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ATTORNEYS AT LAW.
J. H. PL'KBOKKOW 'OSS LCTS.
DURBORROW A LUTZ,
ATTORJYJEYB AT LrAW,
BEBFORD, PA.,
Wjll attend promptly to all business intrusted to
their care. Collections made on the shortest no
tice.
They are, also, regularly licensed Claim Agents
and will give special attention to the prosecution
of claims against the Government for Pensions,
Back Pay, Bounty, Bounty Lands, Ac.
Office on Juliana street, one door South of the
"Mengel House" and nearly opposite the Inquirer
office. April 28, 1865:tf.
JOHN T. KEAGY,
ATTORNEY AT LAW, BEDFORD, PA.,
Will promptly attend to all legal business entrust
ed to his'care. Will gWe special attention to
claims against the Government. Office on Juliana
street, formerly occupied by Hon. A. King.
aprll:'6s-*ly.
ESPY M. ALSIP.
ATTORNEY' AT LAW, BEDFORD, PA.,
Will faithfully and promptly attend to all busi
ness entrusted to his care in Bedford and adjoin
ing counties. Military claims, Pensions, back
pay, Bounty, Ac. speedily collected. Office with
Mann A Spang, on Juliana street, 2 doors south
ofthe Mengel House. apl 1, 1864.—tf.
M. A. POINTS,
ATTORNEY' AT LAW, BEDFORD, PA.
Respectfully tenders his professional services
to the public. Office with J. W. Lingenfelter,
Esq., on Juliana street, two doors South of the
"Mengle House." Dec. 9, 1864-tf.
KIMMELL AND LINGENFELTER,
ATTORNEYS AT LAW, BEDFORD, PA.
Have formed a partnership in the practice of
the Law Office on Juliana Street, two doors South
of the Mengel House,
aprl, 1864—tf.
TOHN MOWER,
tj ATTORNEY AT LAW.
BEDFORD, PA.
April 1,1864.—tf. _____
DENTISTS.
C. 5. BICBOB J- E. LURSUCH, JR.
DENTISTS, BIDFORD, PA.
Office in the Bank Building, Juliana Street.
All operations pertaining to Surgical or Me
chanical Dentistry carefully and faithfully per
formed and warranted. TERMS CASH.
janS'fifi-lj.
DENTISTRY.
I. N. BOWSER, RESIDENT DENTIST, WOOD
BKBRT, PA., will spend the second Monday, Tues
day, and Wednesday, of each month at Hopewell,
the remaining three days at Bloody Run, attend
ing to the duties of his profession. At all other
times be can be found in his of6ee at Woodbury,
excepting the last Monday and Tuesday of the
same month, which he will spend in Martinsburg,
Blair county, Penna. Persons desiring operations
should call early, as time is limited. All opera
tions warranted. Aug. 5,1864,-tf.
PHYSICIANS.
DR. B. F. HARRY,
Respectfully tenders his professional ser.
vices to the citisens of Bedford and vicinity.
Office and residence on Pitt Street, in the building
formerly eccupiedby Dr. J. H. Hofius.
April 1, 1864—tf.
JL MARBOURG, M. D.,
. Having permanently located respectfully
tenders his pofessional services to the citisens
of Bedford and vicinity. Office on Juliana street,
opposite the Bank, one door north of Hall A Pal
mer's office. April 1, 1864—tf.
HOTELS.
BEDFORD HOUSE,
AT HOPEWELL, BEDFORD COURTT, PA.,
BY HARRY DROLLINGER.
Erery attention given to make guests comfortable,
who "stop at this House.
Hopewell, July 29, 1864.
US HOTEL,
HARRISBURG, PA.
CORNER SIXTH AND MARKET STREETS,
OPPOSITE READING R. R. DEPOT.
D. H. HUTCHINSON, Proprietor.
jin6:6s.
XCHANGE HOTEL,
HUNTINGDON, PA.,
JOHN S. MILLER, Proprietor.
April 29th, 1864.—ft.
WASHINGTON MOUSE,
, No. 709 CEESTRCT STREET,
PHILADELPHIA.
This Hotel is pleasantly situated on the North
side of Chestnut St., a few doors above Seventh.
Its central locality makes it particularly desira
ble to persons visiting the City on busines* or
pleasure.
ap2B:3m CHAS. M. ALLMONI), Manager
BANKERS.
C. W. RUPP O. E. SHANNOS r. BENRDICT
RUPP, SHANNON A CO., BANKERS,
BEDFORD, PA.
BANK OF DISCOUNT AND DEPOSIT.
COLLECTIONS made for the East, West, North
and South, and the general business of Exchange,
transacted. Notes and Accounts Collected and
Remittances promptly made. REAL ESTATE
bought and sold. apr.15,'64-tf.
JEH EIsER, die.
DANIEL BORDER,
PITT STREET, TWO DOORS WEST OP THE BED
FORD HOTEL, BEBFORD, PA.
WATCHMAKER AND DEALER IN JEWEL
RY, SPECTACLES, AC.
He keeps on hand a stock of fine Gold and Sil
ver Watches, Spectacles of Brilliant Double Refin
ed Glasses, also Scotch Pebble Glasses. Gold
Watch Chains, Breast Pins, Finger Kings, best
quality of Gold Pens. He will supply to order
any thing in his line not on hand,
apr. 8,1864 —ss.
HENRY HARPER,
No. 520 Arch St. above sth Phila.
