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VOL. 47.
AMERICAN VOLUNTEER
PUBLISHED EVERY THURSDAY MORNINO BY
iOHW B. BRATTON.
. Sudbciption.— One Dollar and Fifty Cents, .paid
n Two Dollars if paid .within the year;,
ind Two Dollars and Fifty Cents, if not paid within
he year. ; Those terms will,ho rigidly adhered ta in
iVery instance. No subscription discontinued until
ill arrearages are paid unless at 'the option of the
Siditor..: . v \
. by thecAsn, and
kot .exceeding oho square,'will bo. inserted throe
imos foi; Oho Dollar, and twenty-five coats forcooh.
iddltiohal insertion. Those of a greater length in.
roportlon. ’ ■ i' •
joo-PniTTTiNG—Suohna Hand-bills, Posting-bills,
Pamphlets, Blanks, Labels, Ac, Ac.,, executed.,with
accuracy and at the shortest notice. 1 ;
Wilhelm and Mary sat down by a stream/.
Where a beo in the wildflowers reveled— .
Where the porfumo.lingered some sweet dream,
And the vinos hung in festoons disheveled; '
And the old sjiory told of alotc that should last
■: Through, -a lifetime, of gladness or sorrow— -
And memory beamed through the gloom of the pasi
And Hope promised Joy for each morrow;
She tfhs fair as tbe.snow, and pure as the dew.
And her hair hung in rich golden tresses I
110 was noble and bravo—-unswerving and true
. With a.bright eye that lovingly blesses.
Ho oaltadJioritho sweetest and rarest of flowers;
, She sang to him.songs of love’s sweetness— •„
And thus passed the. summer in happiest hours—
But alas! Joy’s companion is fleetnoss. 1
Ero tbo summer bad faded tbo rpso- 1 -
Ero the greenwood was stripped of its beauty-
Ho slept* thoswpefc sloop of quiet repose,
And death taught her lift’s saddest duty..
Tbov buriedbim where the pale daisy sleeps, ‘
; Whore his favorite stream flovra serenely—,
They bariodfhim-where tho wild cataract leaps,
.' And the rainbow .enthroned sits so queenly.
;Bnt years,havonow fled since this trial of yoqth.
. • Took from. Mttry life's best, richest treasure*- '.
Her song is still sweet—and unsuHiedher truth,
For her spirit to his sings its measure.
Her footfall is slow and. dimmed In her eye,
And silvered are those golden tresses— . .. .. .
HoVsmHois still.bright—hop'thoughts are on high,
■ Jor she knows that'a spirit-land blesses..
i^ho.knowa tbat thedbycdwliobavo gone before
us at Heaycn’bhHißht portal— 1
That the loved an dthqjpst will; moot once more—•
Tbatjs>ur<? lovobe^oiries’tboroimmortal.
A mcsaongor, yesterday; pale and grim* ; '
.Announced bet, life's pilgrimage ended—; . • •
Shounfolded her winga in the twilighfcdim
-And sped 'where, their blended. ’
,Ahd the graro tiiat bat •Wilhelm alone
fldworfl ovef MaH'-; r f
RainbpV sits on; her oryataitbrone,
Whcro tho Cataraot weepa ber lostfftiry. .
TBODDES FLOWERS.
DV ALFRED TEXNVSOy.
There are some hearts, like the’loving, vino,
Cling:to unkindly* rooks. an<l mined towers,
Spirits.that suffer and do not repine,
Patiipnt and sweet as lowly-trodden flowers
That from the,passer's heel arise, 1 •/ •
And give, back odorous breath instead of sighs.
But there ard. other hearts, that will not feel*.
•The lowly, love that haunts the eyes and car; .'
That wound fend faith with anger worse than steel,
...And out of pity’s spring draw idle tears. :
.0, Nature 1 shall it ever ho thy- will • * . .
In things with good to minglo good and ill I
Why should the heavy foot of sorrow press
Tlie willing hearts of uncomplaining love—
Meek charity that shrinks not from distress,
, Gentleness does her tyratvts go reprove—
Though virtue weep forever and lament.
Will one hard heart turn to her and relent?
.Why should the reed be broken that will bond,
And they 'that dry the tears in other’s eyes
Fool their own-anguish welling without end,
. Their summer darkened, with the smoko of sighs
Sure Love to some fair Eden of his own .
Will fleet at last and loavo'us hero alone.
Wo wcopeth always, weepoth for the past,
For woqs that arc, for woes that may betide;
Why should hot hard ambition weop afc last,
Bavy and hatred, avarice and pride ?\
jate whispers, sorrow ever is your lot,
Inoy would he rebels—love, rebelloth hot.
