For the Carlisle Herald
FOLDED HANDS.
Fold those pale hands tenderly
der her still and painless breast,
They have done their life-work nobly
Lay them peacefully to rest;
Time and toil have marred their beauty
Busy hands and full of care,
Years have passed since they hate braided
Roses In the sunny hair.
Lay them by from sin and sorrow,
They have felt It's deepest woo,
fold them in the placid quiet
They so oft have longed to know.
pay them o'er the heart once loving,
Gentle mates they were In life,
Now together sweetly resting
From tie weary weary strife.
Pold ftbel7} from toll's dread tomorrow
They will never see its light,
From the crib and from the cradle
Where they tended day and night.
From the evening's cheerful fireside,
From the matron's busy care,
A h I tin long since they were folded
Save to breathe the earnest prayer.
Once those hands wero fair and lovely,
Pearly nail, and rosy palm;
Blue voincd, fit for lovers kisses,
Bringing to the heart a balm,
Waking with their passing touches
Thoughtsof Heaven and dreams of Love,
Told them I tho 3 have wrought a blessing
Treasured up for them above.
All the fairest, loveliest flowers
That life's darkened path hath known,
t !.. , nr the loved and the beloving
By those gentle bands wore drown:
And they heaped but deeds of kindness
O'er the grave of burlod trust,
Since they clasped the rare and precious
But to find thorn common dust.
They have dried the tear of sorrow,
Bade the mourner look above,
And'eartb's wretched children blessed them
In their ministry of love;
From the morn until the even,
Patient toiling bands were they,
When the weary heart had tainted
For the "hardness of the way."
Lay them then most tenderly,
O'er that still and pulsoloss breast
They have done with toil forever,
Softly fold them! they may rest.
piocellautouo.
THE STORY. OP A JUG
It is a true tale of one whose name is
."as familiar in our mouths as household
words, hut who shall be known here as
Bernard Barton.
Bernard was born in one of these home
like, cleanly, and honest-looking villages
.of lassachusetts, of which there are so
many, and which we shall call by way ttf
,distinguishment Middletown. Bernard
was an only child, and his father, there's
no denying the fact, was a harsh, a- very
harsh man, and apt, to regard the faults of
the hOy much more harshly than they de
served. Bernard was without a mother,
she having died when he was but three
years of age s since wlich time he had been
under the charge of a grandinothe, who
had become domiciled at the Barton home
stead, and who made up by petting for
the rough usage he received from his fa
ther. The only other member of the
gamily )VO)3 Marion, nn orphan, whom
Bernard had always called 'cousin,' and
who was of that relation some score of
Ames removed. Between Marion *tad
Bernard there was six years difference,
and the little blue-eyed child looked up
the boy of sixteen as to some superior
being; : whose wisdom surpasses all com
prehension ; for Bernard, though born
; stir educated upon a farm, and to do
; farm work, was both a reader and a think
er, and by some means, even with hip
very limited opportunity, had managed
to pick up a vast deal of knowledge, un-
Juinal . for a. lad of his age. This picking
up, t hcovever„was something not in ac
cordance with the taste of Mr. Barton,
,who.cqnld see nothing in books, and was
no believer s in,learning beyond
,What
,was
,necossary to enable him to read his daily
,chapter, and keep his farm accounts.—
He believed in work, and in
. having the
,best „kept farm in the country, and be
lieving this, and this only, it was not
strange that he was severe upon the kook
ish, dreaming habits of Bernard, and
,classed them only as laziness. The boy
,writhed upon his fathers's treatment, and
labored, and mourned over the tasks set
,him to perform, but never to his father
uttered a word of complaint ; all this was
poured into the grandmother's ears, and
,frotn her lips came all the consolation that
; Bernard received, save such as could be
: given by little Marion, who, tl , ought top
"-young to fairly understand the matter in
its proper bearin g s, could always, when
she saw the cloud upon Bernard's face,
_kiss away some of it
"I don't believe he cares any more
for me than a stranger," Bernard would
say.
"Oh I you're wrong, Bernard. Your
' father does not want to praise you before
.your face, but I know he loves you and
wishes to make you happy. He thinks
his own way is right," was the grandmo•
ther's response.
"Happy ! if he wants me to be happy
why doesn't he send me to school. No
no ! he wants 010 to be a farmer and gar.
dener. I never will be a farmer in the
world."
"There! there, now ! come, dry your
eyes, Barney, and go fetch me a cool
EMI
You know I never care a cen
for a drink if you don't draw it for me ou
of north corner of the well."
