! -SUTTER'S
FJ^JECAPITO!,
pS%lW|** ; fforrubtirg > f> n
is chieflv devot* i
fawT.,
orrtalif, ruled and bond lo * J, J ,,r r»
daoftboW linen p,,*,. “ vrd “f Coou,
*.and other*. deairlu*ioUa»»tb«rr.> .
UrjMt an**. U»rpert Weeki. Jl, s '«i
Wicnt,; Scientific Aon-Hceo. tit. Gl **»o’i
mm t* Mhtiii w^r^J^se*.'
lUmekwoort'e tiff n'M 0 " 11 ’’
&p*’»Xndy*. Borf^tn^iUwS Gr » h ««.’i
pt and knbatantial half blndlu,®!£ 1 * t,IM 01
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M^USMidtnto.jprtßM. U.
&*••»*»lnd, will raceWe iUh?nu£!° g •
WSy U neat to a from . j <iti r-°°i'i,
m utrnsud £.
ppOtto i packed and wturiwd "**
llmtA DERK.at tb« IwJfT^**' 3
dtoona. and Tfclaitjr, Th*j will ri.^LV**-'
Sm to binding, and rvceita and nih.l^ f ? r “' k
traohargwnLrallwho ent.n« !&*«“<
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tehfc 51
Ir-T
r ACOB WEIS,
* AND CONFECTIONER,
Vncrauenucr. Aurora*, p*:.
1 CONSTANTLY ON HAND
KE ®' CANDIES
MXAT& of kf« Own manufacture. which h»
*»#» tOHflifS IRUlW,such u
LEMONS, PIKE-APPLES
tJNES, RAISINS, NUTS, &C., &C
»d in their reepectieweuwon,.
DAKJ&D to* order
occrton*. 00 abort notice and lb the
lyte of the art.
w and price toy .took and you will a o d
'Cucap a» coo be puttbued elsewhere.
NFECTIONERY
OYSTER SALOON.
SUBSCRIBER WOULD I\
Altoon * »»<• Twinlty that Lie
SERY.NXT and FItDIT STORK. I. alwava
the eery Lest article* to be had. and In rr™
naaaltoao
STER saloon
k store, in whicb he wltlserve op OYSTERS
•during the season.
iBEAD * PJXS always on hand.
prepared to supply eakes. candies. 4r..
.other parties. He invites a share of public
t v *ng that he can render foil satisfaction to
ttv-itoreand saloon is onTirgjniasttec.iwu
Ucm’ftUaU. ' OTTO BOSS).
.35,1.861~tf
. FETTINGER’S
ml News Agency.
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im cakpbting an l '
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$P A^~D&& lilF '
McCKUM & DERN,
VOL- 8
the ALTOONA TRIBUNE.
.. p VcCRUit. B. C. DEKK}
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notice* five cent* per line for every insertion.
.Uituury iiLttic*. 1 -' exceeding ten line*, fifty cent* aequare.
<i\. lio*s or l**R
3ne
BALTIMORE LOCK HOSPITAL
ulMilldD ASA IIKFUiiK FROM QUACK KRT
‘ The Only Place Where a (Jure Can
* be Obtained*
1 All, .lUcINSON has discovered the
I I Certain, Speedy and only Effectual Remedy In
Tewid tot sill Private Weakness of the Rack
Limb*- strictures. Affections of the Kidneys and Rlad
lavuluhtarv DUctiurge*,lmpoieney,General Debility.
, ..uttncFS, l)Vifpepsy, Languor. Low Spirits. Confusion
i Y-a-. P.ii(uution of the Heart, Timidity, Tremblings.
, ,; a 0 f Sight or Giddiness, Disease of tbe’He-«d,
Mt .Vtifrt or Skin, Affections of the Liver, Luugs.Stom*
c those Terrible disorders arising from the
. Mary II ihits of Yontb—those gscaiT and solitary prac-
V,, :n 'jr- f.u.il to riieii victiins x thaii the song of Syrens to
... of Ulysses, blighting their m*»st brilliant
..r anticipations, rendering marriage .Ac., unpossi-
YOUNG MEN
••■■cikiiv. who have become the victims of Solitary Vice.
