VOLUME 58. NEW SERIES. THE BEDFORD GAZETTE IS PUBLISHED EVEHY FRIDAY MORNING BY BY 25- F. MFYGRS, At the following terms, to wit: $1.50 per annum, CASH, in advance. $2.00 " " if paid within the year. $2.50 " " if notpaid within the year. OrF"No subscription taken tor less than six months. paper discontinued until all arrearages are paid, unless at the option of the publisher, it has heen decided by the United States Courts that the stoppage of a newspaper without the payment ol arrearages, is prima facie evidence ot fraud and is a criminal offence. courts have decided that persons are ac countable for the subscription price of newspa pers, if they take them from the post office, wheth er 'hey subscribe for them, or not. RATES OF CHARGES FOR ADVER TISING. Transient advertisements will be inserted at the rate of SI.OO per square of ten lines for three inser tions or less, but for every subsequent insertion, 25 cents per square will be charged in addition.— lable and figure work double price. Auditor's notices ten lines and under, SI.OO ; upwards of ten iines and under tilteen $1.50. Liberal reductions tn.ile to persons advertising by the year. From Chambers' Journal. THE RUINED CHAPEL. About a mile and a half from Ca&lleton, the metropolis of the Isle ol Man, there is a bay, with a small hamlet and pier in it, called Derby Havi|. ! valked to it lately one fine afternoon f on. My way lay along the coa-t uvci which fringed the beach, and xvhicls he name ot the race-c uirse.— What"v might have been, it is now so broken t bumpy that a race on it would be aster ( chase. It was a lovely day* the Wind Lad tropped, and I could hear distinctly the shir ot a parcel of gulls that were waiki at the edge ot the water where '•he In ! left long streaks of flat wet saod. r is formed bv an island now appro-' • . w artificial causeway.— ! low; a, mi" is edj i by sharp rocks, who— j ns inward like teeth—sure to hold las. <> .y ill-fated ship which once they touch. T.wre are only two buildings on the Island—one a circular, deserted lort, built bv an Earl of Derby to help the cause of the S'.u •rts, but long since unused at least for the pur poses of defence or refuge. It is squat, circu lar, and upright. One small turret has been built on the wall, for the purpose of showing a light by night and a white mark by day, to the vessels which "titer fli- harh >r. This gives the tort a prick-eared appearance, and rr ukea it look like a Cheshire cheese with a pepper castor standing upon it. The other of the two build ings on the Island is not only deserted, but in ruins. It was a Roman Catholic chapel, and the ground around it is still u.ed as a burial place for Romanists. Trie roof of the building has fallen in. and njthing is left but four walls which appear as much worn by tn * weather within as without, showing that very many years must have passed since they were shield ed by a roof. The chapel, which is built of stone, looks as if it had ruined soon afler its e reclion, and for some cause or another, had nev er been restored. There was not a living human creature on | the Eland but mvsell and an old man who was crawling in an aimless sort of way among the rocks, as if he had lost himself cud coald not get : out. I sat down and watched him. The turf, was soil, and a great peice of grey rock gave good rest In my back. He was, as T said, gro ping slowly about among the sharpest, I arest i taking shelves ol rock. I wondered what he could be looking for. Eggs? No: the tide flow- \ • d where he was: no eggs could lie th 're. Sea weed? No; there was plenty of that on the 1 flat shore; and [ could then see from where I lay, a horse and catt engaged in canting it a way to one of the neighboring farms where it was used as manure. I got quile curious ab iui my oli man. There he was, with wag ging head and slow rheumatic limbs, peering patiently aimit, andivery row and then pick ing something up. I tie old man was lookmc for firewood, and there being hardly any trees on this part ot the Island, went "stickmg" on the shore. The fuel on his hearth would often tell strange stories, ifone could hear it speak; logs, from which the numb fingers of drowning men had at last relaxed their hold ; oar-blades which had struck ice in the arctic seas,or stirred the long grass in some tropical creek ; charred scraps wiiirh had hissed in the water as they ■ feil from a burning ship in the middle of the sea ; thin ribs ol Island boats which had put in and out for many years, till some rough night they touched the rock, and cracked like eggs. What a bundle of history the old man tied on his back at Jast, he and it alike in the last chap ter ol the tale! As he crept