The boy knew that the appearance of
1 9ie atone pitcher was like a peace offer
ing, and that with it grandmother goner
!ally closed,phe_seenes of tears and repin
jugs; sothetimes,,Poihaps, in espeoal .
oas
es, accompanying it,hy wiping away the
'falling tears,,wiCh laer ample o,heok apron
land a kiss. There was' no getting over
; the old lady's style of comforting, and the
'boy always _took the pitobei with a
smile, and bore itiiack,briming with the
oryital fluid, from, as the old lady „ex
pressed it, "the north corner ' Of the
'well."
This was Bernard Barton's daily life
and daily trouble, until he was sixteen.—
Vague dreams of breaking away from it,
and venturing out upon the great El Oa of
tho world, chased each other occasionally
through his brain ; but they never took
'shape, and so the old story had gone on
from day to day, and from year to year.—
Dreams• of something beyond the bounda•
ries of farm, of something that should
lead him among men, and make the - name ,
Of Bernard Barton hand, Divains of a 1
time *lien he;would have unlimited hours
~'o~e~~~~~. -
the way well. On he went, treading
every foot of the road as though he knew
it thoroughly, until he reached the Bar
ton homestead. Here there had been
changes, but not in the outer ap
pearance of the old place. Farmer Bar
ton bad been dead for some years, but
otherwise, save such as time inevitable
brings. there had been little changes.—
The stranger made his way straight tow
ard the house, reaching the windows that
led into the little sitting-room; and there
paused. There were voices inside speak
tng.
" Ten, yews ago, this very night," said
ono, "'hod how - very strange it is that We
'have never hettiti a word of that poor
boy."
" le can't be alive, grandma ; I'm
sure that if Bernard were living he would
not have let so long a time pass without
letting us hear from hinri." ,
" No no I Marion. , 'I am oontent to
wait. I know that I shall not die 'with
out seeing Bernard."
"And, grandma, if you should see him
now, perhaps you Would' not know him."
Not know him ! yes, indeed, I would
know my boy whenever I would see him,
anent any time. Shall I over forget,
Marion, the day when he went out with
the stone jug, and both our kisses warm
upon his lips, and never dame book ?
His . poor father hold out fur many'years
against him and even forldide'llis name
to be mentioned, but in .his last sickness
VOL. 64.
A. K. RHEEM. Editor & Proprietor.
of study, and would not be obliged to fly
with or hide his books, as though they
were some stolen property.
One day, a terribly sultry one in Au-
gust, Bernard had just come in from the
barn for his midday meal, which still
stood untouched upon the table, when
Mr. Barton made his appearance. There
was something upon his face and foretold
a storm, and there was not long to wait
for it.
"I thought I told you to mend and re
hang that corn crib door, Bernard," were
his first words..
"Yes, sir ! and you also told me this
morning that I must mend Sorrel's Kar
nes. I couldn't do both, father," was the
boy's reply.
"Sorrel's harness! why it oughtn't have
taken you half an hour to do that."
"You'll think differently, father, when
you've seen it.
"Oh ! you've always an excuse," said
the farmer, angrily ; you spend more time
in inventing excuses than in doing your
work."
A flush flew over the fsoe of Bernard,
and the tears came starting into his eyes.
His father saw it, but he had no pity on
such weakness.
"You idle away your time over some
newspaper or book, and then your work
isn't done, and if you're spoken to there's
nothing but whimpering and cry r ing.—
You don't earn your salt, and you'll oev
or be good for anything as long as you
live."
The boy's breast heaved as though it
would burst, and with one upbraiding look
he sprang from the table, and hurried
into the kitchen, where, ipstant, he
was followed by grandmother and Marion.
"Go back, go back, Bernard. Go back
and eat your dinner. Let your father
have his full swing, and don't say any
thing. He'll got over it soon, when he
sees you've been at work this morning.
Go back, child."
.L• No, grandmother, never ! T 1,4 is
too much]
,never' eat bread, that is
begrudged me, even though it is my fath
er's."
"Oh ! he'll get, over it in an hour,
and be aerry, Bernard. qo into your
'dinner, and forget it."
" He inay be sorry many times grand
ma but he never tells me so, and can't
stand this any longer."
Marion crept up to his side, and drew
his ronti band up to her cheek. Grand
mother forced a smile to her face, and
bringing forth the inevitable stone ju g ,
thrust it into Bernard's hand, wiping of
his as she did so, and kissing him twiee,
said—
‘,‘Ah !Nell, never mind, Bernard you'll
sow in
be a man. a
Now, then, bring me
cool drink from the north corner, mind ;
there, that's a good boy."
