i
rBBLISUED EVEnr irioESDAT 1 MOUltlSa BT
:r; Jolm n.'Brattou.:
t'i WJiiK •
Dollarand ;Fifty Cents,
paid in Two .Dollars It paid within the;
'yoars and’Two Dollars and Fifty Cents, if not
■ paid within the- year.' These terms will be rig
idly adhered to in every instance; No sub
scription discontinued until all arrearages'are
•paid unless at the option, of the, Editor.
1 Advkiitisejiknts— Accompanied by the cash,
and hot exceeding oho square 1 , will bo inserted
; three times for One Dollar, andtwonty-flve cents
■for eaoh additlonal insertion; Thoseofagreat
. ter length in proportion.
Jon-PninnN.a —Such ns Hand-bills', Posting
bills, Pamphlets, Blanks, Labels, &c., &0., exe
cuted with accuracy and at the shortest notice.
A Pikes Peak In Carlisle!
TTIVERYBODY hurra’s for Pike’s Peak in the
west, thousands are “en route.” It turns
out to bo a humbug, they all return with rusty
pockets, not enriched with the yellow glitter
ing . which they anticipated. Stop I Reflect I
TtSio a.friend’s advice, and stay at home and
buy your goods of P. ARNOLD. You will
be happy, get twice the value for your money,
and in a short time, you.will And that you are
advancing in fortune without trouble.
Spring has come, are we prepared for it, eve
rybody asks j have wo clothing to suit it? if
not, we will go to Arnold’s where wo can see
a well selected stock of ail kinds of goods to
suit everybody, at greatly reduced prices. It
consists of'
Ladies Dress Goods,,
Such ns Bergo Delanes, Lawns, Deleges, La
vellas, Alapncns, Silks of all kinds, such as
plain,, black, Moure . Antique, Barred,, Striped
and figured.
Embroideries.
French worked collars, TTndersleeves, hand
kerchiefs, Flouricingsj Edgings, Laces, Inser.
tings, &c.
Bonnets and Ribbops.
A good assortment of Bonnets and Rihhons
vety low. ' .
Shawls and Mantillas.
Stella, (of every description,) Cashmere,
Brocha, Thibet wool, (black and colored,) al
so, Mantillas of all prices.
Parasols of all kinds and prices.
Domestic Goods.
■Muslin, bleached and unbleached, linen and
cotton sheetings, Checks, Tickings, Ginghams,
and OsnabUrg. .
Gentlemen’s wear.
Cloths, Cassimerea, Cottenades, Joans, Yes
tings, &c.
Carpets and Oilcloth.
Ingrain, Venetian, three ply, rag and hemp
carpets. Oilcloth of all widths, also Slatting of
aji widths,
A good assortment of Trunks.
A liberal patronage, and you will be rewar
ded. Remember the stand next'door east of
the Carlisle Deposit Bank.
P. ARNODR.
April 14, 1859.
NEW SF3&SN& GOODS.
T EIDtCH & SAWYER.(at their new store
-JLiEast Main street,) have Just received from
Jtf.ew York am}'Philadelphia 1 , the most complete
and varied assortment of Dry Goods ever offer
ed in Carlisle, embracing everything that is.
new and rare in style and texture i such as tan.
py silks in all the various colors, barred, strip
ed, Cheno and Boyedere, plain striped apd
, Beyedcre Black Silks, Toulnfds of new de
signs. Barege and Lawn Robes of the latest
Paris stylos, Satin striped .Dechevre cloths,
French Challis, American Delaines, Organdy
Lawns of dark and light grounds, and beautiful
designs.,
Traveling Dross Goods Of IJj.o newest pigkps,'
Also a full stock of mourning dress goods to
, which class of goods wo give particular atten
tion-:
. SUA WLS ! SIU WX.S f / SHAWLS !/1 '
This part of oiir stock is unusually complete,
consisting of crape, silk, Stella, in all the vari
ety of shades and qualities, mourning Shawls,
lace and silk Mantillas, from tlio celebrated em
poriums of Brodlo and Bulpui, New York
feun umbrellas, showcrets and parasols of the
newest styles.’ White goods of every descrip
tion. Embroideries in- full setts, collars,
el coves, worked bands, flonneings, edgings and
Insertings. Wo give great care to this branch
of our trade, and ladies will find a very full as
sortment. Hooped skirts of the latest improve
ments, skirt supporters, (a new article.) A
full lino of Alexander’s kid gloves, imported
and sold .by Stewart, New York. Milts,
gloves, gauntlets, in every variety. Also a
'large.stock of the newest styles of mens and
boys spring cassimeros, black cloths and cassi
iheres.
Iloisory of every description; In this de
partment unusual core has boon taken to select
the various kinds and sizes suitable for Ladies,
Misses, Mep’s, Boys and Children’s wear.
In fact, our stock embraces everything kept
In a drat class Dry Goods store.
Having purchased for cash and made our se
lections among the best importing and jobbing
bouses of Now York and Philadelphia, we fe’el
prepared to offer superior inducements to buy
ers. A|l wo ask is an examination cf our stock
before buying elsewhere, for which favor we
Brill feel very grateful. .
LEIDICH & SAWYER,
April 14, 1859.
How is tbe time, for Bargains
Spring and Summer Goods!
JH the New Slore, corner of N. Hanover and lou-
ther streets.
THE undersigned returns thanks for the pa
tronage bestowed upon him by the public,
end at the same time respectfully announces
that he has just returned ffom Philadelphia, and
js now opening a pew lot of SPRING and SUM
MER
Dry Goods and Groceries,
.consisting in part as follows, and which ho is
determined to sell at the lowest cash prices.
SILKS, DUCAL CLOTHS, Challies, Alapa
cas, Do Laines, De Bagos, Lustres, Poplins;
Lawns, Baragos, Brilliants, French and Scotch
Ginghams, Prints, Gloves, Hosiery, Collars,
Handkerchiefs, &0., &c.
SHAWLS and MANTILLAS, of every style
and quality.