toward me, J thought of questioning him about the luined chapel which was there ; perhaps he might know its his'ory or legend ; so, with a genewil meteorological preface, I asked what he could ♦ <*ll me about it, and gave him a good cut off a piece of cavendish I had iri my pocket as a re- i tamer. " S:r,' said he, (I leave out the Manx, also I'is critique on mv essay about the weather,) "I am growing an old man now, and it is as much as 1 can do to grt these few sticks ; but I've seen more things worth picking here than them, •n my day." „ '• such as wrecks V' I suggested. "Ay, you are right there, sir. Time was wr ''' n a poor man might get a chance ; but now w i .it with your light-houses and life-boats, and coast-guard and police, when either of Ihem that owns the wreck get ashore is all right, and av aricious ol their things; or if so be they don't, 'am t often yau can get much more than the value of the.se f"vv sticks of a ship not even when she goes lo pieces. Why, sir," he con 'inue.l, no t j on g tj, Pre was a vessel wreck ed oil Scarlet , she was loaded with flour (a rench ship she was,) and that they sold by 1 1 ' j auction." "An . said I soothingly, "times are chanc ed. Rut, talking of the past, can you tell ms how this chapel here came to be pulled down, j and why they don't keep the pigs lro;n grub bing among the graves?" " W *'}"> y<*s," he replied, "I can ; not that I saw if done myself, but there ain't a house about here where that tale ain't told on winter even ings." Altera little pressing, the old man slowly swung his bundle of sticks off his back, seated himself on a stone, fixed his eye on the ruins, and recited this legend, which I give in tnv own language : Many years ago there was a famous priest who gave np all that he possessed, and came to teach Christianity in these pa r ts. He was not a Manksman, though he could talk with the peo ple in their own tongue. He lived in a poor house at Derby Haven, but for all that, there was not a sick or needy person near but what he helped with medicine ar.d food, as well as spiritual advice. Along with a kind heait, he bad a kind face and voice, so that the little chil j dren wuu'd run out to laugh and kiss his hand j when they saw him pass. For a long time he used to get the people together in the winter evenings in one of the largest rooms in the ham let, while in the summer lie would preach to : the fishermen and their families on !he sea-shore. I After some years of this intercourse, he pro posed to the men that they should build a small church on the Island. St. Michael, he said, had appeared to hirn in a vision, and pointed out a chapel on a flat space upon the grass close to the rocks ; he had seen it, he said, quite plain in his dream ; the light was shining out of the windows; he had crept up under the wall, and looked in, and lo ! there he saw him self kneeling before a beautilul co.-tly altar, and he recognized the congregation as themselves. Now, while they were lull of admiration at this-dream, the good fat her bade them rise up and follow him to the place where he had i seemed to see the chapel, and lo ! when they got there, they found Ihe ground marked out where the foundations of the chapel now S stand, and a bolder drawn some distance around on which that wail was built, which vou can now trace in the grass, just as it some one had turned up a furrow on the baie earth, and then laid a caipet of turf upon it. And when the men of the place saw the marvel, and how tru- 'V the good father's dream had been from Hea ven, he bade them kneel do-vn there at once, while he prayed to St. Michael and all angHs that these people would not leave off the good work till they had built a chapel for him. Thus they were led to oegin, and promised to give a portion of their time till the little church should be finished. I here was an abundance of stone close bv, and the architecture of the edifice was of the simplest kind. Fur plain thick walls with a roof was all that they aimed at. Now, this cart of the work was comparatively easy ; but Father Kelly began to be sore perplexed as it approached completion, how he should furnish it within, and so fulfil the dream in providing such a costly altar as he was persuaded he ought ,to liu-Id. The poor people had neither silver nor gold. They had already offered such as they had. strong hands, and hours taken from their rest or work. Night after night, Father Kelly used to repair t*> the chapel, now rojfed in, and pray to St. Michael to help him in this strait. One dark evening, he was there longer than usual ; he had fallen down with his face upon the ground before the spot in which he hoped to put the altar. While