Manufacturer and Dealer in WATCHES, FINK
JEWELRY, SOLID SILVER WARE, and Su
perior SILVER PLATED WARE. mar34:3m.
JUSTICES OF THE PEACE.
JOHN MAJOR,
JUSTICE OF THE PEACE, HOPBWELL,
BEDFORD COOKTT. Collections and all business
pertaining to his office will be attended to prompt
ly. Will also attend to the sale or renting of real
estate. Instruments of writiug carefully prepa
red. Also settling up partnerships and other ac
counts.
April UlB6 —tf.
©edtofd 3lumurtr.
Dl RBORROW & LUTZ, Editors and Proprietors.
©rigittat
FOB THE BEDFORD ISQVIRER.
THE ASSASSINATION.
Great God ! and has it come to this ;
In this Thy "chosen land,"
That "Thine annointed'e" stricken down
By an assassin's hand ?
Oh ! why not for his righteousness,
Stretch forth Thine arm to gave
His country'B saviour to the same,
And shield him from the grave ?
Well might the sun withdraw in shame,
And darkness reign supreme,
And Nature in her anguish shriek
Before tho atrocious scene :
'Tis but the crucifixion o'er;
He for his country stood,
But now, alas ! his only thought
Is baptised in his blood.
Just when the light begins to dawn,
When treason's voice grows dumb,
When dastard criminals stand appalled,
And traitor hordes succumb,
He like the pioneer of old ;
The head of Israel's host,
When just in view of Canaan's land
Has yielded up the ghost.
Bat now, redeemed and disenthralled,
The Nation stands to-day,
Cured of the cankering—festering sore—
The curse which on it lay,
And as Regeneration's stream
Flowed from the Saviour's side
So now is FREEDOM'S golden fruit
Sealed in a crimson tide.
'Tis well, oh God, thy purpose good ;
Thy son for sinners died —
Blest Saviour ! on the accursed tree
"Thy will be done" He cried.
So let ns bow to thy decree,
And with Thine Eternal Son,
Although deep sorrow rends our hearts,
Exclaim "THV WILL BE DORK."
W. J. M.
TRYING AN EXPERIMENT.
*'A girl! My dear Carry what are you
thinking of?"
Peter Carver pushed his chair abruptly
back from the table, and surveyed the faded
little face on the opposite side of the tea tray
with a gaze of innocent astonishment.
Faded enough, now, though she was bare
ly twenty-seven, you would hardly have be
lieved how fresh and pretty Carry Carver
had been on her wedding day, with cheeks
like newly opened quince blossoms, and lips
like a strawberry. Seven years of matrimo
ny had dimmed the pink and scarlet, and
stolen the light elasticity of the step. Her
husband saw the change, but somenow he
supposed that all women faded just so.
"TLey were frail things at best, not much
better than a piece of washed-out calico."
And so Mr. Carver dismissed the subject
from his powerful mind.
"There is so much to do Peter, and the
children demand so much of my time and at
tention," pleaded the meek wife, winking
back two bright drops that began to sparkle
omniously under the eyelids.
"I tell you what, Mrs. Carver, if I were
manager in this household, things would hap
pen very differently."
"I have no doubt of it," said Carry, very
quietly.
"There's no earthly reason," went on Mr.
Carver, ignoring the sarcastic meaning of
her tone, "why the work shouldn't be done
and you dressed and enjoying yourself, cul
tivating your mind, or something, at eleven
o'clock every morning that we live. Washing
up a few dishes —sweeping a room or two
brushing the children's hair —what does it
all amount to ? Why. my dear, don't you
see the folly of asking for a servant to help
you do nothing at all ?"
Carry rose to her feet, as near being in a
passion as her gentle nature ever came —a
state that reminded you of a white dove with
its feathers iidignantly ruffled up.
"Peter you have no right to speak so,
when you have no practical knowledge of the
subject"
"Any man knows what housekeeping
amounts to," returned Peter, drawing up
the strings of his purse with a jerk.—
"There's not a bit of science in it —a mere
knack.''
Carry stood watching her husband as he
brushed his hat, buttoned up his overcoat
and slowly sauntered out of tne room. She
did not cry, she did not slam the breakfast
dishes, nor bite her lips, norclench ber teeth
as some women would have done under sim
ilar circumstances ; she merely sat down and
bowed her head on the table, crushed and
weary and sick at heart, feeling as some poor
heathen devotee may be supposed to feel af
ter the wheel of Juggernaut has rolled over
it, overwhelming sense and reason, and vo
lition itself under the iron weight. Poor
Carry ! how manv wives have fallen under
Juggernaut besides you !
"This will never do," she said, at length,
rising slowly. "Slow death —slavery worse
than that bound with chains ! I must find
some escape from this bondage before it un
dermines life and health, and leave my little
ones motherless!"
The morning sunshine crept down the pale
green wall paper, sprinkling drops of gold on
the few little geraneum plants that Peter
called "a waste of time," and lay in noon
splendor on the carpet, and still Carry Car
ver stood there thinking—thinking.
*******
"Cam ! Wife! Aren't you going to
get up this morning ? It is half past seven,
and ,the —"
"I cannot, Peter," groaned Carry, turn
ing her face away,from the light. "I am
suffering such dreadful pain in that foot I
sprained last night. I wish you would reach
me the camphor bottle and some fresh ban
dages." .
r 'l am sorry, Carry. I hope it isn't very
painful," said Peter, making a dive at the
pomatum pot instead of the camphor bottle.