Staple and Domestic Dry Goods,
Cloths, Oasslmeres, Vestings, Flannels, Mus
lins, Tickings, Stripes, Checks, Calicoes, Cot
toriades, Linens, Sheetings, Denims, Nankeens,
Drills, Marseilles Quilts, colored and white Car.
pet Chain, &0., &c. PARASOLS and UM
BRELLAS. Also, a largo and splendid as
sortment of BONNETS,HATS, CAPS, BOOTS
AND SHOES. A superior lot of fresh
GROCERIES,
Teas, Coffee, Sugar, Molasaos, Kice, Spices,
&c., &c. Having selected my entire stock with
the greatest care, and the lowest CASH PRI
CES, I can assure my friends and the public
generally, that I will do all in my power to
make mV establishment known as the, “ HEAD
QUARTERS FOR BARGAINS . Those who
tvish to purchase will find it to their advantage
to call and examine my stock before purcha
sing.
will pay the highest market price for
BUTTER, EGGS, RAGS, SOAP and DRIED
FRUIT
J. A. HNMRICH, Jr,
April 28, 1859,
ICA GRINDSTONES of all sizes,just ra
ceivod at '
May 26, 1859,
FIFTY dozen Fly nets of all colors, Linen,
Cotton, and. Twine, cheaper than tha chea
pest, just recelvd at
May 2G, 1859.
MANTILLAS. Those in want of a Mantilla
will find tho largest and cheapest assort
front at the cheap store of
Juno 23, J. A. HUMERICH, Jr.
Inifrinw
When summer wanes, and autumn’s chill
Has hushed the voice of Whip-poor-will,
Then, when at eve all else is still,
We hear the lonely Katy-did. .
In mute repose all day it sleeps,
Or on a twig its vigils keeps; ,
But at tho dim twilight but it leaps.
With the salute of “Katy-did.”
Upon a leaf ’tis sometimes seen, v
Grasshopper-like, and very green,
Looking quite.too small and mean
To sound the note of “JCaty-did.”
’Tia said the insect does not sing,
But with a membrane ot its wing, .
A little harp or guitar string, :
Vibrates the tune of “Katy-did.”
But why this music 1 dost thou call
■ Thy prates, to hold in festive hall
A banquet or a carnival t
What.dost thou mean by “Katy-did?”
Perhaps there is some worthy Kate,
Whose deeddhou woulds’t commemorate]
Then tell us what achievement great
That heroine, Miss Katy-did ?
The mystery wo shall ne’er explore,
For still wo hear the saihe thing o’er,
Just “Katy-did,” and nothing more]
No tell-tale is our Katy-did.
Wo will not urge thy answering,
So keep thy secret, verdant thing,
And make the ambient welkin ring
With monotone of “Katy-did.”
Thy note is harsh, and yet despite
Its harshness, thrills ns with delight,
And cheers the lonely, hours of night;
We like thee well,.Miss Katy-did.
Jt is a happy life yon.Jead i
Nature’s hand supplies your peed)
You neither toil nor spin, yet teed
On iood prepared for Katy-did.
Life’s fleeting day to.ns is Jent;
Would that its hours might all be spent
As cheerful and as innocent
As those of humble Katy-did! .
SUNSHINE OUT OF SAHDOW,
We were orphans, Lilian and I. We lived in
a stone cottage under the bill in a little village
upon the banks of the Connecticut, with Rechie,
our old Scotch nurse, who seemed as much a'
part of the establishment ns the moss-covered
roof itself. She regarded me still in the light,
or a child, though I bad passed my twentieth
birth day , and we leaned much upon her, Li
lian and I > having no mother.
It was sad to feel that we were alone in the
world, knowing that we bad no kith or kin who
cared for us ;.except, indeed, one, Willard Mor
tirner. a second cousin of my mothers, who had
been left our guardian. Bu 11 had not seen him
since I was . a child. I remembered him as a
tall, grave man, with eyes that frightened me,'
they were so black and piercing ; and I would
steal away when I saw him coming, and hiding
perhaps behind an elder tree, would watch him
as he walked restlessly to and fro, and glide
swiftly away if he approached my hiding place,
lie bad sailed for India soon after, and it was
not until my mother died that he started again
for home. I did not look forward to his coming
with pleasure, though he was our only friend
now.
. But my sister! my dear little Lilian ! How
I drank in comfort and strcngtli from the sight
of Iter radiant loveliness! She was a little beau
ty, and she knew it, too —the saucy sprite.—
Dearly she loved to twine her bright curls with
violets or forgetnie nofs, and handover the lake
that lay within the wood, and laugh and clap
her hands at the sweet picture looking out. —
Then she would fling her arms about my neck
and cover my face with kisses, till my brown
cheeks were almost as bright as her own—the
darling. ' But she was wild and willful as a
stray sunbeam, and though five years the youn
ger, owned no authority but her own free will
and pleasure. Sometimes it troubled mo that
she should be so wayward, but a caress, or a
touch of her soft fingers, would make me take
her to my bosom again, and smooth her golden
hair, thinking to myself how precious was each
bright thread to my lonely’ heart. Then she
would call me her “ dear old Ruth,” and unfas
tening my: black locks, drift her snowy fingers
through them till she seepied the most gentle of
small maidens, instead of the miaohevioiis Tita
nia that she was. ■ ; ' ■
She was not at home with me long after our
mother died. I sent her away to school os
won >s sfie could bear it, though the parting
tried me sorely, and the old house seemed very
desolate. But though our little income was
very small indeed, I was detei mined that Lilian
should want for no advantage which it could
procure for her; and her weekly letters came
like fays of sunshine into my quiet life.
