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T H NORTH AMD SOUTH, i r i t f i i I f i i r i B VOLUME I I. NEW BRITAIN, CONNECTICUT. SATURDAY, DECEMBER 11, 1858. T H E (Xnb New Sritaitt Jonrnol, • I . I I I V B V R B I T T , R 4 i l « r , l i . m . O V B R I f S B V , P r * p r l « l * r , WILL BE IMOCD KVBRY BATUBDAT, ' I t M tk« Printini Ofllw of the Pi0|irl«t0r, tn lh« BiMin«iit rf th« naplUt Ckttich, N«w DkiTAia Coim. X b b i u : $ 1 . 6 0 p«r annum, in Advanoe. In bundles of five or more to one addres*. $1.25. MemlMn of No»m»l School, iabwrlblng In •<lT»nc« tor tba Torfc, AicDlahad at the anDual rate. TMMt or ABT««TiiiiWt-For a Pquare, one InHrMon, 76 cento, MOh aMltloo»» inWrUon, ^^ o«. For" half • Square, one lniaHon,60 c e n u ; each iMlilltloniil iMurtlon. 15 eta. One Squaw for a yeM,;#lO. Half Square «0. fluainewi CarUi, oonlalDlog ha f aquare, per year, TFI-OO. THE PIBST SHADOW. DY T. S. ARTHUR. ^ t S u b b a t ^ ®ljcnm§ J f i m i b e. B E T H Y S E L F. Be THTsBLf, my firiend and brother. Do thy duty faithfully; Covet not to bo another; Work thy way and thou shalt see. There's a sphere of useful action. Circling erery sou of Man; Spite of prejudice or faction. He who would be useful, CAN. WHAT THOO ART ? Aye, U ^ thy power; Work with all the might thou hast; Loiter not a single hour. Do thy dnty to the lasU Whether hand, or head, or heart. Or some humbler member still. Do thy duty — act thy part. Labor with a right good will. Labor in the sphere assigned thee, Labor for thy brother Man, I^bor — and success will find tree; Do thy work; NO OTHER CAN. If it be to 1 ly the anvil. Or to brenk the virgin soil — Or whatever else it tuny be, Seek not, wish not lighter toil. There's a secret thrill of gladnees Waits thee when thy work is done, Labor, though it be in sadness — fie THTSELF and labor on. Education and Self Commnnion. When, at the close of the day or week, you are surrounded by your children : when they are con-tented and happy in your society; while you are convincing them of your tender affection and so-licitude, thereby exciting their reciprocal love and gratitude, and winning their confidence j how eapy would it be for you at the same time, to direct their attention to the past, and enduce them to the exercise of such questions as these: ' How have I spent this day or week ? Have I this day or this week learned anything, or done anything which actually gives me any true cause of pleas-ure and satisfaction, and which may b» beneficial to myself and others in future 7 Have I, in thi^ time, made such progress in any art, science, or accomplishment, as I had ought 7 or have I said and done things of which I must be ashamed, which I must long regret, whoso hnrtfal oonse-quences I mast long suffer 7 Have I not caused a sigh in some one, whom I have injured 7 Is there none even now sorrowful and distressed, be-cause I refused him the help and consolation which he begged of me to bestow 7 Have i not said or done something, which might occasion my parents, and the tcachers, or those that wait upon rne, un-easiness, sorrow and sadness? Happy would it be for you, and your children, would you thus, by degrees, accustom them to self-examination, if you would occasionally lead the way in this work of your own example, in coniesaing and deprecating, if you are not ashamed, your own fBult«, at least those you have committed in their presence; la menting the omiti»&on of those good deeds which you should have done, and rejoicing with them on the reflection of those, which you have actually furformed ; thus teaohing them wisdom and vir-tue by the contemplation of their own oonduot and yours.—Z'Mikojer, Ida was a bride. Onward through the whole year of patient watching, had she moved towardi this blessed 'estate, all her thoughts gilded over, all her fancies radiant with love and beauty. And now she was a bride—a happy bride. He who had won her was worthy to wear her as a crown. Kind, honoiable and gifted—his praise waa on the lips of all moo. ...v Yea, Ida was a happy bride. It^was the bloom-ing, fragrant spring time. Singing birds were in all the trees musical waters glided through the peaceful landscape ; ami a cloudless sky bending over all. The blessednesR of this new life was greater than she had imagined, in all the warmth of her maiden taneies. / A moon had waxed and waned since the lover became a husband; a moon, dropping the sweets of Mount Hybia. It was evening, and Ida stood by the window, looking out through the dusky air, waiting and wishing for the return of her husband, who was later than usual from his home. At last her glad eyes caught a glimpee of his well known lorm, and starting back from the win-dow, she went with springing steps to meet him at