Bernard could not restrain a smile as
he took the jug, even though his heart
was breaking, and throwing an arm around
grandmother's neck, he kissed her quick
ly, then stooping to Marion's bright red
lips and tear-dimmed eyes, he drew them
into his bosom, and with one little word
of love be did the same, and then set out
,for the well. It was but fifty yards away
,from the house, this well wii;bi ;be .eciol
north corner, but within that filly yards
what thtrights went trooping through the
,hot brain of Bernard. Grandma was in
no Illirry for the water, he argued, and
,he „rapid cool that heated head, and
dry away all tripes of the tears before ho
want back to the little
. stroll
down the road to get the southwest breeze
would do it. Bernard sat the stone jug
inside the hedge, covered it with leaves,
and ran down the,road against the wind.
On he went, but the southwest wind did
not cool his heated brain, and he wont
farther, farther still, until in a few min
utes ho found himself passing through
the village of Middletown, and stillstrik
ing southward with a bead hotter than
ever
Ten years must now pass over Middle
town, and subsequently the same period
over the heads of all about it. Just
about dusk a stranger alighted from the
stage at the tavern, looking earnestly and
familiarly up and down the main street,
and into the face of the landlord, though
claiming no acquaintance with him.—
His request was that his baggage should
be retained there until sent for, and as
fbr himself he wanted nothing, but would
walk to his final destination as he knew
-11_
0
ho mourned for Bernard, sorrowed for
his harshness to the boy. He felt that
he had done wrong, Marion, or he would
not have left the farm and all that he had
labored for so hard, to be reclaimed by
Bernard, if he ever should return. No I
,no, Marion, Bernard will come back some
day, and bring me another jug of water
from the north corner of the well. I
haven't enjoyed a drink of water since he
went away.'
The stranger had heard all this, look
ing in upon the old grandmother and the
beautiful girl who sat sewing beside the
shaded lamp and drooping her brawn
curls over her white, plump hands, and
then; without waiting for more, moved
silently away from the window.
Down the 'lane he went., lowards the
well, and groping for a moment in the
hedge, he drew forth a stow' jug. 'ln a
few moments it was cleansed, 'filled with
sparkling water, and on its way to the
house ; and the grandmother and the
fair girl with the drooping curls were
startled to see a tall, Aunbrown, richly
dressed man enter the sitting room, bear
ing before him a great stone jug, and
saying ;
" Here's the water, grandma l you sent
nip for."
The oh lady Tas pot Jong in recover
ng herself.
" Put it upon the table, Bernard, and
come attd kiss me." And then in an in.
stant the ‘ 57,1 A 11,0 three were locked in each
other's arms, Marion covered with blush.
es, and grandma laughing aloud
_from
very happiness.
I cannot close my story without a se
gusl &rnatd's ten years, as a rolling
Atone, had overthrown the proverb, for
he had not only gathered moss, but be
had gained fame. And when, in two
weeks after, he said to Marion, as they
were walking in the moonlight up and
down the lane that load to the old well,
these words, it told the whole tale of the
strugg'e :
_ knew t dear-Marion i . that this day
would come, and I struggled for my
wealth to meet it."
I felt ; that I should some day come
back and claim my' child-love, and that I
should find her, but I did not look upon
my wealth as a -Means to sit down and
wear a Hatless 'life. There is work yet
for me to do in the world, and I shall do
it. This spot shall be our home always,
but I must still work, and you as my wife
shall help me."
And he did not work, not upon the
corn crib nor upon the Sorrel's 'harness,
but upon the. world work, until al the
world knew of him, and of the Story of
a Jug.
A Secession `Lady Outwitted.
The hostility of the Secessionists to the
amnesty proclamation of the President,
and the wiles. they resort to in order to
evade ,it, are strikingly illustrated by an
extract from a private letter dated Hums-
Alabama. A correspondent has
been quartered in one of the finest resi
dences in that city for some time, and re
lates the story as follows: "As we came
down stairs one morning last week we
were very kindly met by the lady of the
,Tionse, and cordially invited to spend the
evening in 'her parlor, with several of her
lady friends; adding at the same time
that General Logan and her niece would
be there. We were as much gratified as
surprised at the invitation, as this was
the first indication of friendship we had,
had . from the initiates. On our way up
town we called at the office of the Pro
vost Marshal, who informed us that the
dashing son of the lady of our house had
been notified that she must take the am
nesty oath of the ,Prelitlent or be sent to
a Northern prison. The truth flashed
upon our minds in an instant. The la
dy and her niece h'ad waited upon the
General and invited him to spen`d the
evening, the latter adding, before the
General had time to reply, that she would
call for him with tier carriage et seven
o'clock. Tho General, being ono of the
handsomest and most accomplished men
in the army, could not refuse. The
evening passed pleasantly away. The
company were treated to fruit, wine, and
cake, and cards and music were intro
duced as part of the entertainment. The
young ladies used their best endeavors,
and we all acknowledged that we had
never spent a more delightful oven:
ing. The son's case was not refgrrcd to,
but his history is this ; He voluntarily
entered the rebel service, and with a con
stitution impaired by early dissipation, he
was unable to endure the hardships of
camp life. His mother sold her cotton
at twenty cents a pound, and raised three
thousand dollars in Confedei at.; money
with which she purchased a substitute;
and procured her son's discharge. We
were of course, compelled to regard him
as a rebel soldier, liable to the same pen
alties and conditions as the humblest pri
veto in the ranks. ' The next morning
the lady and niece, supposing they had
ingratiated themselves in the good . favers
of the General, waited upon, - ETA bogged
. of him to interpose and prevent their rel
ative from disgrace of sobseribitig to the
abhorred proclamation. Die gallant gen
eral, hOwever, who has passed through so
many perilous engagements, distinguished
himself in so many hard, fought battle
fields, and escaped unscathed the bullets
of many' rebel soldiers, was proof
against the witchery of the Secession
women. They were promptly referred
to the provost marshal, and the son, to
save himself from a Northern prison, re
luctantly came forward and subscribed to
the conditions of the oath."
