed, in extinguishing fire, water chiefly acts by shutting out air, and any other means of shutting out the air is just as efiectual. We have shown this frequently in lectures on heat, by pouring upon the table a quantity of spirits of turpentine, alcohol, or ether, and when set on fire so as. to produce a large flame, we have instantly extinguished it. by quickly sproad-ing over it a silk handkerchief or piece of paper, which for the instant shuts out the air. A week or two since, a young lady in Dan-bury, Ct, upset a camphene lamp, the contents of which spread over her dress and enveloped her in flames, but she seized a blanket firom a bed, and immediately wrapped it chjsely around her, and thus smothered the fire, shut out the air, and escaped without injury. Five years since, we were transferring from one vessel to another, two gallons of mixed sulphuric ether and chloro-form— both very inflammable substances, which bum with a great flame—when a person in the room carelessly brought a lighted lamp near, and set the whole on fire. We instantly snatched a table-spread from a table near by, and with this entirely covered the flame and extinguished it. We sacrificed the dishes and food upon the table, bnt saved the house, perhaps the block of build-ings, and perhaps our lives, as a moments delay would have enveloped the whole room in flames. Two years since, a servant girl, contrary to oft repeate.d and positive directions, undertook to fill a fluid lamp while burning, and, as was certain to be the case, the can of liquid took fire, (not "exploded,") and was dropped upon the floor,, setting her undor garments on fire. She ran for the door, but another domestic happened to catch hold of her outer ok>thes in rach a way as to draw them closely around her, and thos unwit-tingly smothered the flames, while a member of the family extiaguished the burning lamp, can, and fluid upon the floor, by spreading an ironing cloth over them. Some dosen years since, one of the boyst>h our farm was at work in the horse and carriage bara, before light one winter mornings When called to breakfast, he left the lantern where it was knocked down by one of the horses, and a large mass of straw for bedding was set on fire. When discovered, the whole mass—fear or five feet in diameter—was in a flame, that nearly reached to the hay banging down from a mow above, eontaining several tons. In this ease a horse blanket was at once thrown upon the cen-tre of the flame, and others quickly added, and the fire extinguished without damage, although large volumes of smoke poured forth from the door and other openings, and almost prevented any one from entering. We have known of instances of rooms beihg found on fire, where, by closing them up, the fire has been confined and kept in a smothered state, until sufficient help with abundance of water could be procured to at once extinguish the flameH. In a great number of instances, extensive confla-grations could have been avoided, had the fire been kept where it originated till eikient aid had arrived. This could have been done by simply closing up the doors and windows, instead of throwing them all wide open as is usually the case. We have thus given a few instances, and we might add many others, where serious injury lia^ been averted by applying a simple preventative, that of shutting out the free access of air which i is necessary to feed the flame. Let all persons fix it ia their minds, and in the minds of every member of their families, old and young', that Other means than water may be used to smoiher fire. Do not teach this by precept only, for in the excitement of a fire, mere precept will be forgotten, but let a few experiments be made btj-iore the family, to illustrate the principle. For example, pour upon the hearth—or bv.>tter, upon a flat stone or board out of doors—a quan-- tity of alcohol, turpentine, burning fluid, oil, eth-- er, or other inflammable substance, set it on fire, and then extinguish it by spreading a cloth quick-ly over it. l^light it and extinguish it with a newspaper, and repeat the experiment with a handkerchief, an apron, a dress, a cloak, a table-cloth, bed-quilt, dcc. It would be well to make the experiment with burning shaving^ Tae experiment may be varied by smearing an up-right block, barrel or post with oil, alcohol or otherwise, and when on fire extinguishing it with^ a cloth or old garment. Some simple experiments like these are always interesting; they develope thought,and prepare one for acting coolly and effectually in an emer-gency.— American Agriadturist. Tmt LESSON OF THS GARDEN.—^A garden i» a beautiful book, written by the finger of God: every flower and every leaf is a letter. You have only to learn them—and he is a poor danc» that cannot, if he will, do that—to learn theai. and join them, and then go on reading and read-ing and you will find yourself carried away from the earth to the skies by the beautiful story you are going through. You do not know what beautiful thoughts—for they are nothing short— vgrow out of the ground, and seem to talk to a man; and then there are some flowers—they Til-ways seem to be like over dutiful children—tend them ever so little, and they come op Md flour-ish, and show, as I may say, their bright and happy faces to you.—Jerrold. The Chicago Tribune publishes a list of 42 hotels in that city that will make no deviations from their ordinary prices, during the sessina o f the Republican Convention.
|Title||New Britain times, 1860-04-07|
|Uniform Title||New Britain times (New Britain, Conn. : 1859)|
|Subject||New Britain (Conn.) -- Newspapers|
|Description||Frequency: Weekly; Publication dates: Vol. 3, no. 71 (Sept. 17, 1859) -|
|Contributors||Guernsey, Lucius M|
|Collection||Newspapers of Connecticut|
|Source - Location||Connecticut State Library microfilm, AN104.N5 N67|
|Relation||Preceding title: North and South, and New Britain journal|
|Rights||Digital Image © Connecticut State Library. All rights reserved. Images may be used for personal research or non-profit educational uses without prior permission. For permission to publish or exhibit, see Reproduction and Publication of State Library Collections, http://ctstatelibrary.org/reproduction-publication/|
|CONTENTdm file name||13335.cpd|
NEW BRITAIN TIMES.
VOL. III. NEW BRITAIN, CONN., SATURDAY, APRIL 7, 1860. NO. 100.
T H E
m m BmT&m mwasM ?
A CONTIKUATIOK OF THE
I T O I i T I I
|CONTENTdm file name||13331.pdfpage|