the door; opening it ere his hand could ring the bell. " D ^ r Edward!" What a gushing love waa in her voice! She raised her iips for a kiss, and a kiss was given. But, somehow, its warmth did not go down to her heart. '•Are you not well, dear?" she asked very tenderly, as they entered their pleasant little par-lor, and she looked up into his face and tried to read its expiression. But the twilight was too deep. " Quite as usual, love." The voice of her husband was low und gentle; but it had a new and changed sound for the young wife's ears—a sound that made her heart tremble. And yet his uriu was around her, and he held one of her hands, tightly compressing it within his owa. . It grow dark in the room before the gas was lighted. When the strong rays fell suddenly up-on the face of her husband, ida saw a change there also. It was clouded. Not heavily cloud-ed— but still in shadow. Steadily and earnest-ly she looked at him, until be turned his face partly away, tp escape the searohiog lonitiny. " You are not well, Eiward." Ida looked se-rious— almost concerned. Don't troable yourself. I'm very well." Ho smiled, and patted her cheek playfully— or rather with an attempt ut playfulness. Ida was not deceived. A change had passed over her husband. Something was wrong. He waa not what he had been. In due time tea was announced, and the little family party of two gathered around the table in the neat breakfast room. " Bgrnt toast and dish-water tea, as usual!" These were the first words spoken by the young huaband, afler sitting down to the fable; and the manner in which they were uttered, left Ida in no doubt as to his state of fbeling. A few hours earlier the young husband had called in to see his mother, an orderly, indus-trious woman, and a notable housekeeper. As usual, he was full of the praise of his beautiful young wife, in whom he had yet seen nothing to blame—nothing bdo^ perfection. But his moth-er looked at her with different eyes. Living in the world was with her no holiday affair, and marriage no mere honeymoon. She was too se-rious in all her views and feelings to have much patience with what sho esteemed mere play-day life. A little jealous of her son's affection, she was, withal; and its going forth to another, with an ardor so different from what it had ever* gone forth to herself, made her feel cold toward the dear little wife of Edward, who was its favorite object. " It is time," she said, with a distance of man-ner that surprised her son, •• for you and Ida to be a little serious. The honeymoon is over, and the quicker you come down to sober realities tlio better. There is one about Ida that rather T r u s t in G o d . — I t is sweet to trust a faithful Father; and that exercise of mind to which he calls, when we cannot see what he is working, is sometimes, in the hands of the spirit of love, the very choicest blossinu to the soul. Every fresh exorcise of trust and confidcnue in Him, strength-ens und prepares for yet stronger confidence, for greater joy in the Lord, fur more unbroken • peace in btilicving.' And whut a boon is this! to feel curthly and luudable buurces of enjoyment reced-ing liom our touch, yet our huppincus not only undinrtnitthud, but growing excccuiijgly in degree and in kind, by realizing huw entiiely indeptatd- LMit it is of all created souruid — how immediate-ly frcui the fbuntuin of God; and we are so prone after all. to cling to some earthly thing, which even it a spiritual and hallowed thing in itself, yet beooiites a snare, by the tenacity with which we hold it, so that our Father's love often takes from us even this, Icht a rival, though u holy one, love enter the heart with Him. The fullnees of his can never be understood till no rival is there — till be has the sole Hoverui^jnty, without the thought of another; and to secure this unutterable joy, he seiultt trial upon trial, to wean us from the iMsloied but too engro^sing ot>jeci, that we 'may be filled with the fulliiewi of God.'—Mevioir of Mariha bhermau, page '612. Nebrabka.—There is in the Nebraska Baptist AfKOoiatioii, nine ehurchei', embracing a uiuuibcr- »b p of a hundr.d ui-d twenty. thing disappoints me." Edward was too much surprised at this unex-pected annunciation to speak. His mother went on. " She's no housekeeper—" » She's young, mother. She'll learn," he said, interrupting her. »• She had no right to marrv until she knew how to make a cup of tea !" The old lady spoke with considerable asperity. "Mother!" " I say just what I moan. Not a single oup of tea have I yet tasted in your house that was fit to drink ! I don't know how you can |>ut up with Huch stuff. You would not have done it at my table, I'm very sure " F!ease, mother, don't talk so any more about Ida ! I