'INA. Western editor strikes the names
of two subscribers from his list because
they were hung. He says ho was corn
palled to-be severe becauso - ho did — not
known their present addretises. " '
CAR ISLE, PA., FRID4Y, APRIL 1, 1864.
Prioe'o - rf two 'Potatoes. 1805
The following anecdote of l the first Na
poleon is related in a letter:ft:Om a cor
respondent, who was a considerablptime
in the French military servate, and who
vouches for its authenticity
The evening before the battle of Ulm,
when Napoleon the First, - in company
with Marshal Berthier, was'.walking
in
cognilo through the camp Mid listening
to the talk of his soldiers, lin saw in a
group not far off a grenadier ,f the Fu'ard,
who was roasting enure mtitnps in the
wakes.
I should like,a , -,ri,74i3t.54 . 1i (ditto above
all things,' said the enmoiOeto the mar
shal i ash, the oyner of them if be will
sell one.' •
In obedierion to 0 . 9 order,•)4ertbier ad
yand.,?d to the group and asked to whOm
the potatoes belonged. :A grenadier
stepped forward and said, "They are
mine.'
' Will you Bell me one 7' itiquired Ber
thier.
I have only five,' said the grenadier,
and that's hardly enough for my supper.'
I will give yoft two napOleons if you
will sell me one,' continued Berthier.
• I don:t want your goltl,' said the
grenadier , I shall be killed) perb'ap's,
morrow, and I don't' pant its enemy to
#nd me v s ith an empty stotroch.'
i3erthier reported the soldier's answer
to the emperor, who was standing a little
in the bacligt:Otrid.
Let's see, if I shall be leakier than
you,L said- the la tter-;-- Frolose
to the grenadier, ho ierlAed him if he
would sell him a potato.
Iy.ot by a long shot; answered the
grenadier ; I haven't enough for my
self'
But you may -set your own price,'
said Napoleon. Coine; I am hungry ,
and haven't eaten tojday.
I tell you I haven't elih for try
self,' repeated the grenadier-;' besides all
that do vou think I don't know you in
your diagiii-SOT—
Who am I, then-4 1 -inqu.ir ,, tl Napo-
OM
Bahl! said the grenadier. 'The lit
tle corporal, as they call !;ott. Am I
right ?'
' Well, said Napoleon, s ts4sa you know
me, will you sell goaca potato.?'
' No,' said the grenadier; but if you
would have me crime and dine rith you
when we get back to Patio, ;An may Sufi
with me to night.'
Docej.' said Napoleon, .‘- t m the word
of an emperor I'
Lilt' gook,'-144. 4 :1f grenadlei.
Our potatoes ought to be done by this
time. There are the two largest ones;
the rest I'll eat myself.'
Tbe emperor sat down and ate his po
tatoes, and then returned With Berthier
to his ,tent, merely remarking, '
rogue is a good soldier, wager.'
Two months afterwards, 'Napoleon the
Great was in the midst of a brilliant
court at the palace of the Tuilleries, and
was just sitting down to dine, when word
was brought him that a grmadier was
without, trying, to force the guard at the
door, saying that lie had been invited by
the emperor.
Let him come io,' said his majesty.
The soldier entered, p resented arms
and said to the emperor. '-Do you re
member once having supped with 'me off
my roasted potatoes ?'
Oh, is that you ? Yes yea, I remem
ber,' said the emperor: and so you have
come to dine with me, have you? Rus
ton, lay another cover on your
,table for
that brave fellow "
Again the grenadier presented arms,
and said, A - gitnadier of the guards
does not eat with lackeys. ~I.'eur majes
ty told me I should eat with . you : that
was the bargain ; and trusting to your
word, I have come .