thus prostrate in prayer, and longing for a continuation ot his former dream, he heard some footsteps close outside the chapel walls. Having hi" face upon 1 the earth the sound came quite distinctly to his ear. They stopped, and a voice said, " This is , the chapel ; let us lay them here; 'tis just the place for a burial." " Very well," replied another, " how does she lie? Here goes, mate, by the northeast corner." Then came the sound of digging, and pauses, as it men were stooping down to lay something in the ground ; after that, Father K-lly heard the mould put hack } and some one stamp it down. Though the church had not been furnished, two or three funerals had taken place in the grave yard, one of which he had himself celebrated only that aftprnoon. VVhat could be the object ot these strange night-visitors ? They had not disturbed the dead they did not remain-long enough foi that; their work, whatever it was, seemed to be ac complished in a quarter of an hour, for aft< l r that time he heard a slapping ot hands, as if some one were cleaning them ot the dusty earth, and a voice saying : " There ! that is done ; and as dead men tell no laies, we may trust the present company." " Ay, ay," replied the other, " trust them so much, I don't think we need wait any longer." " VVhat ! arn't afraid, man?" " Not I; but there is a foul weather coming, j and the sooner we clear off these cursed rocks, the better." " Well, come along !" Then Father Kelly beard Ihem walk down to wards the water, and presently distinguished the grating of a boat's keeJ as she was poshed off; then the double sound of the oars in the row locks died away and all was still. He got up from the floor, walked out of the chapel. It was a mid-summer night. The air was warm and motionless; clouds, however, had crept up so plentifully as to cover the sky.— VVhile he stood there outside the chapel, the moon, which was aliout a week old, became ob scured, and the darkness drew close lo his eyes* j lie could not see a \ ard before him ; he listened ! but heard only the slow wash ot the swell as the rising tide carried it inlo the clefts among the rocks, with now and then a liquid flap as a wave ran into a sudden angle, and fell back upon itself. This was the only sound, ft was a night for hearing, too. He lelt for his lan- 1 BEDFORD, PA., FRIDAY MORNING, OCTOBER 25, 1861. j tern, and got out hi 3 ateel to strike a light. Having dropped his flint, in groping about to find it, tie forgot the direction in which he had stood; and when lie got upon his feet again, al •ter an unsuccessful search, felt himself so utter ly at a loss, that, after walking a few steps j with his hands stretched out before /,im, he d j lermioed to wait for the morning, rather : an risk a fall over one of the slippery rocks in his attempt to return home. When he had sat there for some time, the rain began to tall in large though few drops; these w°ie, however, but the splashes from | the bucketfuls which were soon poured on his head. The wind, too, was loose at the same lime, and rustled on him with such vio lence, t hat though he dared not search for shelter lest he should tail over the rock a , he was glad to sit down on a lanre stone which he felt at his feet. The of lightning, however showed nim ihe chapel itself, mot more than ten yards off. He groped towards it immediately in the gloom, his hands stretched out before him, right glad when Inf felt its rough stones. The wall once found, he soon discovered the path with his feet, arid when he got home, was glad to go to rest at once. He had not slept many hours, before he was roused to visit a dying man in one of the nei>h ooring houses. Hurrying on his clothes, he hastened to the place, where a crowd was gathered about the door, many of them drip ping from the sea. The s*or;n which he hac seen the evening before had grown into a ter rible tempest, during which a ship had been 1 driven on the rocks, and utterly wrecked* AH the crew were drowned but one man, whom i they dragged out ot the suri and carried to Der by Haven. He had apparently, however, been ! Saved from death in the water to die on the : land, tor he was so grievously bruised and cut Iby the rocks on which he had been thrown, that life was ready to leave him altogether, j When father Kelly came in, he found him lv | ing on the floor, wraped up in such dry clothes as the people had at hand. He had begged i them to fetch the priest. His back, he said, 1 was broken, and he knew he could not live an other hour: so the people fetched Father Kelly, ! as we have seen, and left the two together. "Father," said the dying man, "will you i hear ihe confession of a dying man, a inurder | er ?" The priest seeing there was no time to lose, I tils assont, j side, bent his ear to listen. Then the man, with strange breaks and ; ramblings in his speech, told him of murders out in the wide seas, and horible recollections j of cruelty and rapine. "We took a Spanish ship some weeks ago, j added the man, and came here to water being a | safe place; when I—God forgive my soul ! , I committed my last crime and stole from the ! captain a box of gold he took out of the 'Spaniard.