The days hung heavily, though, at times,
and after thy household duties were over, I
would take down from my slender collection of
books, a volume of wild poetry, such as Byron’s
Manfred or Childe Harold, and betake myself
to an old hollow tree that overlooked the dis
tant mountains, and read, and dream, unti.ll;
forgot that life was no poem, but a' stern, cold
reality. At times when ray heart seemed tn pro
than usually sad, I would go to. a
grave, and think how true the
beep that lay so still beneath. there
one night as the sun was just spiting. I have
always loved to watch a sunsejj . JBtit it did not
seem to quiet me that evening'as uahaK. I had
been disappointed in raygccuslbmeddetter from
Lilian. I sat gazingfritb the far west until the
last ray-had faded, then in h passion of vague,
wretchedness and longingv I flung myself upon
the damp grass of my mother’s grayo and cried
in the bitterness of ray heart:
“ Mother! mother!” I shrieked," there is no
one to love mo. 0 mother! mother!!’l lay
there with my hot face pressed olose against tho
tU ' ,f You will take cold, Ruth, upon the wet
grass. Como with me into tho houseand a
strong arm lifted me from the ground, and
brushed back the tangled hair from my face.
I knew him. The same cagle-oyea that had
frightened me in days past, looked gravely into
mine. The same white brow, with its masses
of midnight hair. The old scornful curve of
the lip, and swell of the proud nostril. He had
not altered a whit, and I liked him as little ns
ever. He looked for a moment keenly into toy
eyes, then drawing my hand within his arm he
led me away. I rebelled against him in my
heart. I was angry that he had found me in
sorrow, hut I walked quietly by his side, feel
ing and striving vainly against tho old spell that
subdued ,mo in spite of myself.
“ Were you looking lor me so soon Ruth f
said ho at length. „ T
•‘1 did dot know when you would come, i
replied shortly. lie looked amused. - After a
H. SAXTON’S,
H. SAXTON’S,
BY JOUN'B. BRATTON.
VOL. 46.
smlml
THE KATYDID.
nv JOHN m’kinstrt,
Mmllmmi.
pause, and another 'look down into my face, he
said—
“So you think there is no one to love you,
my poor cousin? You wouldn’t let me love
you when you were a little, passionate girl; do
you remember? I shrugged my shoulders pet
ulently. ■ , '
“ Aren’t you sorry that you rejected my
friendship then ?” he continued. “ Yon need it
mow.”
X looked up into his face scornfully.
“I do not need your friendship!” I cried.
“ I would not have it were it offered. And I
do not want your pity.” lie looked down at
me inquisitively.
“Whew!" he ejaculated under his breath,
“she hasn’t improved at all. Vesuvius is no
thing to her.” He drew my hand, which I
had withdrawn in my anger, again within his
arm, and strode on toward the house.
Rechie had done her very best that evening.
Hot tea-biaouits, “ light ns a feather.” to use
her own expression, steamed, by the side of the
golden butter and white Dutch cheese, 1 while in
the centre of the table a great dish of fed straw
berries peeped from beneath the oream that lay
upon them like so much drifted snow. Mr.
Mortimer sat down with an approving glance
that made Rechie, who was in waiting,'smile
with inward satisfaction.. ,
He spent the evening with me in the little
parlor, am} as the night was warm, we did. not
light the lamps, but sat' by the open window,
with the moonlight bathing us in d flood of sil
ver glory. Then he told me of the land beyond
the sea, and of his loneliness while struggling
all those long years away from his native coun
try. He, too, was an orphan, with no one but
a younger brother, who was at college in the
same city where Lilian was at school. Then he
asked me of my mother’s death, looking with
me across the fields to the while stone that
glimmered in the grave yard. So I told him
all. How she had sickened, and grown paler
and thinner day by day, until she grew to be a
mere shadow. And how. one night, she took
bur hands in hers and bade us love one another,
and- trust in Him who was taking her home to
Himself, that He might one day send for us to
meet her there. Then I told him how gently
she had fallen asleep, with her head laid upon
my bosom and her arm around'Lilian’s neck;
and how they had laid her by the side of father
in the old church-yard. So that we were alone
now.
“ Poor little Ruth!” he said ; and seeing tliat
I was crying, he began to tell me of that better
land to which she had gone; and his vojee grew
low and tremulous, and his eyes shone softly in
the dim light. And gradually he led the sub
ject on toother things, telling” me of the great
object of man’s life, and striving to infuse into
my heart a brave and earnest purpose. I lis
tened like one in a spell; and when, now and
then a ripple of wild poetry would fnll from his
.lips like inspiration, and his whole face would
light up like a burning star, my. soul, was lifted
from the load which bad weighed it down so
long, and I felt the blessedness of sympathy;
sympathy ! so yearningly sought for. but so sel
dom found, save in the Great Heart that throbs
in pity for ail human sorrowl
I loosened my long hair that night, and res
ting my chin qpon the sill.of my chamber win
dow.lookedoirtaorosvthO'fleldii so' w-Siteand
glittering. How beautiful they were to me !
How cool the night-dew that gathered on my
brow, stilling the whirling of my restless brain.
I could not sleep. I-felt as if I could sit up all
night and watch the stars and dreaui. Ob,
foolish heart;
The next day I was sick. T had caught cold,
and lay upon the lounge in the little sitting
room, with a violent head-ache. Lilian’s letter
came in the morning. She wrote in a sprightly
way that always seemed to me like a draught
of pure, spring water, .it was so. fresh and
sparkling. Kind little Lilian ! She was look
ing forward with so much delight to seeing her
dear old Ruth again. “Old Ruth!” she had
always called me that; perhaps because I was
so small and quiet, and not pretty and bright
as she was. 1 looked into the mirror opposite.
My cheeks were hollow, and my eyes were sun
ken ; and for the first time I sighed over it.
A step sounded outside, and a tall form dar
kened the door-way.
“ Lazy Ruth!” bo cried; but he saw my
white face and came toward me pityingly.
“ You are sick, Ruth. I thought you would
take cold, careless girl. Give me your hand - ”
I gave it to him obediently.
“Humph!” he said as he felt my pulse,
which certainly beat no slower for the touch of
his fingers upon it. .“Why, you have a high
fever!” He took out a little case from his
pocket, and pouring a few drops from a tiny
vial into a glass of water, bade me drink it. I
demurred.
“ Drink it,” he said authoratively, and I
swallowed it and sank baok upon the lounge,,
being very muoh inclined to quarrel with him
if I had been stronger.
“lam your guardian, you know, Ruth, and
intend to enforce strict obedience.”