'frue, true,' said the emperor. ' Lay
a cover here near me lay aside your
arms, in,pit am,i, and draw up to the to
ble '
Dinner over, the grenadli3r went at his
usual place, took up his carbine, and
turning to the paperer preiented arms.
' A mere private,' ' ou, , At ngt i to
dine at the table of hisemperor.'
Ah ! I understand you," said Nopo
leon. I name you Cheva c lier of the Le
gion of Honour, and Lieutenant in my
company of guards.'
'Thank you heartily,' returned the
soldier. Vive le Emperetcr ." he shout
ed, and then withdrew.
THE CHRISTIAN GENTI•64A2.—IIe is above
a mean thing. Ho cannot stoop to a fraud.
He invades no secrets in the keeping of an,
other. He betrays no secrets confided to
his own keeping. He takes selfish advan
tage of no man's mistakes. He uses no ig
noble weapons in controversy. He never
stabs in the dark. He is ashamed of inuen
does. He is not ono thing to a man's face
and another to his back. If by accident he
comes into possession .of bis neighbor's
counsels, he passeS upon' them an instant
oblivion. He bears sealed packages with.
out tampering with the
...nu. Papers not
meant for his eye, whetherthey flutter in at
the window, or lie open Vefore him in un
guarded
exposure, or sacred to,ltitn. He
profanes -no - privacy - of - npliers; - however - the
sentry sleeps. _Belte_ancl—bare r 4oeks- and
keys, hedges and pickets, bonds and securi
ties, notices to trespassers, pre none of them
for him. He may be trusted himself out of
sight-Lnearesethe thinnest oi - o:lion—any,
where. Re buys no office, he sells none.—
He would rather fall gain to his rights than
win them through dishonbq He will eat
honest bread. He tramples on no sensitive
feeling. He insults no man. If he, have
rebuke for another he is ( straightforward,
open and manly. He cannot descend to
scurrility. Billingsgate don't lie in his
track. From all profane and wanton words
his lies are chaitened. Of . womrat. and to
her he speaks with decency.and 'respect.--
In short, Whatever ho judges 'honorable he
-
practices to every man.
~Peace is the father of friendship
Ir:J" itrAt
0
A POEM FOR THE TIMES.
Mr. T. Ihmhanan Ronde poem of "The Oath" is ope
of the moat popular of those recited by Mr. Jan:mit.
Murdoch at his public readings. P.rkentlr, at WIWI
-111000. be read It'wfth tlunh effect that tho President
especially complimented him upon it, 'ends asked - form
copy. This'gives to the poem a now Interbit, and nil It
will gratify our readers to read it again, we print It
balow :
THE OATH
py THOMAS BUCHANAN READ.
HAMLET—" Swear on my word."
GHOST, (below) "Swear l"—Shalreapeare.
Ye freemen, how long will ye stifle
Ihe . 4'engennoe that justice lnuplresi
lyith'is'eason hoe; hing why ye trill,,
And shamelli proud name of your sires?
Out, out with'ihe sword and the rifle
deferiso of your homes and your fires.
The llag'of the old revolution
''Slieltr firmly to serve and uphold,
That no treasonous breath of pollution
SiMittarrilsti' one star of its' fold.
Swear I'
And hark, the doop voices replying
From graves whore your fathers are lying,
"Swear, oh, Swear I"
In this moment who hesitates, barters
The rights which his forefathers won ;
Ile forfeits all claim to the characters
Transmittiid from sire to son.
Kneel, kneel at the graves of your martyrs,
And swear on on your sword and yOur gun
Lay up your great oath on an alter
As hugh and as strong an Stone Henge;
And then with sword, fire and halter,
Sweep down to the field of revenge.
Swear I
And hark, the deep voices replying
From graves where your fathers are lying,
" Swear, oh, swear 1"
By the tombs of your sires and brothers,
The host which the traitors have slain;
----By . the - t - earwof - youraisters - and mothers, - -
In secret concealing their pain,
The grief whir s h the heroine smothers,
Clons.lming the heart and the brain,
fly the sigh of the penniless widow,
fly the sob of her orphan's despair,
Where they alt in the sormwful shadow,
Kneel, kneel every frooman and swear.
Swear I
hark, the 64 voices replying
t corn graves where their Patient are lying,
'Swear, oh, Swear I"
On mounds which are wet with the weeping
VS/nit:oft nation hatilkilitud.ta.yuusod,
Where the noblest of martyrs are sleeping,
Let tith wit4shear your vengeance abroad;
Ahd ycitir firm oaths be held in the keeping
Of your patriot haute nod your Ood.
Over Ellsworth, for whom the Junt tear rose,
While to Halter and Lyon you lo9k ;
By Winthrop, a star among heroes,
By the blood of our murdered litc(inott,
Swear!