can't Iteur to hear it." " You can bear to hear the truth, Edward. I speak tor Ida's good and your owo, too She'« a wife now ; not a more sweetheart. And she's your housekeeper bi'sides, with something more to do and cure h>r than dress, music, party going, and eiijoyniont. I must say iw I said u little while ago, that I am disappointed in her. What are ^irls thinking about now-a-dayn when they get niiirritui? Surely, not of tlieir husband's houHchold comforts." " If you uleuse, mother, we will change the subject," Huid the young man, who waa exc^ing-ly pained by the strong language he had heard. He tipuke s<) firmly that the matter was dropped, and not again alluded to ut the time. We have now a plain explanation of the change in the young kiusbaiid's state of luind. 'rhvic uoru Hoino truths in what his mother had laid, and this made it so much th« harder to bear. The first shadow had fallen, thkl dimmed the brightnesa of his new and happy )tfe. Still the defects in Ida—veiy small to his eyes, even after they were p o i n ^ out by hi* mother—were things of no momedt He had not intended her for a household d r u ^ Waa she not loving'hearted, aecomplished iM beautiful T What more could ho ask 7 T r u e , h a d inteud-ed her for the presiding genius there were sober, matter-of-fact ttp^Tto M done in all homes. But her devotion 10 these Would eome in good time. How Edward came to speak as he did about the tea and toast, was, almost the instant he had given utterance to his words, a inystery to him-self. He started with the start he gave his young wife, and trembled for the effect of his unkindly uttered words. He would have giVen much could he have recalled them. But they were said be-yond any power of unsaying. ^ The reference of his mother to 4he indifferent tea with which she had been servold at his table, not only mortified him, but brought some things distinct in his memory which were only seen dim-ly and as matters of indifference. Where all was so bright, why should he turn ,hi& eyes upon a fragment of clouds skirting the fair horizon T He would not have done so it' left )o himself. The clouds might have spread until very much largor than a man's hand, before their, murky aspect would have drawn his happy visioi; from the all pervading brightness. Ida's hand, which was raising a cup to her lips, fell almost as suddenly as if palsied; a pale-ness overspread her countenance, her lips had a motion between a quiver and a epasm. From her eyes, which seemed bound, as by a spell, to her husband's face, tears rolled out and fell in large drops over her cheeks. Never before since Edward had looked upon that dear young fiice, had ho seen its brightness so veiled. Never before had words of his been answered by anything but smiles and love respon-ses. " I'm sorry, Edward." How the sad, tremb-ling voice of Ida rebuked the young husband's unkindncss. " It shall not be so again." And she kept her word. Suddenly he had awakened her from a bright dreamy illusion. She had been in a kind of fiiiry land, The hard, every-day working world, wUb iwdllBinn work-ing day wants, by an unlocked for shifting of scenery, had struck with an unlovely aspect upon her startled vision ; the jaggod edges of the feul, wounding, perverted, her soft ideal. But once awakened, she never slept again. It was the first shadow that fell dimly and coldly upon her mar-ried heart—the first, and to tho life-experienced, we need not say tho last. Burnt toast and bad tea ! To think that com-mon things like theso should have power to sht\d-ow a young heart, basking in the sunlight of love! Ida had thought of her husband as almost indif-ferent to fie vulgar wants his words mude mani-fest. She saw clearer now. He was but flesh and blood like tho rest. Very, very tenderly spoken were all the words of Edward to his young wife during the shadowed evening that followed this first-dimming of their home light. And Ida, who felt the kindness of his heart, tried to smile and to seem as of old. But, somehow, she could not force into existence the smiles she wished to send out as a token of forgiveness. Thoughts of the bad tea and burnt toast, the " usual —ah ! there lay the smart!— evening entertainment sho had provided, or rath er suffered to be provided by unskillful hands-were her own any more skillful ?