!l tir«.Jlful ami deatuclive habit which annually aweopa
ah untimulvgiHve thousand* of Young Bleu of the moat
.it - i utK-nU ami brilliant intellect, who might other
. luvl* enituuced listening Senates with t u © thunders
A uiwucc. or waked to ectaay the living lyre, may call
;it full confidence.
MARRfXGE-
Ian ie-J Persons, or Young >l«ii cotemplating marriage,
i«Ar« of physical weakness, organic debility, defur
speedilv cared,
i win. places himself under th* care of Dr. J. may re
,i,iv coufi is in his honor as a gentleman, and cOnfi
'.v -civ Upon bN skill a-* a phyeichnt.
ORGANIC WEAKNESS
•.e ji uvlv Cured. ami full Vl;jur Restored.
; .ii- es»ing Affection—which renders Life miserable
murine impossible—is the penalty paid by the
■u;. ui‘i n;.rop-*r Indulgence*. Young persrns are tu
ojiutuii exces *•* from uoi being awaie of the drcad
•.Misoiuenew th= t may c»nue. Now. who that Under
1. -he subject will pretend to deny that the flower of
i-P*ri»i is lost sooner by tho«e failing into improper
ts than hr the prudent'? Besides being deprived the
of healthy offspring, the most serious and de
prive svmptoms to both body and mind arise. The
n ;u becomes Deranged, the Physical and Mental Func-
3 < Weakened. Los- of Procreative Power. Nervous Irri
:tv. Dvxp-pnia, Palpitation of the, Heart. Indigestion*
-tilutional Debility, a Wasting of the Frame, Cough,
motion. Decay and Death.
omz- t NO. 7 SOUTH FREDERICK STREET,
Uu i side going from Baltimore street, a few doors
i rin, corner. Kail not to'observe name and number,
i..si t- must be paid and contain a stamp. The Doc
■■■'- Dmiom.is hang in hi* office
A CURE WARRANTED IN TWO DAYS.
.y* Jfcrcury or Niutons Drugs.
OR. JOHNSON, ;
. -ui-r of the Uoya! College of Surgeons, Loudon, (irod
irum oue of the most eminent Colleges in the United
and the greater part of whoseilibMias been spent in
hospitals of Lvodon, Paris, Philadelphia aud else
• ,-rp. Ims effected some of the most astomshinp eure*
u w,*re ever known; many troubled with ringing in the
-vi and esm when asleep, great nervousness being
,*rmed at sudden sou ids, basbfnlness, with frequent
lining, attended sometimes with derangement of mind.
** r a cur«d immediately.
TAKE PARTICULAR NOTICE. ’ ,
ur. J . addresses ail those who iiave injured themselves
» improper indulgence and solitary habits, which ruin
. ?rh body and mind, unfitting them for either business.
»? utly. society of marriage,
fnxsx are some of the sad and melancholy effects pro
by early [mbit. of youth, viz: We.knew of the
'i.cli end Limb., Pain, in tli« Head, Dimres* of Sight,
<. muf Muscular Power, Palpitation of the Heart. Dys
•{i#v. Nervous Irritability, Derangement of thd Dlges
• Functions, Genera! Debility, Symptoms of Consump
•cn. kc. - • 1 " .
MtMULLr.—Th* fearful affects of the mind wo much to
- -Iruiled—L «• of Memory, Confoaion of Idoaa, Ce
ssion of iplrlte, EvlMfstrebodlnga. Aversion to Society,
li-DUtruvt. here of Solitude, Timidity, *c_ are aome of
■> evils produced. . / ’ ' ■ ,
Ttmiaxus of persona of all ages can now Judge -what ia
cease of tliair declining health, ld»t-K their rigor, be
■mln£ week, pale, nerrona and em 'clated. having aeln
:;;iar appearance about the cyee, cough and symptoms of
•sumption
YOUNG MEN AJ t
•mio lure injured themselves by * certain practice In
l«:g«d ia when alone, a habit frequently Icaiited from
•v(» companions. or at school., the of which are
;-litly felt, even when asleep, and If not cured rendetv
i.-riagw imposible, ami destroys both mind and body,
•': uM apply immediately. „*
What a ulty that a young, man. the hope of hi* country.-
ij. <Urliug of hi* parent*, should be *natcbed from ail
■ enjoyments of life, by the consequence of
viaing from the path of nature, and indulging in a
'rt iio secret habit. Such person* MUST, before contem
ning
MARRIAGE,
‘‘tiGct that a sound a)in<i tusd body itr* the inosi
equlsit« to promote conuubitl happiness". Indeed, with
out these, the journey through life become* a weary pit*
?htmg«; the prospect hearty darken* to the flew; the
t m'J bjciime* sba>luwe4 with despair and filled with the j
iicUnchidy reflection that lh* happiness ot another he
•■■»««< blighted withdnr own.