And hark, the deep voices replying
From graves where your fathers are lying,
Swear, oh, swear.
WHY I RAN AWAY
„___Donahl Lean at 4 myself were good
Jr:6,A fOurtaen years of ag e, an we
both regarded with little more than friend.
ship pretty lle!en Graham, "our oldest
girl at school ” We romped and danced
togotber,,ausi this lasted for such a length
of time thatit is with faeliogs'of b'crilder
enent that I look back upon the mystery
of two lovers continuing friends. But
the time was to come wen jealousy lit
her spark in my bosom, and blow it into
a consuming flame.
Well do I remember how and when
the "green-eye" perpetrated this incen
diary deed. It was on a cold October
evening, when Helen, Dons d and myself
were returning with our parents from a
neighboring hamlet. As we approached
a ford wheo ,the water ran somewhat
higher then ankle deep, we prepared to
carry Helen across as we were accustomed
to, with hands interwoven "chair fashion,"
and thus carried our pretty passenger
over the brook.
Just as we were in the middle of the
water—which was cold enough to haVe
frozen anything like feeling on.t of boys
less hardy than otirselves—a faint pang of
jealousy 'nipped my heart. Why it was
I kner not, for we had carried Helen
across the brook ere now without emotion,
but this evening I thought or fancied that
Helen iFe Donald an undue
neck,
by casting her arm around neck, while
she steadied herself on my side by hold
ing the cuff of my jacket.
No flame can burn so quick or with so
little fuel as jealousy. Before we had
reached the opposite bank I wished Don
ald at the "bottom of the sea.'' Being
'naturally impetuoiis, I burst put with ;
'Yoti need,na hind sae' gingerly', Irplel3,
as if ye feared a I can 'aye carry Ye :
lightet than Donald can carry half of ye."
Surprised at the vehemence of my tone,
our queen iriterpostid . ' with an admission
that we were 'both strong,' and that she
had no ide'a of 'sparing my power. But
Donald's fire was kindled, and he utterly
denied that I was at all qualified to com
pete With him in feats of moral courage.
On such topics boys arc generally emulous,
and by the time we reached the oppositp
bank it was settled that the point should' :
ho determined by our singly bearing
Helen across the ford in our arms.
Helen was to determine who carried
her, most easily, and I settled with myself
privately in advance that the one who
obtained the preference would really be
the person who stood highest in her af
fections. The reflection stimulated me to
exert every effort, and I verily believe to
this day that I could have carried Donald
and Helen on either arm like feathers.
But I must notatithfipate.
e suffered the rest of the party to
pass quietly along, and then returned to
Helen. With the utmost care I carried
her like an infant tc the middle of the
Witter: Jealousy had inspired a,,Waraier
love, and it was with feelings unknown
before that I embraced her beautiful form,
and felt the pressure of her cheek against
mine. All went swimmingly, or rather
willingly; for a minute. But alas lin the
'very deepest part of the ford I trod on a
treacherous bit of wood whioh rested, I
suppose, on a smooth stone. Over I roll
ed, bearing Helen with me, nor did we
rise till fairly soaked from head - to foot.
I need not - describe the taunts of Don
ald, •or the accusing silence of Helen.
TERMS:-41,5Q in .491vance, or $2 within the year
Both believed that I had fallen from mere
weakness, and my rival demonstrated his
superior ability, bearing her in his arms
a long distance on. our homeward path.
As we approached the .house , feel
ing dry and better humored, attempted
to reconcile me. But I preserved a moody
silence. I was mortified beyond redress.
That night I packed up a fexv things
and ran away. lly boyish mind, sensi
tive and irritated exaggerated the nega
tion which it had received, and prompted
me to better results than generally at
tended such irregularities. I went to
Edinburg, where I found an uncle, a
kind-hearted, childless man, Who gladly
gave me a, place in his house, and em
ployed me in his business. Wealth
flowed in upon him. I became his part
ner—went abroad -resided four years on
the continent, and finally returnd to
Scotland rich, educated, in short, every
thing but married.
One evening, while at a ball in Glas
gow, I was struck by a lady of unpreten
ding appearance, but whose remarkable
beauty and high-toned expression indica
ted a mind of extraordinary power . . 'I
was introduced, but the Scottish names
had long been unfamiliar to my ear, and
1. could not catch hers. It was Helen
something, and there was something in
the fabe. too, that seemed familiar—some
thing suggestive of pleasure and pain.
But we became well acquainted that
evening; I learned without difficulty her
history. She was from the country,, had
- been -educated, her parents - That their
property, and was now governess of a
family of the city.