“ Indeed, then you will find me a rebellious
subject, ”T retorted quickly. He passed his
hands over my brow.
“Lie still,”he said, “and goto sleep. It
will do you good.” Gradually the .passing of
his hands charmed away the pain, and I fell in
to a sweet sleep. ' J .woke at length, hearing
dimly-the words— ■ .
“ Poor little girl! so young, and so lonely.—
I. must try and guard her from the rough world
as well as I can. She is very sensitive.” I
moved slightly, and opened my eyes. There he
sat reading. I might have dreamed those
words, be was so calm and still.
... MDo.you feel better?” he said kindly;
ff why your cheeks are like two rose leaves, and
your, eyes sparkle like diamonds ! What have
you been dreaming about ?”
• ' " Nothing, ” I replied carelessly. lam much
better, and will go up stairs for a few moments
jf you please. Arrived in my owri chamber,'!
bathed my face and smoothed my hair, banding
it back plainly from my brow, and winding a
heavy braid about my head as I had been ac
customed to wear it. Then I took a cool white
muslin from my drawer and put it on. There
were some rose buds on the table, so I broke
one off and placed it in my bosom. Then I
turned, to the mirror. W as that Ruth ?• It
could , not be. She vH dark and plain ; this
one was bright and glowing, with fed lips and
glittering eyes. I glided down stairs and went
quietly behind his chair, placing my hand over
the page. '
“ Come,” said I, “ dinner is ready.” He
sprang up to seize the daring intruder, but I
slipped away and stood laughing in the door
way. He looked at me scrutinizingly, and
smiled in a pleased way.
“ My medicine has acted like magic,” he
said. “ You are not the same little girl you
were an hour ago, at all. I think you are well
enough to take a sail upon the lake to-night. ”
.And so we did; with the old trees fringing
the shore, and whispering to one another in their
melancholy way, and the stillness broken only
by the plashing of the oars. And somehow Mr.
Mortimer caught the infection from the trees,
and his voice grew loud and earnest, and his
eyes had a look in them which I could not meet.
The summer glided like a beautiful dream
away. And day after day ho sought mo, wea
ving a spell around'my Wart that grew tighter
“ oun country—mat it always ,11k right—but right or wrong, our country.”
CARLISLE, PA., THURSDAY, SEPTEMBER 15, 1859.
and tighter, fill it hurt me; though I would not
1 for worlds have parted with it.;° I felt it in the
glance of his deep eyes, that.,kindled and lit
when they met mine. I heard it in the tones of
1 his low voice, so deep and gentle when he spoke
1 to me. Ho would take, my hands sometimes,
and clasping them passionately in his own, look
into my very spill with his thrilling gaze until I
turned away with crimson cheeks. Once ho
said, “ Ruth, this little, quivering hand is worth
more to' mo than”—and then ho paused, and for
the first time hont down and kissed mo.
And so X believed what the stars told me; and
the flowers, and the -sunshine, and what my
dream-angel whispered to me in the still and
quiet night..
Oh, foolish, trusting heart!
The autumn had come with its rich hues and
luscious fruits, and Lilian was coming home.—
Wo sat in the door-way looking .for tho stage.
At length it came j tearing along the dusty road,
and before it bad time to stop; Lilian sprung oiit
and flung herself into my arms.- Dear little sis
j ter! ' It was sweet again to 'feel "the heating ;qf
’ her heart upon my own, I introduced her to
our guardian, whom she recognized by a. saucy
nod, and ran up stairs to change her dress.
<< She’s a pretty little thing, ’’ said he, after a
while, half in vexation j “ but I you’ve spoiled
her, Ruth.”
“You think so, do you ? thank y6u for the
compliment.” We turned, and there she stood,
the very personification of roischevious beauty.
She had donned a pale blue, muslin dress, re
vealing her dimpled arms and White shoulders,
over which her golden-brown curls fell in pic
turesque confusion. Her cheeks were .flushed,
and hey blue eyes sparkled with merriment,
while her parting lips revealed the row of tiny
white pearls beneath. , .
“ Take that for your impertinence,” she cried,
flinging over him a shower of roses, and then
dancing away along the garden walk, while ho
ran after her, and pinioning her hands, hold her
till she begged for release, We.wero a merry
party at tea that night, but with the next merit
ing began a series of quarreling, fun, and frol
icking that ceased not so long ns he.was in the
house. Lilian stopped at .nothing. Glasses of.
water were thrown upon his devoted head by
her naughty little fingers. Burrs embellished
the brim of ids hat and fho cojln.hpf his coat.—
Eggs were droppedjnto his unsuspecting pock
ets, to be broken when ho should sit down, and
I wondered how he could , put up with so much
impertinence from a Saucy little damsel, some
fifteen years his junior,': But nlasl for onr long
lonely walks and sails how, for the readings at
night, in that rich voice of Ids, that would make
my heart thrill and ray breath come quickly.—
They were all over while that sprite, Lilian, stay
ed. And notwithstanding their quarrels, which
were numberless, they grew to. like one another
very much, indeed. And I felt glad that it was
so. But somehow asbadowcamecreeping,and
creeping about my heart, till It grew heavy and
chill with an undefined dread which I could not
fling off. I dared not think that Willard Morti
mer was to me now. I trembled when I felt
how I had poured out upon him the wealth of
my,wild, passionate sonl. Howl gloried in Ids
brave beauty, and wondered that one so noble
and so gifted could lovo,*t;;little : plain girl like
me; fcrl felt that he didloteme. ,0b! Iwonld
not have given up that'Swcet trust for lifo itself.
I shuddered when X thought, how like a tomb
the world would be without liimi’ And still the
shndow camo creeping, creenfog. ;
There was somofibgr. oddabodliLlf/any , Sor
notes,, which.she would bide as soon as she saw |
me, in evident confusion. I did not question
her, and she would sometimes twine her arms
about mo, and looking into my eyes, beseech
ingly, seem about to tell me something, when
she would check herself and begin to kiss mo;
or do dross me with flowers. I had frequently
seen her whispering with Willard Mortimer,
too, in her pretty, confidential way, when she
thought I was not observing them.