"But what the dcuOe is a fellow to do for
his breakfast ? Tommy and Pet are sailing
their shoes in the wash-basin, and the fires
are all out. Suppose I send over for Mrs.
Simmons to come over and help round a
bit ?"
"Mrs. Simmons has gone to visit her
daughter." answered Carry, faintly.
"Well, what shall I do ?"
"You must take charge ofthe housekeep
ing yourself, Peter," said Carry, hiding a
smile in the folds of her pillow. "It's only
for a day or two, and I don't know of any
help you can obtain. It won't be much, you
know, with your ideas of system."
"That's true," said Peter somewhat en
couraged. ' ' Anybody could get a breakfast
couldn't he?"
"Oh ! certainly. But, Peter—"
"Yes, my dear."
"Please darken the room and keep the
children away, and don't speak to me, if you
can help it. I have such a racking head
ache, and the least excitement almost drives
me wild.''
Peter shut the door with great caution,
and went down stairs on a creaking tiptoe.
As he passed the nursery a duet of voices
chimed shrilly on bis ears—
"Papa ! papa! we are not dressed.
A LOCAL AND GENERAL NEWSPAPER, DEVOTED TO POLITICS, EDUCATION, LITERATURE AND MORALS
''Dress yourselves then, can't you ?" said
Mr. Carver, pausing.
"Pet is too little to dress herself," said
Tommy, loftily; "and mamma always dres
ses me."
"Where are your shoes ?"
"I don't know," said Tommy, with his
finger in his mouth.
"I know," said Pet, aptly revenging her
self for the hit at herdimunitive proportions
"Tommy dropped them out of the win
dow.
"Tommy is a bad boy," said the vexed
pater-familias, crawling under the bed for
sundry little stockings that had been thrown
there, apparently, as balls. "Where are
the clothes ?"
"In the bureau," answered the child.
' 'But where ?''
"I don't know.''
Crash went a fancy bottle of cologne off
the table, as Tommy groped for his elastic
garters, and bang fell Mrs. Carver's rose
wood writing desk to the floor, bursting off
the frail hinges, and scattering pens, enve
lopes and postage stamps far and wide !
Pet pounced upon the ruins like a vulture on
the battle-field, while Tommy burst into a
loud wail.
Mr. Peter Carver was an affectionate fath
er in a general way, but human nature could
not endure all this. He promptly gave his
adhesion to Solomon'ffiwisdom by adminis
tering brisk personal chastisement. Tom
roared, and Pet joined in with a treble scream
of sympathy.
"1 never saw such children in my life!"
said the chagrined parent. "It would take
one person's whole time to keep them out of
mischief.''
And he bundled the two little creatures
miscellaneously into whatever articles came
uppermost, rending off strings and fracturing
button-holes in frantic desperation.
"There ! Now. see if you can behave
yourselves while 1 get breakfast."
"Papa,' snivelled Tommy, "you have
buttoned my frock in front instead of be
hind. and Pet his not had herface washed."
"I can't attend to you now," said Mr.
Carver, banging the door with a sigh of re
lief. "Children are a great trial; I never
realized it before."
The kitchen range looked black and cheer
less enough as he stood staring helplessly at
it.
"I don't know much about making a fire,'
he pondered; "but I suppose a newspaper
and a lot of kindling are about the right
thing, with a few shovelfuls of coal on top.
Bless me! there's nothing you can't reduce
to theory.''
But the fire obstinately refused to burn,
setting theoretical perfection utterly at de
fiance. although Mr. Carver opened the ov
en doors alternately, and drew out all the
dampers he could spy."
"Confound 'the fire!" said Mr. Carver,
wiping his wet forehead with the stove-cloth
"it won't go. I'll have a blaze of kindling,
and fry the breakfast on that."
He seized an oleaginious ham, carving
several thick sliceswhich he transferred deft
ly to a gridiron, and then, elated with his
success, broke several eggs over the ham.
"Bless me, how they run !" he ejaculated
rather puzzled. I know lam right;
because it" the e,g don't cook on the ham
how the deuce do they come there ? 1 won
der why this coffee don't boil. I'll stick in
a few more kindlings—that's the idea.
There are the children crying up stairs
hungry, I suppose. Ido believe they do
nothing but eat and cry. Here—Pet, Tom
my—come here, and I'll givo you some bread
and molasses.'' ,
While the little creatures were gradually
becoming hopelessly sticky and begrimed on
the kitchen floor, Mr. Carver rushed to
attend the peremptory summons of the milk
man.
"How much milk? I don't know —a
quart I suppose. Fine morning, Mrs. Gray '
he said, bowing chivalrously to a lady who
was tripping down the street, and adding,
sotto voice, "but I don't see anything to
laugh at in the remark. Some women are
always giggling." '
"Papa, said Pet, innocently looking up,
"your nose is all black with charcoal.
" Vou look so funny, papa, said Tommy
"with that big towel pinned round you."
I |Mr. Carver turned scarlet —this was the
mystery of Mrs. Grey's uncontrollable amuse
uicnt -
"A man can't, cook and keep himself
clean," said he pettishly.
Then he remembered with a remorseful
pang, how white Carry's collars and cuffs
always were, and how spotless and pure her
morning wrappers invariably looked. And
he sat down, tired and spiritless, to a repast
of half cooked meat and liquid mud, by
courtesy termed coffee.