DISEASE OF IMPRUDENCE. _;
«V.n the misguided and Impmd-ht votary ofpleMure
that he h*« Imbibed the espls of this painful dla-
St too often happen* that anllMimed *en*e‘of shame.
• r 'irniui of discovery, d*ter» him from <applyifl|!to tlioee
*.r>. from education and respectability, can alone be
'[ "ml him. delaying till the constliotiona! synjptoms of
" ! ;U b irrid di«eaae make their appearance, sueb -ae nlcera
>J s-irs throat, diseased nose, nocturnal pain si* the head
Mid limbs. dimness «f light, deafness, node* oil'the »bln
-oi-j* aud arms, blotchee on tlie head, face and extreml
s>,i, progressing wlth-fright#hl rapidity, till a*.last the
of the-month or the bone* of the nose fall In, and
> r victim of thl* awful disease becomes a horrid bisect of
* "nmeration, till death pat* a period to hlrdreadnil
•■’‘.tferinfpi, by .sending him t > ’‘that Undiscovered Country
! m whence no traveller returns.”
i, * nutianchala/dct that thousands fall elctlm* to
terrible disease, owing to the un*kiUfoineM origno
r - preten ler*. who. by the nse’ of that JDtatßjf /bison.
r *ry. rain the constitution and make the ifsidue of
mi«#rable.
STRANGERS
Cruras, Worthies* Pretender*, destitateof knowl
* i - •. nam* or chirncterv wh * copy Dr Johnston.* ftdvei**
«r »tvlo themselves in the newspapers. rega
‘• lncited VhysteUn*. incapable of Curing, they keep
trifling month after month, taking theirfllthy »ud
t 'isojiona compound*, or as long as the smallest fee can
aud In defpair. leave ynu with rained health
u over your galling disappointment. :
or. J la the only Phyvldwi ndvortising, ■
Hm credential or diplomas always hang in hli office,
ois remedies or treatment are unknown t/»- all others,
ired frmi a Uf** t»p?nt In tlu* great hospitals;of Europe.
fi f *t In the country and a more extensive PrifoU Prae*
tuau any other Physician in the world. '
~ indorsement of the press.
The mH«y thousands cured at this iMtlfaliOOi year after
year. art«i the numerous important Surgical operations
Pmonued by Johnston, witnessed by the reporters of this
<• Clipper.” and many oltpr notices of
" .y* v T# Appeared agaiu and again 'before the public,
OMiaeg hu standing as a gentlemen of character and re*
'feasibility, u a sufficient guarantee to the afflicted.
v. S*»N DISEASES SPEEDILY CURED.
•rJI rsceived unless poet-paid vnd containing a
oMdon the reply Persons wntjngihputd state
tsaiidseud p mion of advertisement describing symptoms
Utt!!* 0 . 0 * Tf* I ®* lhfmld h« particular in direcling their
to .his Institution, in ths following msafcer:
JOHN M. JOHNSTON. M. D..
9* tJ *e SaUimore Lock Hospital, Maryland'
S, PO-M-
TERMS OF A»V»ETWI»C
Uhoict
THE CONVICT TO HIS MOTHErT
The following lines are touchingly beautiful. The tuao
who can write such poetry, who ha* each thoughts, can*
not be utterly depraved although be in a convict in a pen
iteatary and write* within gloomy walls:
I’ve wander’d far from thee, mother,
y Far from my happy home;
I've left the lend that gave me birth,
In other cllm&.tb roam;
And time since then has rolled Its years.
And marked them on my brow;
Yet I have often thought of thee—
I’m thinking of thee now, *
I'm thinking of the day, mother.
When, at thy Under skin,
You've watched the dawning of my youth.
And kiss’d us in! your pride;
Then brightly was my heart lit up
With hopes of future Joy,
While thy bright foucy horiora wove
To deck thy darling boy.