And so the shadow crept and crept.
It was the last evening of Lilian’s stay. X.
had a violent- hoad-acho, and lay upon the
lounge, while my sister took a stroll in the gar
den with Mr. Mortimer. I lay still until I could
do so no longer, and I passed out into the cool
night, thinking the damp air might do mo good.
I strolled on quietly, stopping to pick a modest
little flower that grew alone on the. bush, look
ing as solitary as I.felt. As I stoopod I hoard
voices, and at a little distance I saw Lilian
standing under an old free, with her hand in
Mortimer’s, and I heard iiim say—
“ Dear Lilian, remember yOur promise ; you
know that I love ybu—”
I stopped to hear no more, but turned and
went quietly into the house. My heart seemed
turned to stone. I reached my room and sal
down by the bedside. A strange spell seemed
to bind me ns with an iron chain. I could have
shrieked and torn my hair in my frenzy, but I
had not power to utter a single sound or shed
one tear. Oh! how that shadbw gathered
about roe now! How black and thick the
darkness! The one bright dream of my life
was gone; and the emptiness, the emptiness of
my poor heart.
I. believed I should have gone mad that night
if I could not have poured out my desolation
ah‘d my wretchedness to one “who loveth at
nil times, and sticketh closer than a brother.”
That gave me strength, and when I rose in the
morning, 1 was as quiet and calm as the stone
that covers the sepulchre. But T brushed,
my hair before the mirror, I smiled mockingly
at the haggard face which it reflected.
Well, I bade my darling good bye, and then
turned and went into the house, going about
1 my accustomed duties like an automaton, and
feeling as if in a dream. In the evening, Mor
■ timer came, and drawing me to/the old, porch,
1 made me sit down by his side. how sweet
it seemed, even then, to hear him say,'‘Poor
' lifcile Ruth.” in his kindest of kind tones, as ho
> noticed the blue circles around my eyes! How
f wondered at the folly which led me to think
: this calm friendship love / and then my heart
cried out in anguish that it should not be love;
i butT pressed my hands down upon my bosom
tightly, and kept it in. .Ho did not.hear it.
“Ruth,” said ho, “I have bought that man
sion upon the hill, that you think so beautiful,
and I have sent to the city for .carpets-and fur
niture; but I can hardly trust my own taste
in some things; will you |i«lp m 0 -’ r •
“Certainly,”! said quietly. How hollow
and strange my voice sounded to me. He
looked curiously into my face.
“There is. one thing which I want font,
which you must give me; will you t Ruth i
Ah! ho was going to ask me for Lilian. I tried
to speak, but the words choked me. He took
my two hands in his, and lifting my fade that
he plight meet my eyes, he said, *
“Rdth, darling, will you give me yourseff /
For a moment a lido of unutterable Jojf came
sweeping over my heart, the next, a passion of
indignation came quivering in its stead. I rose
“Go! you are false and deceitful, and you j
dp not love me 1” ond I pojnUqawoy,with my I
ha °But, Ruth,” ho pleaded, with a look of as- i
tonisliment. . , . ~T 1
“Go! goI cried, stamping my foot. X
despise you, false that you are 1” .
‘•I will trouble you no more, said he, in a t
voice of ice: and rising, walked slowly out of i
the garden. ,
I will not attempt to describe that night. It ’
was one of the two most 1 wretched that my life i
has ever known. 1 , . 1
The next, morning a letter was handed mo i
Lilian. As I read it my p tlse'almost stobd
still.* It ran thus—
I A e h jA AL.AiI
.P JV" <^
“You will wonder, dearest Ruth, that I did
I not tell you before that I am engaged .to Harry
| Mortimer, but he was afraid you would think
; me too young, and, perhaps, persuade me to
break off our. engagement if I told you while I
| was with you ; so' he made me promise not to
, te'l you until I returned to school; You see he
' hasn't much confidence in my fidelity, and I do
| tease him, poor fellow ; but I love him for all
! that. He told his .brother, Willard, who made
) me promise that I-Would write to you as soon
I its I returned. He said that he loved me alrea
dy like a little sister”—
I laid the letter down. This, then, was
what I had heard!
I passed the day in feverish restlessness.—
Would he~evcr, come again ? When evening
oapie, Hooked toward the road, and waited;
but he did not come. And the next night 1 (
waited, and the next, and the next, but still he
‘did not come ; and I grew sick with hoping
vainly, for one who might never come again.
At last, I heard that he had gone away, and
hope sank down, down, like a dead weight,
and was drowned in the ocean of despair, that
settled its dark waves round my heart.
Oh! the stillness and the dreariness! Oh!
the aching and (be longing!
The autumn leaves grew brown, and fell .to
the ground, and the wind howled at night
through the leafless branches. The winter
flung' his snow wreaths over the earth, and
locked the little lake in his icy arms. I was
wasted to a shadow, and glided about like a
ghost, through the old stone cottage. I could
trace the veins upon my temples, and iny hands
—those hands which he had pressed—were al
most transparent in their pale thinness.
rl knew that my heart was breaking ; and
that by the time the little violets should steal
forth from my- mother's grave, I should be
sleeping by her side. Oh ! how I longed for
rest!
I had glided out one night-in the moonlight
to visit once more that spot in the old church
yard. I stood leaning my head upon the cold,
white stone, arid, thinking what a little while it
would be before T should sleep beneath it;
Some one came and stood by my side.- I knew
who it was, though I did nut look up, and my.
heart almost stopped beating.
‘■Ruth,’’ he said, “why did you apeak to me
those cruel words? I should have come to you
before, but I have been sick, Ruth, even unto
death. They told me that, in my delirium, !
called constantly for you ; but you did not
come; Ruth ! Ruth! T have been very wretch
ed ! My darling, you are fainting !'' he cried;
and he laid my head upon his groat, strong
breast, and passed his arm around me.
. Then I told him all.
I am his wife now, and wo live in the mansion
at the top of the hill: while in the little stone
cottage live Harry and Lillian, as happy as the
day is long. The clouds are all scattered, and
the blessed light is shining, that shall'grow
brighter and brighter, until it is lost in the per
fect glory of that land whore there is no more
night, “and the days of. our mourning shall be
ended.”