"Stuff," he ejaculated, throwing the cof
fee spitefully into the sink. 1 "I wouder how
Carry did it I'm sure it seemed easy enough.
Now. I suppose I have got to wash these
dishes.''
He looked despairingly around at the cliaos
that reigned in the kitchen.
"Nine o'clock, as 1 live —and nothing
done. Well, I see very plainly there's no
office for uic to-day. Now, then, what is
wanting?"
"The clothes for the wash, please, sir?"
said a little girl oourtesying humbly at the
door.
"Up stairs and down staiis. and in my la
dy's chamber" went Peter Carver, laying
hands on whatever he considered proper prey
for the wash-tub, rummaging in bureau
drawers, upheaving the contents of trunks,
and turning wardrobes inside out for a mor
tal hour before he had completed the requi
site search. The kitchen was empty when
he returned.
"Where are the children ?" was his first
alarmed thought, expressing himself uncon-
in words.
"I saw them go out of the door, please,
sir," said the little girl.
"Was it long ago ?"
"No sir—not very ; it might be fifteen
minutes."
Peter rent off the towel wherewith he
had girdled himself, and set off hot haste
after the missing ones. The July sun was
beginning to glow intensely in the heavens,
the pavements reflected the ardent shine
with tenfold heat, and poor Peter Carver
was nearly melted into nothingness ere he
espied, in the train of a hand-organ and
monkey, his hopeful son and heir, with Pet
following, both nearly unrecognizable from
dust, perspiration and molasses.
"Come home, this instant, you little
wretches !" ejaculated Peter, quite forget
ting in his rage the emolument precepts in
culcated as the parents' guide, and lavishing
a shower of not very caressing words on his
offspring, as he promptly arrested them.
Neither of them would walk —in fact, the
little wanderers were far too weary. So Mr.
Carver mounted one on each arm and car
ried thein, limber and unresisting, through
the streets. ,
"Good day, Mr. Carver," said Judge
Mason, with rather a surprised look ; "have
you been out for a walk ?"
Peter thought of his dripping face and
hatless head, and looked at the dirty scions
of his race, ere he answered, sheepishly
enough—
BEDFORD, Pa., FRIDAY, MAY 19, 1865.
"Yes —that is, 1 have taken a little exer
cise. ''
A little! It seemed that every acquain
tance he mustered on his bowing list made
a point of meeting him on that particular
morning, of all others, and his confusion and
mortification were acute in the extreme ere
he reached .home, tired, pantbgand breath
less, as the clock struck elevei!
"I'll have a nurse for you, my young
friends, before the world is a day older," he
said, grinding his teeth with impotent wrath
as he deposited Pet and Tommy on the
floor, and went weary about his household
duties.
"How are you now. Carry?" he said,
about an hour afterwards, throwing himself
into a chair by her bedside, and fanning him
se'i' with the newspaper he had laid there
that morning.
"About the same, dear. How does the
housekeeping get along ? r
"It don't get along at all."
"Is dinner ready? '
"Dinner!" echoed Peter, b a sort of dis
mayed tone ; "why. 1 haven't got through
with breakfast yet!"
"But it is twelve o'clock."
"1 don't care if it is twenty-five o'clock
—a man can't do forty things at once.''
"Yet," remarked Carry, quietly, "you
would scarcely have remarked the force of
that remark, as coming from me, if my meals
were not punctual to a minute.''
31r. Carver began to whistle.
are the children?" asked his
wife.
"In bed. They were too much for me ;
so I undressed them aud put them to bed,,
to get them out of the way."
'' Poor things !'' said Carry.
"Poor me, I should think," said Mr.
Peter Carver, irately. "I had quite enough
to do without them. I have broken the
plates and scalded my leg with a kettle of
boiling water, and melted off the nose of the
tea-pot, and lost my diamond ring in the
ash barrel, end cut my fingers with the car
ving knife already. Is not that enough ?''
1 I should think so," smiled Carry. "Have
you looked after the pickles and baked fresh
pies?"
"No."
"Nor blackened the range, nor cleaned
the knives, nor scrubbed up the kitchen
floor ?"
"No !"
"Nor made the beds, nor swept thecham
bers, nor dusted the parlors, nor polished
the windows, nor heard the childrens' les
sons, nor taken care of the canary birds,
nor—' ,
"Stop ! for mercy's sake, stop !" ejacula
ted Mr. Peter Carver, tearing wildly at his
hair. "You don't mean to say that all you
do all these things every day ?"
"I do most certainly—and long before
twelve o'clock. Ahd yet you wonder that I
am not dressed and cultivatbg my mind be
fore eleven.''
"I'm a donkey," said Peter Carver, with
charming candor.
"And you say," persisted the merciless
Carry, "that a child of ten years old could
do the work of this family; you declare that
were you manager things would be altogeth
er different."
"So they wonWt" aormtiva Peter ; "but
I duu't know t hat the difference would be an
improvement."
"Do you wonder that I am weaiy and
worn out, and that I feel the necessity for
some assistance?"
"My dear Carry," said Peter, penitently,
"I have been a brute. I'll have a cook ana
a nurse and a chambermaid here, just as
soon as I can possibly obtain them—you
shall be a drudge no longer."
Carry's soft eyes filled with tears as her
husband bent over to press a kiss on her
lips before he went down stairs to resume
his domestic avocations.