—for her return-ing husband, haunted her all the while. I t shall not be so again!" Not idly uttered were these words. All the evening she kept re-peating them to herself, with a steadily increasing purpose and a clearer vision. " Edward shall never have another occadion for rebuke." Several times during the evening, the young husband was tempted to refer to the oonversa tion held with his mother, in explanation of his own conduct, but he wisely kept his own coun sel Of all thoughLn, he dreaded an estrange ment between his wife and mother. On the next morning Edward noticed that his wife left their ehumber earlier than usual and went down stairs. Not, however, to fill their home with music, as sho had often done. Her matiiiee was the singing tea-kettle, not the string ed piano. Sho had a hightened color when she took her place at the breakfast table and poured for her husband the fragrant coffee, made with her own hands, beeause sho had discovered that her indifferent ouok was ignorant of her art. How did she know the art ? It was almost ac-cidental ; the rccolleution of some good house wife's talk had served her in the rigia time. The warm praise bestowed by Edward on tho coffee was ample reward. Ida Iraught a ouok book during tho day. That gQunds unroinantio. But it was even so; and he studied it for hours. During the afternoon her 'mother-in-law came in, and sho urged her t j stay to tea. 'i^e old lady atHJupted the invitation not, wo are sorry to say, in the very bout spirit She had opened tho war on Kdward's 'butterfiy 7 0 u n g wife, and she meant to follow it up. When Edward came home und found that his tuother was there, his bpiriti fell. He saw by the oor-iier « of her luouth that shu had not forgotte their interview of tho preceding day; and that k'r state of mind was not a whit more charita-ble. Ida's fuoe was a little shadowed; but she was clieerful und very uttentivo (d his niothei and, happily, ignorant of her true feelingi. She euine and went fVoiu tho breakfast j-ooiu to the parlor fietiuently, evidently with household cares upon her mind. Tea was at length announad- Elword's heart trembled. His mother arose, and with a cool air, accompanied her children to the room where the evening meal awaited them. The table had an attractive look, new to the eyes of both Ed-ward and his mother. It waa plain that another hand beaide the servant's had been there. Ida poured the tea, and Edward served the hot bis-cuit and cream toast. The eyes of the latter were on his mother, as she lifted with an air which he ttoderstood tq say, ' Poor stuff*)' the eop to her lips. She tasted tho fVagfaifkt the cup down—lifted and tasted again. The infusion was faultless! Yes, even to her critical taste. Next the biscuit and next the toast Mas tried. Mrs. Goodfellow herself could not have surfaced them. Have you changed your cook?" The old lady looked across the table curiously at Ida. " No, mother," answered the young wife, smi-ling. " Only the eook has found a mistress." •• Is this all your work, Ida ?" Tho old lady spoke in a half incredulous tone. " Yos, it is all my work. Don't you think if try hard I'll make a housekeeper in time." This was 80 unexpected that the husband's mother was delighted. Ida had gone right home to the matter-of-fact, every-day heart. " Why, yes, you precious little darling!" she answered, with an enthusiasm almost foreign to her character. " I couldn't have done better myself." The shadow passed from the heart of Ida, as her eyes rmted on the pleased countenance of her husband. It was the first shadow that had fallen since their happy wedding day, and it moved on quickly; but its memory was loft behind. It was like the drawing of a veil, which partly con-ceals, yet beautifies a countenance, revealing the enchanted expression. Ida's husband was a man like the rest, with a man's common wants and weaknesses; and her married world one in which hands must take hold of common duties. But she soon learned that in the real world were delights substantial and abiding. NUMBER C. The last expression was not a political faith.— Far from it. Poor Payne — his wish wan ronl-iied. He died at Tunis. Whether his remains have been brought to this country, I know not— They should be, and if none otiiers will do it, let the homeless throughout tho world give a penny, for a monument to Payne. I knew him and will give my penny. H O M E . I've lived so long in a garret, that I can scarce-ly be entitled to say much of that Pftradise on Eartli — Home. Yet notwithstanding, I have my associations of a home — around which the far-off light t)f memory throws a golden radiance, and to which my mind turns 6ften in the solitary pathway of life. How well do I recollect that parlor, that plain carpet; the country fire where enormous logs of wood blazed in winter, and a perfect grove of asparagus bushes waved in sum-mer ; two large windows opening upon a vine bound porch; a real old Chiokering piano; a beuutiful copy of the Madonna and child just over i t ; the gun ease in one corner; the center table with the old fashioned lamp, and the plain furni-ture all mingled up with here and thero an article of luxury. How clearly