I was fascitated with her conversation,
and was continually reminded by her
grace and refinement of manner that she
was capable of moving with distinguished
success in a far higher sphere than that
which fortune seemed to have allotted
her. I was naturally not talkative, nor
prone to confidence ; but there was this
yeang_iady_wiiiel _inspired both-,--and- I--
cenversed with her as I had never con
versed with any. Her queithins' of the
various countries with which I was famil
iar indicated a remarkable knowledge of
literature, and an incredible store of in
formation.
We progressed in intimacy, and as our
conversation turned upon the causes
which induced so many to leave their na
tive land, I laughingly remarked that I
owed my own travels to falling with a
pretty girl into a ford.
I had hardly spoken these words ere
the blood mounted to her face, and was
succeeded by a remarkable paleness. I
attributed it to the heat of the room,
laughed, and, at her request, piiiceeded
to relate my ford adventure with Helen
Graham, painting in glowing colors the
amiability of my love.
Int' mirth, during the yccital, become
irrepresible. At the eonclusiOn, she re
marked :
"Mr. Roberts, is it possible that you
have' forgotten - ine
I gazed an instant, remembered, and
was dumdfounded. The lady with whom
I had thus become acquaintecl was Helen
Graham herself.
rbate ' 'and so do you, reader, to need
lessly prolong a story. We are soon mar
ried. Helen and I made our bridal tour
to the old place; and as we approached in
our carriage, I greeted a stout fellow
working in a field, who seemed to be a
better sort Of laborer, or perhaps a small
farmer, by inquiring some particulars re
lating to the neighborhood. He answered
well enough, and I was about to give him
sixpence, when Helen stayed my hand,
and cried out, in the old style:
llbnald, mon, dinna ye kin your
old fren's?"
The man looked up, in astonishment.
I t was Donald Lean. His amazemeneat
our appearance was heightened by its
style; and it was with the greatest diffi
cultyfhat we t eould indO6e - him to enter
oiir mining°, an'a answer °d4' humorous
queries as to our friends.
Different men start in life in different
ways. I believe that inioe, however, is
'Oil only instance on record_Of . '4 Koralo-,1
manwealth'iind Happiness to
rolling over witli'a pretty kid in astream
of water.
GIVE THE DEVIL HIS DUE.—There is
an important lesson in th 6 folloying ;
'A 'pastor was making a call upon an old
lady, who made it a habitual rule never
to speak ill of another, and had observed
it so closely that she always justified those
whom she had heard evil spoken of.—
Before the old lady made her appearance
in the parlor, her several children were
"speaking of this peculiarity of their moth
or, and one of them playfully added :
"Mother has such a habit of speaking, well
of everybody, I believe that if Satan him
self wore the subject of conversation, moth
er would find some virtue of good quality
even in him." Of course this remark
elioitted some smiling and merriment at
the originality of the idea, in the midst
of which the old lady entered the room,
and on being told what had been said,
she immediately and voluntarily replied,
"Irell,_my_'±ehildreii,-I----wish-we all had
Satan's industry and perseverance."
Ds, Fine sensibilities are like wood
bines—delightful luxuries , of beauty to
twine round a solid upright steam of un
derstanding; but very-poor things if they
are left to oreep along the ground.
IF your sister, when engaged with her
sweetheart, asks you to bring a glass of
water from an adjoining room, start on
the errand, but you need not return.
You will not be missed. .Don't forget
this, little boys.
PAST PECPLE,—If husband- arid wife
aro fast, there is a great clanger, iu eti„ eii
case, as in that of a fast teato; that the
coupling 7111 br.pak. •'
The Rebel •'General Lee' and
_old
John Brown. .
A letter to the Pittsburg Chronicle,
from Harper's Ferry, says :'
"It wag not known to me until yester
day, and may possibly be unknown to you,
that Col.:Mel Robert H. Lee, U. S. Army,
no v, General Leo, Confederate forces, wan
one of the' Shier actors in the prologue to
the tragic national drama, the different
acts of which the whole country has been.
watching with such exciting interest for
the past three years, It is, neverthelcies,
the fact, however.' Lot me tell you 'about
it briefly. ."Old. John Brown" had not
only worked• at 'the arsenal at Harper's
Ferry, but 'Was intimately acquainted with.
all the details'Of the works, and knew,
besides, what building among the ruins of
some fifty now remaining, was tiheStrong
est for defenee. This - was the engine
howie, and' Aar, making a little raid to.
Halltown ankcapturing Colonel Lewis
Washingten, hind* other slaveholders
.of
the Shenandoah Valley, he Moved bank
to the Ferry, and ensoonced. himself with.
his twenty followers in• thia.engine house.