A few minutes afterwards the unskilled
cook was seorchiug his whiskers over a grid
iron, which alarmed him by suddenly blazing
up into his face, without the least premoni
tory symptom, when a light step crossed the
kitchen floor, and a little hand took the
handle of the gridiron from hisgrasp.
"I release you from duty, sir,' smiled
the wife. "My ankle is better now."
"I say, Carry ?"
"Well."
"Tell the truth now. Wasn't that ankle
business a little exaggerated, just to give me
a lesson ?'
"Don't you think the lesson was needed?"
He put back the brown hair with a loving
touch —and she knew that her days of trial
and trouble were over.
DURATION OF LIFE.
The average duration of life of man in
civilized society is about thirty-three and a
third years. This is called a generation,
making three in a century. But there are
certain localities and certain communities of
people where this average is considerably
extended. The mouutaineer lives longer
than the lowlander; the farmer than the ar
tisan; the traveler than the sedentary; the
temperate than the self-indulgent; the just
than the dishonest. "The wicked shall not
live out half his days," is the announcement
of Divinity. The philosophy of this is found
in the fact, that the moral character has a
strong power over the physical; a power
much more controlling than is generally
imagined. The true man conducts himself
in the light of Bible precepts; is temperate
in all things; is "slow to anger;" and on his
grave is written: "He went about doing
good. " In these three things are the great
elements of human health; the restraint of
the appetites; the control of the passions;
and that highest type of physical exercise,
' 'going about doing good.' It is said of the
eminent Quaker philanthropist, Joseph
John Gurney, that the labor and pains he
took to go and see personally the objects of
his contemplated charities, so that none of
them should be unworthily bestowed, was
of itself almost the labor of one man, and he
attended to his immense banking business;
in fact he did too much, and died at sixty.
The average length of human life, of all
countries, at this age of the world, is about
twenty-eight years. One-quarter of all who
die do not reach the age of seven; one-half
die before reaching seventeen; and yet the
average of life of "Friends," in Great Britr
ain and Ireland, in 1860, was nearly fifty-six
years, just double the average life of other
people. Surely this is a strong inducement
for all to practice for themselves, and to in
culcate it upon their children day by day,
that simplicity of habit, that quietness of
demeanor, that restraint of temper, that
control of the appetites and propensities,
and that orderly, systematic, and even mode
of life, which "Friends'" discipline incul
cates, and which are demonstrably the means
of so largely increasing the average of hu
man existence.
Reasoning from the analogy of the animal
creation, mankind should live nearly an hun
dred years; that law seeming to be. that life
should be five times the length of the period
of growth; at least, the general observation
is, that the longer persons are growing, the
longer they live—other things Deing equal.
Naturalists say:
A dog grows for 2 years, and lives 8.
An ox " 4 " " 16.
A horse " 5 " " 25.
A camel " 8 " " 40.
Man " 20 " should live 100.
But the sad fact is, that only one man for
every thousand reaches one hundred years.
Still it is encouraging to know, that the sci
ence of life, as revealed by the investigations
of the physiologists and the teachings of ed
ucated medical men, is steadily extending
the period of human existence.
The distinguished historian Macaulay
states that, in 1705, one person in twenty
died each year; in 1850, out of forty persons,
only one died. Dupin says, that from 1776
to 184:$ the duration of life in France increas
ed fifty-two days annually, for in 1781 the
mortality was one in twenty-nine; in 1843,
one in forty. The rich men in France live
forty-two years on an average; the poor only
thirty. Those who are "well-to-ao-in-the
workl live about eleven years longer, than
those who have to work from day to day for
a living. Remunerative labor and the diffu
sion of the knowledge of the laws of life
among the masses, with temperance and
thrift, are the great means of adding to hu
man health and life; but the more important
bgredient—happiness—is only to be found
in daily loving, obeying, and serving Him
"who giveth us all things richly to eiyoy."
—Hall s Journal of Health.
HEINE.
Concerning this impassioned and erratic
German poet, a writer observes: Heine s
dramas and tragedies were the first windfall
of his poetical imagination. Only twenty
three years old when he wrote them, he was
then known as a youug lyric poet, and a
dreamer in whom passion had already begun
to be an intolerable suffering, either ill-con
cealed by bitter irony, or marked by heart
less defiance, yet giving him no truce. Ger
many was, therefore, taken by surprise, and
wondered, as the world has wondered ever
since, at so much audacity, so much fierce
and reckless independence, and such a ready
courage to carry his coiors unfurled to the
wind of every passing opposition in so young
a man.
Yet the charm of Hebe's writings is irre
sistible. They are so genuine, so simple, so
truthful, frank and open-hearted, ahd moo
dy, like the unguardeo capriciousness of a
child. His style is unique in its airy light
ness, and in that exqui ite music movement
we call grace. Now strong, impassioned,
and eloquent with the ardor of a heart arous
ed from its depths, then suddenly falling
down to the softest flute-like notes of suavi
ty, till the expression dies away in tears.
For Heine lives in full in all he writes. We
find him at every turn of the page, loving
and suffering, with his unparalled mobility
of nature, his rare qualities, his many vices;
the man and the artist, such as nature fash
ioned in one of her most daring moods.