—Another man and 1 weieinthe | secret. We brought it with us, and buried it ;in the graveyard of a little chapel, intending to make our escape from the ship on the first opportunity, find our way over here, recover, and enjoy the booty we had gut." "To whom did it belong?" said the priest. *) ''Gad knows," rpplied the man;"to me now I suppose. Those who owned it can use it no more, the ship from which the captain took it, i went down with all on board; we burnt her." "What was her nv*e ?" asked Father Kelly. •'Name?" said the dying man. "Tnere take ; the gold, and shrive me; I have confessed!" Then, without another word he died. The i people buried him, and gathered up some few | pieces of timber from the wreck of his ship hut nothing came ashore to ehow whether she was laden or not. They never knew her name, nor, tor a great while, what she *va, the priest not conceiving himsplt bound to tell thern even so much of what he had heard in confess- j ion. Many yean after wards the whole story | was found in a book which he had left behind , him when he died. The words: "Take the golu" haunted the good father long after the man who died in ut tering them had been committed to the ground, i The chapel was finished but not furnisiied; the fulfilment of the dream was incomplete. Many | a night the priest lay awake urging with him- I self tlie lawfulness ola search among the graves ; for Ihe treasure which he had no doubt was hidden there. Suppose he could find it, should he credit the pirate's word about the death of its owner? Could he conscientiously ; appropriate it, not indeed to his own use, but |to that of the chapel? He thought of the ter | rible sentence which fell on those who put un hallowed fire in their censers: he though' of ihe accursed thing found in the Jew's tent, which brought trouble upon the whole people*, to which he belonged. Then, again it looked as if the sin attached to the appropriation of this gold had been punished in the presence ot the pirates who had taken it. It looked as if it were rescued from the wo*ld, to oe devoted to that of the church—snatched fiom the devil himself, lo be given to St. Michael his chief enemy. On the whole he decided upon using the gold, if he couid find it. He m ust, however be cautous in the search; he would not trust the people to look. It might not be there, and then he would be ashamed. There might be j more than he thought, and they might be temp- , ted to take some; or if not that, be jealous at ■ his retaining the possession himself. He would search alone. The conversaiion he had heard outside the chapel while he listened on the eve of the storm, indicated the spot in j which he could look. Having therefore waited for a suitable moon- j light night, he went very late to Ihe church- ! yard with a spade. There was no one there, j The shadow of the budding lell upon the like ly spot; he could work unpei'cieved, even if some late returning fisherman were to pass by the way. Halt ashamed ot the enand; he had not removed many spadefuls of eaith from the Freedom of Thought and Opinion. grave he suspected, before he stiuck upon something hard. Stooping down he felt for it with his hand- *t was a heavy box. He took it up, smoothed down the soil, catried it straight home, d )üble-locked his door, and broke it open. It contained b:oad shining pieces ot void, j They made such a heap on his table as he"hau never seen before. There was moreover, in the box, a necklace of large pearls. Gold tor , the chapel, jewels for the Madonna. The church was furnished, the altar was ffecked, the image was brought, and round its neck he hung the string of.fair large pearls. Father Kelly saw his dream fulfilled, and as success often produces conviction, he thanked St. Michael and ail the angels (or having tuin : ec 1 the roobei's booty into sacred treasure. So it was written in his book, but he told no one whence those riches came. Some of the sim ple folks though! the Virgin herself had brough' these jewels herself to the father. He how ever, many a time, while he sat on the rocks by the chapel looking seaward, and watching the white vails go by wandered back to the question whence these riches came and wheth