The alarm throughout Harper's Ferry
that night" was terrible; and during the
Whole of the following live-long day
Brown held his position, and having made
port holes through the brick walls, shot
several citizens who had the temerity to.
show themselves about the building. The
lookers on were terror-stricken, and the
two thousand Virginia Militia men, with
their Captains, Colonels, and. Generals,
who had assembled in the vicinity of
John Brown's strong, hold, not knowing .
the force that he really had were com
pletely non-plussed, and waited anxiously
for the Government troops from Wash.
ington, who had been sent for.
NO. 14.
".13 . y three o'clock the following morn
ing, sixty' marines, under the immediate
command of Lieut. Green, but directed
by Col. Robert E. Lee, reached the Ferry
by cars, from the capital. Col. Lee order
ed his detail to stand under arms in the
public Areet till sunrise, when he con
duct 4 'the inen, he himself leading them,
to the' front of the building fortified and
occupied ' by Brown.. The lookers on
viewed this soldierty movement_ with_es,
icinisiiPgii t and awe, expecting to see
Uormiel 'Lee shot down as other leaders
had been. But not a shot was fired.
Lieutenant Green was ordered 'to demand
a surrender.' Ho knocked at the door of
the engine house. John, Brown asked,
"Who goec there ?" "Lieut. Green,
United States Marines, who, by authority
of Col. Lee, demands an immediate sur
render." "I refuse it," said Brown, "un
less I, with my men, are allowed to cross .
..the -bridge-again- in - to-M ary I andi---unince--
let-ted, after which you can take us prison
ers if you can." Lee refused. to allow this,
and ordered Lieut Green, to renew his
demand for an immediate and uncondi
tional surrender.
John Brown refused these berms, and
four of the marines, who had got tremend
ous sledge hammers from the works, be.
grin battering at the door of the engine „
house. The engine had been moved a
gainst the door, and it would not yield.
"Ten of you," said Lee, "take that larldet‘
and break down the door." Five on each
side, the soldiers drovn the ladder against
the door, and at the third stroke it yield
ed and fell back. Col Lee and the
marines jumped id—one man, John Brown
shot through the heart—and then. was
overpowerecrand surrendered. Col. Wash
ington, with other citizens, was released,
and John Brown handed over to. the civil
authorities, after I tibieh, Colonel Lee took
th'e train to Washington again,
"And such is the historical episode
which I listened to last night from a.
citizen who was himself a witness to it.
Who knows how . much it may have in,
financed. Robert E Leo to forsake the
flag of they United States and become a
chieftan in the rebel cable ?"
Changes Wrought by War.
In " Cudjo's Cave," a war novel by J.
T. Trowbridge, well known as a contrib
utor to the Atlantic Monthly, we find the
l'ollowin beautiful paragraph:
" How many a beloved, good-for
nothing' has gone from our streets and
firesides, tc re-appear far off in a vision
of '4144 !' The school-fellows know not
their comrade; the mother knows not
her own son. The stripling, wbpse out
going and incoming were so, familiar to
fun loving, a little vain, C.,
little selfish, apt to be cross when the
supper was not ready, apt to come late
and make you cross when the supper was
ready and Waiting-who ever guessed
what nobleness was in him ! His coun
try called, and he rose up a patriot. The
fatigue of marches, the hardships of camp
and bivouac, the hard fare, the injustice
inai'inust tie Submitted to, all the terri
ble trials of the body's strength and the
soul's patient endurance—these ho bore
with the superb buoyancy of spirit which
denotes the hero: Who was it that
caught up the colors, and rushed forward
with them into the thick of the battle,
the fifth man who attempted it had been
shot down ? Not the village Joafer, who
used to go about the streets dressed so
shabbily? Yes, the same. Ho fell cov
ered with wounds and glory. The rusty
and seemingly useless instrument we saw
hang so long idle on the walls of society,
none dreamed to boa trumpet of sono
rous note until the soul came and blew a
blast. And what has become of that
white-gloved, perfumed, handsome cousin
of yours, devoted to' his pleasures, weary
even of those—to whom life, with all _its
luxuries had become a bore He fell iii
the trenches at Wagner. He had distin
guished himself by his daring, his hardi
hood, his fiery love of liberty. When
the nation's alarm beat, his manhood
stood - _erect; he shook - himselff - all - plat
frivolities were no more than dust to the
name of this young lion. The war has
proved useful if only in this, that it has
developed the latent heroism in our young
men, and taught us what is inhumanity, L
in our fellows, in 'ourselves. Because it
has called into notion all this generosity
and courage, if forjno other cause, let us
forgive its cruelty, though the chair of
the'boloved one be vacant, the bed uri-
slept in and the hand ~cold that penned
_the letters in• that sacred drawei, which
cannot even now be opened without
grief."
matter dealt with gently,. ptie
pore ; but a matter dealt with violently,
brings vezatimito the author.