Heine has no other hero but himself. When
he takes us to the voluptuous, sun-embrown
ed Spain, or we follow him under the chilly
gray sky of Scotland, lingering b Italy, or
exiled in Paris, it is always his own tormen
ted soul which he unveils to our gaze, and
which we contemplate as the stage upon
wfiieh > first enacted the tragical tollies of
his life. He tells us himself": "1 liave
yearned for a pure ideal human love, and a
found nothing but bitter hatred; so I sighed
and I cursed.
That ycry confession of profound disap
pointment and of mournful sadness draws
us so close to Heine, and at once creates be
tween him and usa last fellow-feeling of sym
pathy. His exceptional nature must remain
above reach of our small conventional foot
measure. He scorned restraints. Impulse
was the only law he recognized, and pleasure
the only divinity he worshipped; but we
should remember that strong lights project
strong shadows; besides we may admire the
artist, if not the man. if words that make
one of the most original and brilliant pages
in modern literature.
It is mostly as a lyric poet that Heine has
won an enduring place in the heart of the
people. All his poems are songs, inexpress
ibly sweet and saa. Some have about them
the plaintiff music of a lullaby, and make us
drowsy and faint; others, on the contrary,
sound like the wild wail of a storm breaking
on desolate .shores, with not even the flit
ting vision of a solitary sea bird. But all
alike are marked with the same vivid ima
ginativeness, lightness of touch and fantas
tic humor. No man ever wrote like Heine.
Too impressible for any great and sustained
intellectual effort, he is so varied and versa
tile, so rapid in his flights from thought to
sensation, and from criticism to pathetic ten
derness, that his genius draws upon all the
forces of our nature, and awakens to the full
all its sensibilities.
His precision of touch is remarkable.
Criticism with him is an intuition which
guides him unerringly in his sketches of
character, or his estimate of pictures and
books. Unflinchingly independent of pub
lic opinion, he cared not for the frown of
the malcontents who surrounded him. Lit
erature and art richly opened their treasures
to him; we know how delicately he has gath
ered the half hidden pollen out of every bow
er there.
.MISTAKES ON MATRIMONY.
There are two mistakes about it. One is
that which Dr. Watts has sanctioned in his
celebrated lyric, that s< uls werepri'ra? when
sent into this world, and somehow have got
mixed and jumbled up, scarcely any one
getting his true counterpart, or having any
chance of doing so ; and that hence are the
jarriugs of the married state, many people
lay off their miseries upon this mystic fatal
ism, and think, if they had only their true
partners, they should have been supremely
nappy. Now the truth is, there are no
persons but those regenerated or becoming
so who can be brought into any iutimate re
lation, least, of all the most intimate, with
out drawing out all the mutual points of
repulsion in their character.
We are not sent into the world paired
and nicely fitted to each other without any
agency of our own; we are brought here
with selfish natures to be subdued, and an
gelic natures to be unfolded from within ;
and this done through constant watchings,
self-denials, and efforts. Ln two persons,
then, with hearts intensely natural, be
brought together in the most sacred of all
relations. They think they are matched.
They are so. But it may be either for a
draw game at self or for walking aequis
passtous, on the heavenly road. If they be
gin in earnest a life of regeneration, intern
al evils, as they come successively into the
consciousness, will be denied, and have all
their jagged points filed off, and finally, will
be cast out entirely ; and whereas there
union at first might have been only external,
at length it may become so perfect, that for
aught we know, they mav only appear in
the spiritual world, as Mr. T. L. Harris,
says, like one person instead of two. At
any rate they may become together a com
plete humanity halved and split in twain
Or on the other hand, suppose a regener
ate life does not begin, but selfish and
worldly living rather. Then the jagged
points of two selfish natures will begin to
Vol 38: No. 21 .
show themselves, and they will grow more
protrusive, sharp and quickly, and make the
disunion more and more complete. This
will appear at first rather insensibly under
externals, but will grow to a terrible reality.
At first they will only wish to look at the
moon through separate windows; but very
soon it will be as Hood says, and they will
want separate moons to look at; and, lastly
there will be no moon, at all, for all the ro
mance of life will have departed, and its
soft silvery light will have gone out in total
darkness.
The other mistake is that of supposing
the happiest marriages must be a union of
congenial tastes and pursuits. Just the op
posite, we think is true. What does one
want of another who is just like himself,
and is not complementary of his own imper
fect being t As Mr. Emerson puts it "they
must be very two before they can be very
one." The more two the better. Ideal
men want practical wives, ideal wives want
practical men; and then, the earth-ride and
the heaven-side of life are put together, it
rounds it to a glorious completeness. But
they must be put together by inter-pene
tration, and not by soldering; or, as Swed
enborg says, they must be con joined and
not adjoined.
PROFANITY.