THE BRIDE OP A DREAM.
JllKWreftit follqwing.aoMunt.qf. siogplpT,
dream from the- Western Christian Advocate :
Mr. B. has been twice married, but was left
a second time a widower with six daughters
and a son. After these bereavements, Mr. B.
inferred (hat the Lord did not design him to
enjoy the blessing of a wife, and he resolved to
deny himself all personal conveniences and en
joyments of -the conjugal relation, and never
attempt to select another partner for life. This
resolution he sacredly kept for nearly three
years, when the arguments and counsel of the
minister of the circuit, in the Stale of Delaware
prevailed on him to change his mind. The
consideration of his riumerous.family of daugh
ters required so much of a mother’s oare and
instruction, was one of the strongest reasons
that induced him to admit that bis resolution
might be founded in error. The minister, en
couraged by the good impression be made, and
the influence he had gained over Mr. 8., took
the liberty to name to him a lady residing in
the neighborhood of his circuit, whom he tbo’t
would make him an excellent wife and a good
mother for his children, and appointed the time
and place for Mr. B. to meet him and be intro
duced to her. Some occurrence took place
which prevented Mr. B. from meeting the min
ister according to appointment.
The minister, intent upon his plan, procured
Mr. B.’s consent to meet him a second time,
and the appointment was made; but an ex
pected Providence again prevented Mr. B. from
being there at the time. They then made a
third arrangement, and Mr. B. determined, if
life and health permuted, he would certainly
meet his friend, and bo made acquainted with
the lady recommended. Before the time arriv
ed, however, Mr. B. was admonished in a dream
that the woman so favorably spoken of by the
minister was not the one ho ought to marry,
and he was conducted in a vision ,to the rcsi-
; dence of a young lady who would be a suitable
* helpmate, and whom Providence designed for
him. The distance was sixty miles, avid he
i had only traveled twenty miles in that dircc
, tion. Yet the map of the whole road was laid
I before his mind, and the way he should go so
. distinctly marked in his dream, that he seemed
perfectly fanniliar with all the road. He
, dreamed the distance, the name of the young
■ woman, and the name of her stepfather, Col.
i Vickers, the appearance of , the house in which
he lived, how it was painted, that it was situ
ated near, a river, with a warehouse near at
hand. He dreamed, also, that there were five
young Indies belonging to tho same family, and
had tho for him so accurately de
scribed in his dream, that he could easily dis
tinguish her from the other four.
In the morning he awoke and thought noth
ing of his vision, except as an ordinary and
rather remarkable dream., The next night he
bad precisely the same vision repeated, and the
same things presented to, his mind in a slill
more vivid manner. -Mr. B. then began to
think that there might be some indications of
Providence in his dream ; and all that day ho
made it the subject of sincere and ardent pray
er, that God would direct him in tho way he
should go in a matter so grave, and involving
sa much interest to himself and his motherless
children. That night his vision was .repented
tho third time, and ho determined then to fol
low tho directions furnished him, and fully
test the circumstances of the dream by a prac
tical examination, and see if the results would
be developed as he dreamed them. He imme
diately sent a note to the preacher, informing
him that he had changed l>ia mind, and must
decline meeting him as ho appointed. Mr.R.
started in tho direction indicated by his vision,
and after passing the twenty miles ho was ac
quainted with, his dream was his only guide.
He, however, had no difficulty, for the map of
tho-road was so visibly impressed upon his
mind, that he was able to distinguish his road
from all others. Tho gentleman whose name
was given him in his dream he had, never seen
or beard of. He knew the farm ns soon as ho
saw it. The house and everything about it
appparedprociscly as they had been presented
in his Vision. ... , , , • |
, Ho alightcd from his horse and entered the
AT 32,00 PER ANNUM
beautiful house. The personal appearance of
the young lady was so viyidly impressed on his
mind by the vision thrice repeated, that he
readily recognised her in company of the four
others whom he found in the same family. He
soon ascertained the nampof theyoung woman,
and found it to be Sarah T., according to his
dream. This young lady" had determined. by
her. actions, mid had often said, §he would
never marry a widower. Miss T- said the yery
moment she saw Mr. B. she felt a strange tre
mor over her whole system. She had a vivis
impression that ho was a widower, and that he
had come to see her. She afterwards confessed
that a sudden emotion of affection for him
arose in her heart as soon as site panto into his
presence.
■ Mr. B* ohtaincd'thc pleasure of an interview'
with her that evening, and was successful in
securing her consent to visit her again, and ad
dress her on the subject of marriage, lie, how
ever, did not tell her his dream till she had en
gaged to become his wife. After, a courtship of
a few nqonths they were happily married, and
lived together for more than fifty years. Mr;
B. died on the 25th of March, 1842, and. Mrs.
B. lived till the 7th of April, 1847. For sixty
years, perhaps, they were both distinguished
and useful members of the Methodist Episcopal
Church.
Opr Influence.
“No man livoth to himself, and no mandieth
for himself,” aaya the Holy Scriptures. The
influence which wo exert over one another in
our daily walks of life is a subject too little con
sidered by us j it is a trust too frequently ne
glected, Man is so constituted as to bo easily
led by example,.and mil are inclined to look to
those about them for encouragement and coun
sel, both in virtuous purposes and in wicked
designs. This gift of mutual influence is one
which has been bestowed upon every person,
and for whose rigid use and improvement each
one will bo hereafter held responsible. It is
true that wo do not all possess this in an equal
degree. Some there arc who exercise a very
largo amount of control and power from circum
stances of rank and high position, oron account
of some peculiar character. Others, we see,
who are almost entirely destitute of it, passing
through the world like mere ciphers,,impotent
alike lor good or evil. Bid there is no one, how
ever poor and wretched his condition, who doc 3
not exert, to some extent, an influence over
those with whom ho is brought in contact. Let
us not think, then, that because our lot may bo
humble, that, therefore, wo have no power over
others, nor suppose that our actions and saying
are of little weight. ...