er, after all they may not hide some afler curse or other. I One evening as he sat there a vessel came 1 rouhd the point, and dropped anchor in the haven. She drew his attention as being unlike any of the common coasting ships, or even of 1 the traders which ventured on more distant voyages. She carried more canvas in propor tion to her hull, and bad her sails furled almost as soon as she had swung round with the tide. Presently, a boat came off from her, and was rowed to the shore, just oenea'h the spot where he sat. Two men apparently officers, got out, and walking up to him, begged him to accompany them back to the ship, as they said one of their crew was dying, and needed the offices of a priest. He went without suspi cion: a ma. who had been with him, and heard the summons, returned to Derby Haven. 1 lie ghostly summons, however, was a ruse, this was a sister-ship of the pirates that had been wrecked here in the storm—now some monihs ago. The new—comers nad learned her fate, and had landed in search for tiaces of treasures she had on board. They had i much probability, he could tell them whether i the inhabitants of the village had plundered the wreck, and also whither any of th" crew sur vived. What thev learned from Father Kelly, no one ri er Knew. nuiiie at air . c n j no . to the shore, strolled into the chapel, *,,3 doubtless recognized the necklaces as one off their lost treasure. The next morning the ship was gone, and the people, searching for their priest, who had not returned home at night, found the chapel sacked, and his corpse set over the al.ar in the place w here the image ■ Madonna had b-en, with a knotted cord like a necklace t'gbtly twisted around his throat. Phe superstition of the natives never per muted them to use the chapel again. It grad ually became a ruin, the roof fell in, the storms lashed the walls within as well as with out until at last it passed into the state in which it is to-day. This was the story of the old man. He ad ded, that even now, whoever struck the walls and listened could hear a moan within, a noise like the jingling of money. ' You can try it yourself," said lie, "and find whether I have told you the truth." Accepting this rather fearless challenge of the old gentleman's I walked with him to the wall and k.locked, when lo! I suddenly found that I had awakened myself by striking my hand upon the stone by which I had set down to rest, ft was all a dream. I had fallen a sleep thinking of the chapel, and watching the old man among the tucks. He wa3 not in sight how. I was quite alone, and trying to replace a piece of skin which I had knocked off the knuckle of my middle finger by rap ping on a stone. I doubted wether 1 had ask ed the old man any questions at all ;so I shook myself,rubbed my eyes, and looked at mv watch, happily finding that I should not be too late for dinner if I set off on my return at once. Directly we sat down, I asked nr.y friend for the tiue history of the little church, and he told me there was none. "Now," said I, "thai remarkable deficiency has been supplied though me;" and when the cloth was cleared awav, ! we drew round the fire, and I told my host's i boys and girls the true legend concerning the ruined chapel on St. Michael's Island. A TOUCHING INCIDENT OF THE BATTLE FIELD. —A 1 tter received from Atlanta, Georgia, gives this incident of the battle at Stone Bridge, i "A staff officer from Charlestown, engaged jn the battle ot the 21st of Jul}*, savs: j "I rode out the day after the battle, t 0 view the ground, and passed piles of dead in various positions. Under a large fre I saw a body lying, very handsomly dressed, with a fancy sword, and a bandkeichief over the face. It attracted my curiosity. I stopped, removed the handkerchief, and saw one of the handsom est faces I ever met with, of a oov not more than twelve or fourteen years old. His ap pearance and dress indicated high social pos ition; — probably he was a temporary aid to some general officer. Toasceitain who he was, I examined his pockets and found a testament, in which vvas written . ' James Simmons, New York. From his loving mother. My son, rem mber thy Crea tor in the days of thy Youth.' "1 wished very much to take the body away, but I was six miles from quarters, on horseback, and it was impossible." The servant of a Prussian officer one day met a crony, who inquired of him how he got along with his fiery master. " Oh, ex cellently !" answered the servant ; " we live on very friendly terms—every morning we dust each other's coats: the only difference is, he takes his coal off to be dusted, and 1 keep mine on." tSljc Schoolmaster 3broai). EDITED BY SIMON SYNTAX, ESQ. 02r"Friends