I’m thinking of thq day, mother,
When, with such'anaious care,
.Yon lifted up your to Heaven;
Your hope, your juyfwas- there;
F* ill memory brings (by parting words
While tsars stole’down your cheek;
Your long, hut, loving look told more
Than ever worts could speak.
I’m for away from thee, mother,
No friend is near ms now,
To soothe me with a tender word
Or cool my burning brow;
The dearest ties affection wove
Are all now torn from me;
They jeft me when the trouble came—
They did not love like^thee.
I’m lonely and forsaken now.
Uupitled and uoljest;
Yet still 1 would not have thee know
How sorely I'm distress'd;
1 know you would not chide, mother,
You would not give me blame,
fiat sooth me with your tender words.
And bid* me hope again.
1 would nut have thee know, mother,
How brightest hopes decay;
The tempter, with hie baneful cup.
Has dashed them all away;
And shame has left its venom'd sting
To mark with anguish wild;
Yet still 1 would nut have diet* know
The sorrow of thy child
Oh, I’ve wander'd for mother.
Since I deserted thee.
And left thy tru ting heart to break
Beyond the deep blue s«a.
Oh, mother, still 1 love thee well. .
And lung to hear thee speak,
And feel again thy balmy breath
Upon my careworn cheek.
But, oh, there is a thought, mother,
Pervades my beating breast,
That thy foud spirit may have flown
To its eternal restr
And while 1 aipe the tear away.
There -whispers in my car
A voice that speaks of Heaven and thee,
And bids me seek you there.
ONLY A JOKE.
“ And - when are you to be married,
Annie?” asked my friend Lucy, as 1 care
fully laid aside my bridal veil and wreath
which 1 had been showing her.
There was something; in tiie tone of her
voice that struck a pang to my heart,
though I knew not why, 'and I answered
hastily,..while the warm blood mounted to
my cheeks-
“In two Weeks’from to-morrow even
ing, if nothing happens to prevent.’.’
“ And that there will be anything hap
pen you do not expect?” said Lucy, look
ing seriously into my face.
Of course, not; why should I, dear?
Two weeks is not a very lengthy period,
certainly ; and before half that time has
expired Walter is coming to Elton.”
Are you sure of this?” queried Lucy.
“ As sure as we are pf anything,” I re
plied. “Are you a prophetess? Can
you peer into futurity, and tell me if there
is any reason why this should not be so?”
“ I am no prophetess,” sighed Lucy,
“ and yet-—” f
“And yet, whjvt?” I demanded, impa
tiently, irritated by her manner.
“ And yet, Walter may never come to
you. If he should not—”
“ She did not finish the sentence, but
fixed her eyes sternly on my face.
“ There are no ‘ ifa’ about it,” I said.
“ What has taken possession of yo« that
you appear so strangely t”
“1 dare not tell you,” was the .slowly
spoken reply; “but to-day I have learned
something dreadful."
“Dreadful! What put it be? Walter,
no—nothing has happened to hjm, I am
sure. Tell me—do not torture me a mo-
inent”
“ Walter—”
“What, Lucy? I sjmll go crazy—
you’ll kill me if you do not tell me!” I
cried, grasping .her hands, and holding
them firmly. '
“ Walter is married!”
“Married, Luiqr— married —Is that all?
Did you think to frighten me with such
an absurd story as that? Shame!”
I laughed hysterically as 1 said this,
and team gushed freely from my eyes. \
•* It is true, Annie: I read it in to-day’s
paper —Mr. Walter Mayo to Miss—Miss
—I can’t think-*”
“Heleh Wickney!” I gasped, grasping
her hands again.
“ Yes, that was the name. They were
married in London.” . ! .
ALTOONA, PA., TUESDAY, MARCH 10, 1863.
“Have you seen the paper? I cannot
credit what you have seen. I must read
it—read it for myself!’’
She drew the paper from her pocket,
and pointed to the marriage list. My
eyes seemed starting from their sockets as
I read. My senses -were not to be trusted,
it could not be, and yet—-yet there it was,
plain, simple and indisputable—
“ Mr. Walter Mayo, of Elton, to Miss
Helen Stickney, of London.”