“The flower, though but a little thing,
Yet perfumes every gale of Spring.”
The feeblest and most insignificant copses
often lead to the most important collafiqpsnces,
and results of the most nnlooked-forcharacter.
Those who are invested with authority and pow
er are not always the ones chosen to.accomplish
great designs, the poor and weak are as often
selected, , _
As parents, as children, as members of the
same family, we are continually leading and act
ing one upon another, not merely by adv.ieo and
counsel, but more strongly by the power of ex
ample. Even a word or a trifling act may bo
the means of accomplishing,much. A oheprful
expression, a,glance of sympathy, may encou
rage a dSspoad/ng liearfT a' otmnbSrof kfndhess
may raise and uphold a sinking spirit ; a word
will, perchance, decide a wearing mind, and de
termine it forever. Fearful, then, does our re
sponsibility seem, when we consider the impor
tant consequences which may arise from even
small offences; and’inspiring and exciting is
the thought that not a single virtuous deed is
without effect, and that no one is so poor or
weak as to bo incapable, by the right use of his
influence of accomplishing much that is praise
worthy, much that is great and good.
P.Assnn Awat. —Beautiful August, the last
summer month of the year, has just passed away.
Wo can now say, “ the harvest is past and the
summer is ended.” Soon will the leaves turn
1 yellow, wither and fall to the-ground.. How,'
1 dear, reader, have you enjoyed the warm sum
■ riier months that are passed and gone? We
have spent a happy'season. Wo are perfectly
satisfied with the pleasures and sports wo have
witnessed and participated in, and, wo think,
when a printer has no room for complaint, no
person else has. How thankful we ail should
bo for the bountiful harvest we have been fav
ored with. Soon autumn, with all its varied
changes,-will bo upon us. How wo love the
autumn; how we admire the beautiful aspect it
presents. The green foliage of to-day will then
be changed to a fascinating yellow. But it is
hot our intention to deliver a sermon on the
beautiful season near at hand, so wo will close,
by quoting a few linos from Bryant, who ex
claims—
■ ««' Oh, Autumn!, why so soon
Depart the hues that make thy forest glad
Thy gentle wind and thy fair sunny noon,
And leave tbeo wild and sad!
Ah I ’tworo a lot 100 blest
For ever in thy color’d shades to stray,
Amid the kisses of the southwest,
To roam and dream of aye.
Spurgeon, the Londonpreacher, has
recently received a legacy under peculiar cir
cumstances. A lawyer called on him, and in
formed him that a Mrs. W., lately deceased,
had loft him a considerable amount by will.—
The reverend gentleman thought there must be
some mistake, as ho knew no speh person, but,
on investigation, learned that it was a fact. lie
went to the residence of the testatrix, and actu
ally saw the lady ii) her co/Dn. Ho then rocol.
lected her as being n constant annoyance to
him many years ago, in the Park-street chapel,
where she had a pew directly opposite to him.
She never spoke to him, but teas continually
watching hitn, look wherever he would, till ho
was under the necessity of speaking to some
congregational friends to persuade her to vacate
her pew. From that lime to the present ho had
Inst sight of the lady. So says tho London
Court Circular .
OS’” '• Mary, why did yon kiss your hand to
the young gentleman opposite this morning,”
said a careful parent to his blooming daughter.
•‘Why, the follow had the impudence to
throw a kiss clear across the street to me, and,
of course, I threw it back indignantly. You
wouldn’t had mo .encoprage him, by keeping it,
would yen 7*’.
Suspicious paternal relative is convinced that
he threw an erroneous inference.
. Saxo, the humorist, recovering from
sickness, in l a rhyming epistle to a friend,
said:
The doctor, (who comes to mo yet,)
Is'wolcome to some of my “dust;”
But Nature’s exorbitant debt—
I moan to pay that when I must.
OS’” A friend that yon havo'to .buy, won’t bo
worth what you have to pay for him no matter
how little that may be-
OS” Gymnastic exercises have become one
of the regular institutions with the students in
Waforvilib college.
rr?” Throe things that can never agree—two
catTovor one mouse, two wives in one house,
and two lovers over one gall.
irp-. g wag of a painter assorted that he once
painted a shingle so exactly likp marble that
when it fell into the river it sank!
The Mark Lanl Express of June 27, contains
an account of a visit to Babraham, tho rcsi
dcncc of the world-renowned breeder of South*
downs, Mr. Jonas Webb. After a lengthy; ac
count of Mr. 'Webb’s herd of 142 head of Short
horns, the writer says: "
"Before we sallied forth again to the two
outlying farms, we turned for d slight imcrlude
from beef to mutton. Even in our Shorl-hom
researches in the Home farm, the cmliddimeht
rln 1 ?, l M r W J aS “l w «y s in in the shape
of • 'Derby” reduced two-thirds, and doing du
ty ns weathercock, on the top of the old barn.
The leg of mutton point on which he was so
certainly been made the most of by
the modeller; but it comes out in all its
strength in many of his descendants among the
July yearlings. The old, long homed Norfolk
rams, whose narrow backs and sharp spines
proved such a yery uncomfortable seat tor Mr.
Webb, when he used to ride them in his boy
hood at West Wickham, and set him .a-think
ing in his maturer year?, liye pnly in. story ay
Babraham no\y; and not one cyen iVltept as.a
yelio of the dark ages. The South-down nock
at present consists of about 1,400 and- about
1,000 lambs as well. Originally there-were
three tribes, hut a fourth and fifth have been
added: and Mr. Webb never hires rams,“.as,Ke
can now always keep the blood sufficiently dis
tinct without it. fn number the tribes arc
NO. 14.
nearly equal, and they have all produced prize
sheep; Cud at present there arc front 120 tb
140 rams, for letting next month. The selec
tion is made vyithin fifteen days from lambing,
and upwards of two hundred rarq lambs are re
tained-each year. Besides the elaborate ear
marks, and diyers others on tho shoulder and
hip. they have cabalistic crosses of green above
yellow, blue above red, and so on, on their
sides, which tell their descent at a glance to
their owner’s eye; and furnish an unfailing
clue, when they rise to ram hogget estate, and
are ripp fpr entry in tho Flock Book. All the
fleeces qre weighed, and if they do not cbnie up
to 7 lbs., fhe ewe hoggets are sioltJ to go “abroad.