of education wbo wish to enlighten the public on the subject of teaching the "young idea how to shoot," are respectfully requester! to send communications to the above, care of "Bed ford Gazette." SCHOOL ETHICS FOR PARENT AND CHILD. No. 17. Pupils s'tould become interested in ihe Teach er" s instructions. In order to promote the welfare of th • school as a whole, and the wel fare of the pupils in particular, they must be in terested in the teacher's insliaciions. Many circumstances combine lo render the school a place of profit and pleasure to both teacher and pupils. Prominent among these tsailively inter est manifested in all the school operations. Without being interested in his work, the teach er becomes dull and lifeless,.and but little good is accomplished; and the same is true in the case of the pupil. A love for trie woik must be cultivated, in order that an interest may be engendered and evinced. .Sometimes pupils, and even those ol riper years, urge as an argument, that they cannot become interested in particular studies, whatev er attention they may pay to ihe instruction of the teacher. This is wholly an erroneous idea. All can become interested bv first overcoming this false notion and then applying themselves with a will; thus they will not only derive much greater benefit, but they will encourage the teacher in his work, and also rouse the com munity to action. Without endeavoring to be come interested, they will necessarily be what too many already are, mere drones i n 'he school room, doing no good for themselves, and plun dering the industrsious of the products of their labor. A constant watcn must be kept by the teacher lest they engage themselves in mischief continually. Of course, this lack of interest is not always to be attributed to the wrong ideas the pupil *"..i-R—:.- VO.JI murh ilenends .1 r" ■> ingenuity of the teacher. The teacher should present matter that is not found in their text books, and everything should be presented in such a manner that the pupil may comprehend. A great fault ot too many of our teachers is, that they always present their instructions in such a manner, that the pupil cannot possibly understand them eaningof what is said. Long and unpronounceable words are not the kind to be used in conversation with children. Teach ers seem to forget that the child is not more than human, and that even as a human being, its mind is not yet ma'ured, and, hence not ca pable of grasping so much as their own. Much ot the fault, however, lies with the pupil him self, and on him devolves the duty of at least attempting to become interested. KAPHA. ANAGRAMS. Anagrams are formed bv the transposition of the letters of words, or sentences, or names of persons, so as to produce a word or sentence of pertinent or of widely different meaning. This may be converted into a highly interesting game for a social circle. A large number of the alphabet should be procured, and when the word is selected, should be transposed by the company. For instance: L"t the word be as tronomers. These letters rightly placed will make No more stars. Immediately: I met my D"lia. Catalogue: Got a clue. Elegant: Neat leg. Old England: Golden land. Par ishioners: I hire parsons. Parliament: Par tial men. Revolution: To love ruin. Peni tentiary: Nay I repent. Midshipman: Mind his map. Matrimony: Into my arm. Sweet heart: There we sat. Presbyterian: Best in prayer. Telegraphs: Great helps. On this same subject we find the following in " Gleanings for the Curious:" But with still more disordered march advance, —Nor march it seemed but wild fantastic dance: The uncouth Auagrams distorted train, Shifting in double mazes o'er the plain. Camden, in a chapter in his Remains, on this Irivolous and now almost obsolete intellectual exercise, defines Anagrams to be a dissolution of a name into its letters, as its elements; and a new connection into words is formed by their transpositon, if possible, without addition, sub traction, or change of the letters: and the words should make a sentence applicable to the per son or thing named. The anagram is compli mentary or satirical; and it ma contain some allusion to an event, or describe some personal characteristic. Thus, Sir Thomas Wiat bore his own designation in his name;—Wiat. A Wit. Astronomers may be made Moon-starers, and Funeral may be converted into Real Fun. Sylvester, in dedicating to his sovereign his translation of Du Bartas, rings the following loyal change on the name of his liege:—James Stuart: A Just Master. Of the poet Waller, the old anagrammatist said : His brows need not with Lawrel lo be bound, Since in his name with Lawttl be is crowned. WHOLE \l j|HEI. o