Walter Mayo, my—my Walter, mar
ried to the proud, wealthy,- city belle 1"
“Go from me, Lucy, please,” I said,
turning away. “ Forget this —me —go 1”
1 staggered to a chair as she left the
room. I pressed my hands to my throb
bing temples. I tried to believe myself in
some horrid dream from which 1 should
soon awaken. I would not suppress my
wild sobs of arief; I would let them come
—the dreadful spell would sooner pass j
away. But no, there was no change.— j
My heart grew heavier every moment.
The light that streamed in at the window
was not that of the early morning upon
which my eyes had just opened. There
were sounds of busy life about the house.
The children were out on the grassy lawn.
I had heard their merry shout, and watch
ed them at their play nearly all the long
summer afternoon. 'J here were flowers
on my table: real flowers that my little
brother brought me in the morn, when the
dew was on them. I was awake, alive!
a reality. Before my eyes was proof of
my in my hands I held it.
God pity piel 11 was real, real.
“ Mr. Walter Mayo to Miss Helen
Stickney.”
That wai- all; but my heart was break
ing. My brain whirled like a maniac's.
The mighty truth clasped itself almut
everything. Jt was within me and around
me—above and benealli me. There was
no leaving ii—no forgetting it There
was no rest lor me ; constantly my heart
must bear up its terrible load of griet.
And yet it was no wonder,” I thought,
while the calmness of despair settled upon
me : “ no wonder that he should prefer the
brilliant, accomplished city belle to me—
me. the simple, quiet and unpretending
country girl ! I had often heard him
praise her—she was like a sister to him,
he had said. Perhaps, of a sudden, he
had found that he had loved her better
than me. God only knew !- But oh ! it
was cruel —so hard to bear I I could not!
could not live !”
Dill people ever die when such grief
came upon them ?”.l wondered. It so, J
believe that 1 was dying. 1 rose and went
to the mirror. My face was ms white as
death—my eyes as wild and staring as
though I had been wrestling with the
great conqueror. Lines of purple lay
about my lips, which looked as if they
were frozen—frozen with such a pitiful
expression of woe daguerreotyped upon
them. I clasped my icy hands over ray
eyes to shut out the picture which I bad
not strength enough to turn away from.
My senses seemed leaving me as, with a
low moan of agony escaping from my lips,
I sank helpless on the floor.
When 1 awoke to consciousness, I was
in my mother’s room, lying upon her bed,
with her dear face, anxious and tearful,
bending over me. I was extremely ill,
she said. She had found me like one
dead upon the floor of my room. H.;w
long 1 had been there she could not tell.
She had not called me at tea time because
she thought I went out with Lucy Currier,
and 1 had not returned. The doctor had
said I must be kept quiet
“The doctor!”'! repeated, wonderingly,
staring into her face.
“Yes, dear, the doctor—good Dr.
Owens; here he is nowand she stepped
aside that I might see him, but I turned
my head away murmuring—
“ Walter! Walter!”
“Do you wish to see him?"’ asked the
good old man, pressing his cool hand upon
my forehead.
“Seehim? Oh! no, no, sir!” I cried,
sudden strength coming upon me at the
thought; “I shall never see, him again.”
“ Well, well, you needn’t; dear; don’t
minid it,” he said, soothingly, believing
me delirious.
1 sank wearily back upon my pilldw.
and as I did so 1 heard my mother whis
per niy name. I listened attentively.
“Had we better telegraph to him?”
she ;said.
“ 1 here is no particular cause for your |
doing so. A letter sent by mail to-inor- :
row morning will answer as well. I.do
not apprehend any serious results from
this attack. Do as you please, however.”
“We will send to-night, then. Walter:
can come in -.the lirst train to-morrow,”
answered, my father.
“ Don’t, don’t send for him,” I cried,
springing wildly up. “If you love me, ■
do not let him know that I am ill. I
shall be better soon. Do not look at me
so. -1 am not delirious—l know what 1
airi saying. Don’t send for him!” ,
h Why not 1” asked my father.
“Because —because,” I faltered, “I
cannot tell you why.”
‘‘ What is it, child?” queried my father.
“ Walter will never come here again
for is—” \ '
[independent in everything.]
“ What ?”
“ He is married to some one else. 1
read it in to-day’s paper,”, I said.
To-day’s paper?” responded my mother.
“ Yes, it is in my room ; go for it.”