The Qlcl Babraham shearlings nearly all aver
aged 8 lbs., and although the late mild winter
and spring was not favorable to the growth of
wool, Uic majority of the fleeces this year have
touohei} it. 'The nature of the'soil is, moreo
ver, not peculiarly favorable to wool, as it is
gravelly, and almost line. enough for an hour
glass; and tho sand rather prevents the grease
front getting through the fleeces. Mr. Webb
never sells ewes in England ; he bps a few front
twelve to thirteen years old, and be hoe bred
from them at fourteen, but therams'are seldoirt
let beyond their seventh season; and the heav
iest or them have killed at 50 lbs. a quarter.
The losses among the breeding ewes arc caloiit,
ialcd at about about onp in twenty j and as the
difficulty of breeding is much enhanced by the
want of grass; Mr. Webb has had anything but
a May-game of it, in bringing his flock to their
present position- Two lots of . yearling, rams,
making some fopty in all; were in training for
the final Warwick Royal Selection, oh some
seeds behind the house. They were principally;
by the prize olfl sheep and the first and second
prize yearlings at Salisbury; and we found on
inquiry, that the second prize, old sheep,; has
gone to America. pienipo, who was a yearling
in 1834, when bis great chesnut namesake, and
neighbor was in his zenith, swelled the tide of
Southdown success for Mr. Webb; and Tbs
Gentleman, Clumber, Liverpool, Shrewsbury,
Derby, Young Elegance, Gloucester, The Cap 4
tain, and Old Uncertain, &0., have never suffer
ed it to ebb. There was Fancy Boy also, who
was never let, and hung himself in early life itl
a fence: Perfection, the sire of Tbe.Captajrj,
for whom Mr. Lngar's offer of 150 guineas as a
yearling was refused; Dictator, who elicited ‘a
like a like answer; and Windsor Castle, the
conqueror of his half-brother at Windsor, whq
received the name of the Queen’s Own, from
her Majesty’s expression of dissatisfaction at
the verdict, though the royal prerogative was
not potent to reverse it. . Fifty yearlings for
letting were busy on the yellow globe mangel
in another paddock; amf two renowned heroes,'
Id wit; Old Duke-and-Ydurig-PJenio, were railed
offfn: state at one end- The. latter has thp
Babraham flock blood in him for ten genera
tions on the flam’s side; and Mr., Webb valued
him so highly, that, in spite of a 200 guinea
offer, he kept him for two seasons, and let him
last year for the first time. Old Dake is five
years old, anfj has achieved 410 guineas at
three lettings. .■ In. one of them Mr.: .Henry
Qveripffh W 169 guineas; and, the Duke of
Riohmomd made it even money, and got him.
The pasture behind the fold yard was full of
Old Duke’s descendants; and Young Captain,;
the flock patriarch of the Emperor of the French;
-who'hired three last year, could also claim a
hand in some of the‘ninety couples of glorious
legs of muttoq, which scampered off at our »p‘
preach;
“It would have been strange, indeed, if ,we
had not “dropped and turned aside” once more
from the short-horns, tp visit a flock of 30,Q,
ewes and lambs, before.we proceeded on to.tho
North farm. The dam of Young Norwich and
Young Pienipo needed no pointing out, ns. the
veriest tyro ought to have challenged herns ‘la
mother of the Gracchi;” and there was also
the dam of the 197 guinea ram of Young
gance, with a ram lamb by a son of Young
Plenipo at her side, which bids fair to be as
good as,a South-down King in its turn.”
Horrible Case of Self Mutilation.—dhe
of the most horrible cases of self mutilation wo
have ever heard or.read of, occurred at the Roll
ing Mill of Irvin, Linn, McCoy & Co., Mild:
burg, Centre county, on Wednesday of last wecti.
The particulars of the case as given by the llol
lidaysburg Standard, are about these: —A
young man named Aaron Trcly, who had recent
ly been pardoned out of the penitentiary, where
he was confined for horse stealing, had been
hanging uround the roiling mill for several days.
Nothing unusual was observed in his demeanor;.
On Wednesday morning, soon after the woflta
l were started, he deliberately walked to the large
iron shears, and before anyone was aware of
his design, placed l)is arms between the blades,
both of which Where completely severed about
mid-way between the hands and elbow?! Thp
horrible apt was performed so coolly and delib
erately that no suspicion was entertained of his
dcsign ( When qucstiqncd ns to his motive, far'
tin self-mutilation, he replied that “ his hands
had been the means of sending him to the peni,
tentiary once, ?nd he w as determined he should
never get them into trouble again. lie was
taken to a neighboring house, and a physician
sent for, who re-nmpulatcd both his arms—an
operation which he is said to have borne with a
stoicispi and indifference that astonished .alt
who witnessed it. lie is recovering .rapidly,
and manifests the utmost unconcern for the loss
of his arms. We doubt whether there is a
parallel case on record.
Narrow Escape prom the PuKsiDEXcr.—
The Indianapolis Sentinel, speaking of the lata
Hon. John W. Davis, of Indiana', says :
•‘He was elected President of the Baltimorg
National Convention in 1852, whjch nominated
General Pierce for President, and, in the excit
ing struggle attending that nomination cams
within one,vote in the caucus of the Virginia
delegation of being their choice for President—
a vote which decided the nominee of the con
vention.”
rr?” If lightning rods do not actually toko the
lightning from the clouds, they at least fake the
fear of it from timid hearts.
n~- A friend is one who jumps down and
putfon the drag when ho finds that you are go
ing down hill too fast.
A Bor with Hours. —The Hinds County
(Mias.) Gazette gives an account of a negro boy
In that region, eight years old, who Ma horns
on his head like “a young devil.”
K7"Tf we could read the secret history of
our enemies, we should find in each man’s life
sorrow and suffering enough to disarm all our
hostility.
MAS WEBB'S SOpTn DOpSt