can I see the eyes of those old family portraits on the walls. How well I recall the rapture of my admiration for the •• beautiful picture " when but a boy. How well, too, do I remember the happy evenings — tho plays — the songs — the desires. How I miss the kind voices now, and oh! along the way of life, how I have stopped like a weary traveller and looked back as it were, to catch a glimpse of the old homestead in the distance — to hear one single affection from the past! I recollect the graveyard where my mother used to take us all, (I being the youngest went with my hand in hers,) leaning on tho arm of hor eldest daughter, to strew flowers upon a grave — over which I have seen her ofton steal out to weep — alone. I learned afterwards that it was my father's. I went to it in after years by myself, when I was a man, and when there was no need of telling me that the other grave was my mother's, it seems like a dream to me now — almost, except that I have a vivid recollection of the loss — my care and the desolation of the old place after others had bought it, and had ploughed up the beautiful garden — the flowers—and even the graveyard. As I sit in my garret here (in Washington,) watching tho course of great men and the destiny of party, 1 meet often with strange contradictions in this eventful life. The most remarkable was that of J . Howard Payne — author of " Sweet Home." I knew him personally. Ho occupied the rooms uoder me for same time, and his con-versation was so captivating that 1 have often spent whole days in his apartment. He was an applicant for ofliue at that time — counsel at Tu-nis — from which he had boou removed. What a sad thing it was to see the poet subject to all tho humiliation of office seeking. At evening, we would walk along the streets, looking into the lighted purlord us wo passed. Once in a while we would see some family circle so happy and forming so beautiful a group that we would stop, and then pass silently on. On such occasions be would give me a history of his wanderings — his trials, and all the cares incident to his sensitive nature und poverty. " How often," said ho onoo, " I have been in the heart of Paris, Berlin, l^n-don, or some other city, and hoard persons sing-ing, or the hand organ playing ' Swoet Home,' without a shilling to buy the nuxt meal, or a place to put my huail. Tiie world has literally vung my song until every heait is familiar with its melody. Yet I have Imjou a wanderer from my boyhood. My country has turiie'd me ruthlessly from office — and in my old age I have to submit to humiliation for bread.' 'Ihus he would com-plain of his hapless lot. His only wish was to die in a foreign land —to bo bariod by strangers and sleep in obscurity. I met him one day looking unusually sad.— • Have you not Ko.t your cou^ul^»lo ?' said I. • Yes — andl leave in a week for Tunis—1 shall never return.' BABM N» THE WOODS.—-A oorrespoodent SF the Concord (N. H.) Congregatiorml Journal, writing from Stewartsville, N. H., sfatee Uat, on the 26th of October, John Brown, Jr., 13 years old, accompanied by Wm Brown, a lad of nine years, was sent into the woods at Hereford, Can ada, by the father of the first lad, who had just removed thither from Colebrf>ok, N. H., to gath-er a basket of moss with which to stop the crevi-ces between the logs of their new house. Niglit came, but the boys did not return. Until morn-ing tho parents passed the night in unavailing ^ r c h . Next day, from fifty to one hundred men from the neighboring towns roamed the wooJs with no better success. Two cold nights had p ^ d , and no tidings of the lost ones had reach-ed the anxious parents. Thursday morninc, an increased number resumed the search, and "con-tanned it during tho day with no better sucjess. Friday and Saturday weregpeniin the same man-ner. On Sunday a fresh start was taken, which TMulted in the discovery of the children. The elder lad, on perceiving their approach, started up from the side of the other and made an «t-tempttorun. On being told to stop, for they would catch him, he obeyed, saying, » Don't hurt me, I have been in the woods all night." The younger was sleeping at the root of a small tree, with one arm aronnd i t ; his arm was stiff and cold, and it was with difficulty and caution th.it It could be straightened so as to unloose its hold Ihe hand was black, and so were tho feet, and the latter so swollen that the boots had to be cut ^fore they could be stripped off. The boys were found only about two and a half miles from the house of Mr. Brown. They seemed not to bo aware that they had been out more than one night, and were probably partially deranged after the first night. They had eaten nothing durii^ the whole five days. ^ CHOOSS YONR OWN WBAPONS.