The paper was found, and the evidence
of Walter’s perfidy read by every member
of the family before the wretched truth
could be realized. Then a blank silence
followed, and my mother came to my bed
side and put her dear arms lovingly around
me, and said, if all others failed, she would
rather suffer from his fickleness a thousand
times over than bear up under his; it was
all for the best, even though my heart
broke under the burden which bore down
upon it.
How from my soul I blessed that
mother fur the comforting words she spoke
to me, and, while I nestled closely to her
arms, like a frightened, grieved child, and
felt warm tears upon my cheeks, her
tender kisses upon my lips, through my
sorrow, a little vein ot joy found its way,
and 1 thanked God for my mother —(or
rav mother’s love 1
In a few days I was up and about the
house. My pride, that had been numbed
by my first shock of sorrow, took up life
again and tame faithfully to my aid. 1
put a seal upon my lips. Upon them
should linger no regrets, play no words of
passionate tenderness, tarry no names
which had been once uttered with so much
gladness. My heart should prison all its
griefs, though in their rebellion it were
torn and broken. Pride should be the
stern sen-tin*-! which I would set to watch
over it. Pride the sextou which should
bury from the eyes of the world ray woe
—the mutilated corpses of my once-bril
liant hopes. The world should have no
tombstones to look upon, and say that in
such a place my dead was lying: I, and
onlv I, knew the silent resting place..
Thus the davs went on till the time
fixed tor Walter’s coming was at hand.
'I he story - of his marriage spread rapidly
through the village. Every gossip was (
busy with this rare piece of news. II I 1
went out, 1 was watched as eagerly as !
though I were a condemned criminal or a ,
wild ferocious animal that was bent upon ]
sonr? fatal mischief'. Some said 1 was
most heart-broken; others that 1 was!
nearly insane; and others atill that I had
fallen into a sort of stupor from which I
should never be roused ; that in all prob
ability 1 should live but a short time.—
God knows, I prayed that the last might
be so; that every day I prayed not to see
the light of another ; that the bridal robes
laid away so carefully might be my shroud
at the time I thought I should become a
blessed, happy wife!
The day ion which Walter was to come
dawned at last. I knew —I expected that
it would be a wretched one to me, and I
shuddered when its light broke clear and
rosily at my windows. Oh! how every
thing mocked me on that morning. 1 he
mist rose up like a fragrant breath from
the lowlands at the first warm kiss of the
sun, and lay like a white mantle at the
feet of tho sweet green' bills. The fields
stretched away, glistening in the sunlight,
■as though their mantles were studded with
jewels; and the birds hymned out their
praises rich and clear upon the morning
air. In all this how wretchedly, how
wickedly I cursed the very fate that made
me look upon it—live to see it.
I wandered out into the yvoods, where
the silence grew more terrible than the
busy, bustling sounds of human life. I
went back to the village again—wearily
toward home. I went past the railroad
station. A train had juM; that moment
coipe in. I had promised to meet Walter
there at that very hour. I turned back.
I knetv not why. Perhaps, L thought to
cheat myself for a moment into the belief
that I should meet him as I had promised,
that the past week was a myth, a dream.
As I did so a well known voice sounded
upon my ear. I turned quickly around,
the blood receding rapidly from my brow,
cheeks and lips. Merciful heavens! Wal
ter Mayo was standing before me with a
beautiful, snowy dressed woman leaning
upon his arm!
“Oh! if I pould but be away from thip
spot!” I thought as a terrible faintness
came over me. Was pride frightened
from her post again? -Should I give up
there —sink before those cold, criticising
eyes? No, no! With strong effort 1
j moved on directly past them. As I did so ?
1 Walter’s gaze fell upon mo.
: “ Ah! there is Annie,” he said. “ This
way, Helen,” and coming towards me, he
held out his hand. ■
1 drew back. A rapid light shot from
: my eyes.: My lips quivered, and my
! whole frame trembled with emotion. I
would not bear his insults, and every
word that he might speak to me, after the
■ great wrong he had done, was indeed an
insult. I looked disdainfully at his prof-
I fered hand, and then turned away.
I “ Why, Annie, what is the matter ? you
I are looking as white as death! he exelaim
| ed, laying his hand upon my arm. “Why
!' do you turn away so? What does this
mean?”