. people of this land are certainly dis
tinguished, to an extent unknown in other
countries, except perhaps Great Britain, by
profaneness. A stranger might infer from
the tone of popular conversation, from the
exclamations of excited individuals, from
the clamors of anger and passion, that we
acknowledge the Almighty for no other
purpose than that we might have a name to
swear by. or a convenient expletive to fill up
the chasms of discourse. Profaneness is a
sin the enormity of which the imagination
cannot conceive, because no thought can
compass the infinite excellencies of Him
whose prerogative it is to be ; who sits upon
the circles of the earth, and the inhabitants
thereof are as grasshoppers; who stretcheth
out the heavens as a curtain, and spreadeth
them out as a tent to dwell in. That a puny
creature of the dust, borne to-day and gone
to-morrow, should have the audacity to
pour contempt upon that glorious name
which seraphs adore with rapture, is enough
to astonish the heavens and convulse the
earth. Yea, still more astonishing is that
miracle of patience which endures the mon
sters, when one word would ann all nature
against them, make the ground treacherous
beneath them, heaven terrible above them,
and hell ready to meet them at their com
ing. The magnitude of the sin cannot be
exaggerated. It is enough to make the
blood curdle, to think of the name of God
bandied about as the bauble and plaything
of fools, to jpointaiest, to season obscenity,
and to garnish a tale. This offence cannot
go unpunished. If there be a God, he must
vindicate his own magesty and glory. There
must be a period when all shall tremble be
fore him ; when every knee shall bow, and
every heart shall do reverence. The sword
of justice cannot always be sheathed, nor
the arm of vengeance slumber. In the
sight of angels, there can be no greater sin
than that of profaneness. They know
oonietbing of what God is Thev fear that,
dreadful name, and their imaginations, lofty
and expanded as they are. cannot measure
the height and depth of that iniquity which
can make light of so tremendous a being.
It is the very spirit and core of all evil, the
quintessence of ungodliness.— American
Messenger.
THE CHEERFUL VOICE.
The comfort and happiness of horn ; and
home intercourse, let me here say, depend
veiy much on the kindly and affectionate
training of the voice. Trouble, and care,
and vexation will and must, of course, come;
but let them not creep into our voices. Let
only our kindly and happier feelings be vocal
in our homes. Let them be so if for no
other reason, for the little children's sake.
These sensative little beings are exceedingly
susceptible to the tones. Let us have con
sideration for them. They hear so much
that we have fbrgotten to hear. For as we
advance in years, our life becomes more in
terior. We are abstracted from outward
scenes and sounds. We think, we reflect,
we begin gradually to deal with the past as
we have formerly vividly lived in the pres
ent. Our ear grows dull to external sound;
it is turned inward, and listen chiefly to the
echoes of past voices. We catch no more
merry laughter of children. We hear no
more the note of the morning bird. The
brook, that used to prattle gaily to us, rush
es by unheeded—we have forgotten to hear
such things. But little children, remember,
sensitive hear them all. Mark how, at ev
ery sound, the young child starts, and turns
and listens ! And thus with equal sensitive
ness, does it catch the tones of human voi
ces. How were it possible that the sharp
and hasty word, the fretful and complaining
tone, should not startle and pain, even de
press, the sensitive little being whose harp
of life is so newly and delicately strung, vi
brating even to the gentle breeze, and thril
ling sensitively ever to the tones of such
voices as sweep across it ? Let us be kind
and cheerftd-spoken, then, in our homes.—
Once a Month.
THE TRUE WOMAN. —The true woman,
for whose ambition a husband's love and her
children's adorations are sufficient, who
applies her military instincts to the disci
pline of her household, and whose legislative
faculties are in making laws for her
nurse; whose heart asks no ot her honor than
a husband's love and adoration; a woman
who does not think it a weakness to her
toilet, and who does not disdain to be
beautiful; who believes in the virtue of
glossy hair and well-fitting dresses, and who
eschews rents and raveled edges ; slip shod
shoes and audacious make-ups; a woman who
speaks low, and does not speak much; who
is patient and gentle, intellectual and in
dustrious ; who loves more than she reason s
and yet does not love blindly; who never
scolds and rarely argues' but adjusts with a
smile; such a woman is the wife we all
dreamed of once in our lives — away in the
distance!
"AXE-GRINDING."— This is a term
borrowed from one of the most charming
storiee told by Benjamin Franklin. A little
boy going to school was accosted by a man
earning an axe. The man calls the boy all
kinds of pretty and endearing names, and
induces him to enter a yard where there is a
grindstone. "Now, my pretty little fellow"
says he with the axe only turn that handle,
and you' 11 see something pretty.'' The boy
turns and turns and the man holds the axe
to the stone and pours water over it until the
axe is ground. Straightway he turn's with
strident voice and fierce gesture on the boy:
"You abandoned little miscreant," he cries,
' 'what do you mean Dy playing truant from
school? You deserve a good thrashing. Get
you gone sirrah, this instant!'' ' 'And after
this," adds Franklin, "when anybody
flattered me I always thought he had an axe
to grind."
THE SECRET OF YOUTH.
There are women who cannot grow old
women, who, without any special effort, re
main always young and attractive. The
number is smaller than it should be: but
there is still a sufficient number to mark the
wide difference between this class and the
other. The great secret of this perpetual
youth lies not in beauty, for some women
possess it who arc not at all handsome; nor
in dress, for they are frequently careless in
that respect, so far as mere arbitrary dic
tates of fashion are concerned; nor in hav
ing nothing to do, for these ever young wo
men are always busy as bees, and it is very
well known that idleness will fret people into
old age and ugliness faster than overwork.
The charm, we imagine, lies in a sunny tem
per, neither more or less —the blessed gift of
always looking on the bright side of life,
and stretching the mantle of charity oveT
everybody's faults and failings. It is not
mucn of a secret; but it is aD that we have
been able to discover ; and we have watched
such with great interest and a determina
tion to report truthfully for the benefit of
the sex. It is provoking that it is some
thing which cannot be corked up and sold
for fifty cents per bottle; but, as this is impos
sible, why, the most of us will have to keep
on growing old and ugly and disagreeable as
unsu&l. — Jenny June.
COPPERHEAD RECORD.