—The Cincinna-ti Commercial tells the following: " A young man by the name of Tracy, near Owensburg, Ky., felt that the attentions of a Mr. Spright to his sister were rather unwelcome to the fTimii^, 'and, accordingly, challenged Mr. Spright to a mortal combat. On receiving the challenge he selected his weapons and proposed an immediate settlement of tho difficulty, in the court room. • His antagonist, with his second, was on the ground 'at the time, looking brave enougli to take a suial. city, but on seeing the wejipons chosen by tho challenged party, their very knees shook with ter-ror. Here sat tho unterrified lover, with two ^huge plates of green cucumbers, ml in slices, with vinegar, and a full dozen of green apples to each plate as a dessert. " Take seats, gentle-men," said the obliging second of Mr. S., " an 1 take the choice of plates; in ten minutes we be-gin." Tracy looked at his second, and he looked at Tracy back again, no doubt thinking that it Tracy did not fight, the chance of his dying with the cholera was a good one. Finally the two seconds went into the clerk's office and adjuste I the matter satisfactorily to all parties. Mr. S. continues to visit his lady without interruption. A Bov's TONGDE FASTENED TO A LAMP-I'OST.— On Saturday morning a little fellow, about eight years old, a son of Mr. Gilloau, bookseller, while playing with some other boys on North street, ap-proached a lamp-post and curelessly applied hi-^ tongue to its grey frosted surface, when, in an in-st uit, to the boy's own horror and utt .T a.stonijjii-ment of his playmates, he was hold fast by the tongue to the poet, suffering very severe pain, an 1 totally unable to help or extricate himself. Of oourM the boy could not speak, and could only manifest his feelings by signs with his hands.— Various applications of warm tea, steam, &o, were made by some neighbors, who heard the un-usual noise made by tho other boys, and oaino to learn what was the matter, but of no avail, such was the action of the cold iron that the hold was even getting tighter. When after ten minutes had elapsed, the boy's father heard of the ntlair, and, hastening to his reliuf, he took a knife aiul was obliged to cut tho tongue loose, leaving its skin still fast to tho post, and causing the blou 1 to flow very profusely. Iinmodiately i>n his re-lease the poor little fellow beoaine insensible, and was taken home.—London (C\ H^) Every man in China must pay u;) his debts ut tho beginning of the year, and aUo at the tinio of a religious festival about the middle of t'.ie your. If unable to settle at these timed, his bu^^i-oeas stops until his debts are paid. The first steuml)oat laune!ie<l on Western wa-ters was built at Pitt«iburg in 1814, sovoa years before tho first lake steamer. Mure than a thou-sand Htoainboats are now employed ou the Miasts-sippi and its tributaries. It is said that upwards of a tiiousund millions of steel and ;jold pens have been i.ianut'icturt.'d at Birmiiigltum, Kn;^land. One c«l.il>li»luu'.*iii there luuniilaeturo^ for live handrod whule^aL* de tiers throughout the world, and puts each deal-er's name on the pens he orders. HaUMI.KSS Cl'KK i-xU WaUVS— Dl.vi.ilvc pL'il-ny^ worth of sal anuuoniae in a g'll uf soil w atT, and wet the warts frot^ucntly with the solution. V .
|Title||North and South, and New Britain journal, 1858-12-11|
|Subject||Antislavery movements -- United States -- Newspapers; New Britain (Conn.) -- Newspapers|
|Description||Frequency: Weekly; Publication dates: Vol. 2, no. 1 (Nov. 6, 1858)-v.2, no. 45 (Sept. 10, 1859); Notes: Editor, Elihu Burritt|
|Contributors||Guernsey, Lucius M; Burritt, Elihu,1810-1879|
|Collection||Newspapers of Connecticut|
|Source - Location||Connecticut State Library microfilm, AN104.N5 N67|
|Relation||Preceding title: North and South (New Britain, Conn.); Succeeding title: New Britain times (New Britain, Conn. : 1859)|
|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 Reproducation and Publication of State Library Collections, http://ctstatelibrary.org/reproduction-publication/|
|Title-Alternative||New Britain journal; The North and South, and New Britain journal|
|CONTENTdm file name||15869.cpd|
T H NORTH AMD SOUTH,
i r i t f i i I f i i r i B
VOLUME I I. NEW BRITAIN, CONNECTICUT. SATURDAY, DECEMBER 11, 1858.
T H E
(Xnb New Sritaitt Jonrnol,
• I . I I I V B V R B I T T , R 4 i l « r ,
l i . m . O V B R I f S B V , P r * p r l « l * r ,
WILL BE IMOCD KVBRY BATUBDAT, '
I t M tk« Printini Ofllw of the Pi0|irl«t0r, tn lh« BiMin«iit rf
th« naplUt Ckttich, N«w DkiTAia Coim.
X b b i u : $ 1 . 6 0 p«r annum, in Advanoe. In bundles
of five or more to one addres*. $1.25.
MemlMn of No»m»l School, iabwrlblng In •
|CONTENTdm file name||15865.pdfpage|