“Oh! how the tenderness of his voice
i went down to my heart, and pleaded wlth
the stern sentinel, pride! How it room
my quiet dead—my dead that I had placed
in their graves—the cold, icy graves of
forgetfulness!
“Why do you dare to speak to me,
sir?” I said, in a voice hoarse with pas
sion. “I have no words to waste on
you!”
“ Annie, Annie, I cannot believe my
senses. What is the meaning of this?”
“Your heart is baser than I thought if
you do not know the meaning. Let me
go. I have nothing to say to you. 1
cannot wish you and your beautiful bride
joy, even; for in my heart I have only
curses—-curses for you! That is all.”
“Bride, bride! Annie, are you mad?
I have no bride.”
I laughed his words to scorn as he utter
ed them.
“Do not add another falsehood to the
pyramid that you have already raised,” I
said. ,
“Yet what could be the use of such a
denial?” I thought, as the words died
away on my lips.
“ You shall not go away until you ex
plain yourself,” he said, grasping my hand
firmly as I turned away again. “ Speak,
Helen, tell her that I have no bride, and
never hoped Co have, but her.”
“But,” I began hesitatingly, my voice
growing strange and hollow, “ but what
did that mean—your marriage—in the
paper?”
“My marriage !Is it possible—did that
cursed joke reach you ! and have you
been crediting it all this while
“ Is it not true? Oh! Walter, Walter.”
“Sure, Annie, as I hope for Heaven, il
is not. Some malicious person, I know
not whom, sent the marriage to the paper.
and the first that 1 knew of it was by tht
report that began to circulate among
Helen's and my friends. Oh! if I had
only known this ; and still I ought to
have known how it would have been,*' my
poor, dear Annie! You are fainting. See,
Helen, how white she is growing!’’
Taking me in his arms as though I had
been an infant, lie bore me rapidly to a
carriage, holding me tenderly to his breast
while passionate regrets and words of en
dearment fell from his Tips.
We were married at the appointed lime
—and I have no wish to die, out of all
the blessed happiness that surrounds me.
HOME CONVERSATION
Children hunger prepetually for new
ideas, and the most pleasant way of recep
tion is by the voice and ear, not the eye
and printed page. The one mode is
natural, the other artificial. Who would
not rather listen than read ? We, not
unfrequently pass by in the papers a full
report of a lecture, and then go and pay
our money to hear the self-saine words
uttered. An audience will- listen closely
from the beginning to the end of an address,
which not one in twenty of those present
would read with the same attention.—
'1 his is emphatically true of children.
’1 hey will learn with pleasure from the
lips of parents what they deem it drudgery
to study in the books; and even if they
have the misfortune to be deprived of the
educational advantages which they desire,
they cannot fail to grow up intelligent it
they enjoy in childhood and youth the
privilege of listening daily to the conver
sation of intelligent people, let parents,
then, talk much and talk will at home. —
A lather who is habitually silent in
his own house, may be, in many respects,
a wise man ; but he is not wise in bis
silence.
We sometimes see parents, who are
the life of every company which they en
ter, dull, silent, uninteresting at home
among their children. If they have not
mental activity and mental stores suffi
cient for both, let them first provide for
tl cir own household. It is better to in
struct children and make theta happy at
hom£, than it is to charm strangers or
am ude, friends. A silent house is a dull
place for young people—a place from
which they will escape if they can. Ihey
will talk and think of being “shut up”
there; and the youth who does not love
home is in danger. Make home, then, a
cheerful and pleasant spot. Light it up
with cheerful instruction. Father, mo
ther, talk your best at home.
A Fhiohtesed Vibgdoan.—An army
corrcspodent of the -W est Chester Repub
lican tells the following good orteßab
bits being numerous, and sfaputing pro
hibited, the boys became effected with a
snare-setting mania, and many of them
brought in numerous prizes. But Capt.
Worthington caught the largest, if not
the most digestible. Finding » stout
hickory sapling in a goodplace, he attached
to it a strong cord. On going to it the
next morning he heard a noise and saw it
fly. 'Bushing up to get his rabbit, he
found he bad caught a man W leg,
who, scared nearly to death, entreated
him to let him go, and said he always
heard the Yankees had many inernaiTma
chines, but never expected to be caught
i in one of them. He bad never heard of
| a snare, could not ta convinced of itsuje.
1 and when released, made a beeline home.”