The Copperheads are pretending to be re
joiced over the recent great successes of our
troops, and some of them have the hardi
hood to say that they always expected that
the rebellion would be put down by force of
arms. Here is how much they expected it
as declared by their National Convention:
"That this Convention does explicitly de
clare. as the sense of the American people,
AFTER FOUR YEARS OF FAILURI<;
TO RESTORE THE UNION BY THE
EXPERIMENT OF WAR, * * * *
justice, humanity, liberty and the public reel
fare demand that immediate efforts be made
for a cessation of hosti'ities" ett.
And we also remember this:
"'Resolved, That we believe the further
prosecution of the present tsar cannot result
in the restoration of the Union and the pres
ervation of our Constitution, as our fathers
nuideit, unless the President's Emancipa
tion Proclamation be withdrawn."
Again on the 17th of June, 1863, the
Copperhead Convention of Illinois resolved
as follows ;
Resolved , That we are opposed to the fur
ther offensive prosecution of the war, as tend
ing to subvert the Constitution and the Gov
ernment and entrailing upon this nation all
the disastrous consequences of misrule and
anarchy.'' *
All of which is respectfully submitted to
those of our Democratic friends who are
now rejoicing at the recent glorious victo
ries, and over the flattering prospects a
head.
OPENING OP THE CANAL OP SUEZ.— The
great work of the Suez Canal, undertaken and
carried out by the French, has been opened
for trafic, although not fully completed. On
the 6th of April M. Lesseps, the contractor,
was met in the city of Alexandria, Egypt, by
one hundred and twenty gentlemen, repre
senting the Chambers of Commerce and great
trade centers of the Old and New Worlds
who were delegated to witness the ceremo
nial of uniting the Mediterranean with the
Red Sea. He entertained them at a grand
banquet, and the entire party set out the
next morning for the Isthmus of Suez; so that
we shall receive a report of the event in a day
or two, and hear in a short time that the
canal, which is now readily navigable by
tugs and barks of thirty tons, bias been
deepened; so as to admit the largest sea
going vessels; and if so, the route to India
around the Cape of Good Hope will
generally be abandoned.
There is one view of this subject worthy of
consideration. It is, the completion of
this canal will insure the supremacy of
France in the Mediterranean, and give an
easy access to the East Indies For her
powerful navy and immense military force
should rupture take place with England.
The press of the latter country has long
considered this result, and often expressed
its apprehension of its reality.
THE TRUE MAN. —He is above a mean
thing. He can not stoop to mean fraud.
Invades no secrets in the keeping of another.
He betrays no secrets confided to his own
keeping. He never struts in borrowed
plumage. He never takes selfish advantage
of our mistakes. He uses no ignoble
weapons in controversy. He never stabs in
the dark. He is ashamed of inuendoes.
He is not one thing to a man's face, and
another behind his back. If by action he
comes in possession of his neighbor's
counsels, hepasses upon them an instant
oblivion. He bears sealed packages without
tampering with the wax. Papers not
meant for his eye, whether they flutter at
his window, or lie open before him in un
guarded exposure, are sacred to him. He
encroaches on no privacy of others, however
the sentry deeps. Bolts and bars, locks and
keys, hedges and pickets, bonds and
securities, notices to tresspassers, are none
of them for him. He may he trusted himself
out of sight—near the thinnest partition—
anywhere. He buys no office,he sells none,
he intrigues for none. He would rather fail of
its rights than win them thro' dishoner. He
will eat honest bread. He insults no man.
He tramples on no sensitive feeling. If he
have rebuke for another, he is straight
forward, open, manly, in short, whatever
hejudges honorable, he practices toward
every man.
GERERAL JACKSON'S MOTTO. —"Think
before you act. but when the time for action
comes, stop thinking." This is the true
doctrine. M any men fail in life and go down
to the grave with hopes blasted and pros
pects of happiness unrealized, because they
did not adopt and act upon this motto.
Nothing so prepares a man for action as
thought; but nothing so unfits a man for
action in the course ot action. Better by far
adopt some course and pursue it energetic
ally, even though it may not be the best,
than to keep continually thinking without
action. "Go ahead" ought to be printed in
every young man's hat, and read until it
becomes a part of his nature, until he can
act upon his judgment, and not be turned
from nis course by every wind of interested
advice. In conclusion, we would say,
' 'Think before you act; but when the time
for action comes, stop thinking."
WHOM TO MARRV.— When a young
woman behaves to her parents in a manner
particularly affectionate and respectful, from
principle as well as nature, there is nothing
f;ood and gentle that may not be expected
torn her. in whatever condition she may be
placed. Were Ito advise a friend as to hiis
choice of a wife," my first counsel would bo,
"Look out for a pious girl, distinguished ft r -
her attention and love to her parents. The
fund of worth and affection indicated by such
behavior, joined to the habits of duty and
consideration thereby contracted, beirg
transferred to the married state,will not fiuk
as a rule, to render her amild, obliging, and
valuable companion for life."
THE FIRST WOMAN FROM THE RIB OF
MAN. —We take the following beautiful pas
sage from Matthew Henry's "Commentary''
on the second chapter of Genesis :
' 'Woman was made from a rib taken out
of the side of Adam; not out of his head
to top him, but out of his side to be equal
with mxn, under his arm to be protected,
and near his heart to be loved.''
Surely this eloquent little extract ought to
be oommitted to memory by every map who
is married or inteu ' to get married.