EDITORS AND PBGEBIETOHS
THE COHSCRIFTIOS BILL.
The following is a summary of the
chief points of the Conscription bill which
has just passed the Senate.
After a preamble which sets forth the
reason for the measure, it is- enacted that
all able bodied male and foreign
ers who have declared their intention to
become citizens, who are between the ages
of twenty and thirty five years, shall be
; declared to constitute the national forces,
and .liable to perform military service
when called upon by the Ih-esident,
Section second exempts from service
such persons as are rejected; as physically
or mentally unfit for the' service: also,
first, the Vice President of the United
States, the judges of the various courts of
the United States, the heads; of the various
executive departments of the government,
and the Goverments of the several States-,
and second, the only son liable to military
duty of a widow dependent upon bis labor
for support; third, the only ; son of aged or
infirm parent or parents dependent upon
his labor for support; fourth, where there
are two or more sons of aged or infirm
parents subject to draft, the father, or, if
he be dead, the mother may elect which
son shall be exempt; fifth, the only
brother ot children not twelve years old,
having neither father nor mother, depen
dent upon bis labor for support; sixth, the
lather of motherless children under twelve
years of age dependent upon his labor for
support; seventh, where there are a father
ind sons in the same family and house
hold, and two of them are in the military
services of the United States as non-com
missioned officers, musicians or privates,
the residue of such family, hot exceeding
two, shall be exempt; and no persons but
-ueh as are herein exempt shall be exempt
—provided, however, that no person who
has been convicted of any felony shall be
enrolled or permitted to serve in said
lorces.
Section third makes two classes of the
Enrolled citizens. The first class consists
jf all those subject to duty bet ween the
iges of twenty and and thirty-five years,
tnd all unmarried persons over thirty-five
years who are subject to duty. '1 he sec
ond class embraces all othei s subject to
military duty, and these are not to be
called out until the first class has been
culled into service.
Section four to ten inclusive makes the
District of Columbia, each of the terri
tories, and each Congressional district, an
enrolling district, and authorizes the ap
pointment of a Frovost Marshal for each
district, under whose superintendence the
draft shall be made. AU persons who
are enrolled are liable for two years from
the date of enrollment to be called into
the military service of the United States
tor three years, unless sooner discharged.
Section twelve declares that when the
draft shall be made in any district, the
enrolling board for that district, consist
ing of three persons, the provost marshal
its president, and bayipg a practising
pbysican or surgeon for one of its mem
bers, shall make a draft of the citizens
subject to military duty, of the number
required, and fitly per cent, in excess. All
conscripts are to report in ten days.
'I hose who wish may procure exemption
by fnrnishing.a substitute or by the pay
ment of three hundred dollars/ Any
conscript tailing to report for duty, or
who does not procure exemption, is to be
treated as a deserter, unless he cun show
he is not liable to military dqty.
Section fourteen provides for the in
spection, .by an army surgeon, of all
drafted men. and the discharge of those
not able bodied. After the required num
ber of able bodied men are obtained the
remainder will be discharged.
Section eighteen is to encourage militia
and volunteers now in the service to reen
list by the payment of additional bounties.
It in also provided that when a regi
ment of the tame army 'from any State
has lost half its men by battle, that the
companies of the regiment shall he con
solidated, and alt superfluous officers dis
charged. Another section empowers courts
martial to reduce to the ranks officers who
shall be found guilty of absence without
leave, to serve three years dr during the
war. 1
The remainder of the act provides for
trials, &c., grades of rank* and is of no
importance to the general public. All
the most important points of the bill are
presented above.
he following appeared on a letter
sent from a soldier to a young lady: .
Soldier’s letter and na’ia red,
Hard tack in place of bread-
Postmaster shove this through,
I’ve na’ra stamp but seven months due.
O* A gentleman recently arrived from
Canada, states that a fee of fifteen hundred
dollars was paid to him the other day in
wholly in American silver. He
didn’t want the stoff,but was compelled
to take it. How horrid!
99* A duel was fought in Mississippi
lately by. S. K- Knott and A. W. fchott.
'I he yriyf, Knott w-88 Bhi[)h |ihd Shirt t
.fas. .pot';; *f>"****y ;r°
would rather bayehoen Shotttla»Knott.
\
- t
♦
NO. 6.