Mmllmnm.
THE RULING- PASSION,
One of the prettiostoftho German watorin<r
pldcesis Sohlosseubourg.
A long, straight, tedious avenue takes you
to it from the bright-looking townof F
twelve long miles without a railway; but when
vou get there, .it is like a . garden with houses
v it,.not houses with h garden to them— a,
rdcn filled with, flowers, exquisitely kept,
tefully laid outstretching into a park and
Jods that an English duke might envy. Then
'® re -ie n conservatory, with tall palm 'trees
A Chinese temple, with gos
•iSSS/ftSS > ar « contrived as if tley
X nooVnnH S f!t th6 . flo ''’« ra : ™ru
bost , bands in Germi
hear it in, the garden. aippTng coft 4
while, or yewmaygo into a well-lighted room!
provided- with every newspaper in ovory lam
Byou could desire, fitted up like the most
ous drawing-room. You niay also re
mark'in the one long .street of which the town
of Sohlossenbourg consists, that every other
house is a banker’s or money-changer’s,'where
all Jcihds'of- facilities for obtaining or chang
ing money.orb"offered. •
“ How rich and prosperous the little town
must he,” you remark; “ what a beneficent
government ;” for nil these luxuries are given
for nothing, • Noyisitor isasked to payforthe
expensive garden that surrounds his lodgings,
or the.gas,- or thoynusio, or the newspapers,
or the sofas—all is generously provided by
some 1 invisible power; Let us walk into the
noble saloon, with its lofty painted ceilings,
past .tho soft-seated news-room, and we shall
see the munificent provider of flowers and mu-
Sio—the Board of green cloth, the bank and its
directors, the rouge et noir, and the roulette
table.. ;;'. ~ ~ ~'
The bank is obliged to layout a certain por
tion of its ehormous-profits every year qn the
place; the gardens," the. conservatories, and
every luxury are kept Up to render attractive
the temple of the blind.goddess.
It iS a mistake to look for fiery passions,
deep despairs among the players; most wear
an outward oalin : there isonlya sort of fixed,
.deggard look and contraction of the mouth,
|«ometimes to be detected, that speaks as with
[an inward curse. ' ~ ,i .
cemeito Sohlossenbourg as-the inedi-
: cal attendant of an old and valued friend as
TEItM.S.
fort Iffll.-
BUL.IL*.
PHOU THE OERUAN.
well as patient • l had no money to; risk, and
I was determined not to be seduced by that
strange, chink of gold, and the atmosphere of
excitement pervading the rooms:'
My friend, Harry Melville,found medn the
reading-room one evening.'' “ Come,” said he,
“Halford; as. you are a philosopher, and be
hold, the oddest Specimen yon ever Set eyes on,
and.help mo to make her out," We went to
the roulette-table. “ There she is,” said Har
ry; “between the hat with, the scarlet feather
and tho old snufiy Grafin. There; she has
won again. Look at her little hands gather
ing up the silver florins—they are like a Child’s
hands; but her face—did you ever see such a
face ?”• ■
"I can see nothing,” said I, “but spectacles
and a false front, and a large old-fashioned bon-1
net, and a little wizened figure. What can it
be?”-.
, “ There; she loses now. See how she clasps i
her little hands, but plays boldly again, with
out a moment’s hesitation; only she seems to I
consult somo_ written notes on a cord. Lost'
again; poor little old lady I it is evident she is
not a witch.”:'
; The heap of winnings was now reduced to a
single gold piece, a double 1 Frederick d’or.—
The little old woman seemed to hesitate; she
looked eagerly at her notes, then took up the
money and disappeared so rapidly that I did
not see her leave the room. , ’ :
I should scarcely have remembered the cir
cumstance or the personage who seemed to'
have impressed Harry so strongly, but for the
appearance of the mysterious little old woman
again at . the table, two or three days after
wards., This time, I was determined,to watch
her ; it was, in the afternoon, rather dusk, but
before the tables. Were lighted.. She had an
umbrella; oh which she leaned with a limping
gait, the old bonnet, and a large dark shawl.
She went straight up to the table, and with
out hesitation placed a.double Frederick d’or.
on a single number—l. think it was three.—
I looked at lief as the table turned; her hands •
were tightly clasped, her heck stretched out.
The umbrella on which she leaned for, a ; walk
ing-stick had fallen , down,. and she did not
seem aware of it.
: “ Ello.nefoui'no plus—trois!” said the crou
pier. The . little witch had, ,won thirty-six
double.Fredericks.' '
She gave an unmistakable shout of ecstasy,
“O. beautiful 1” said a, clear,' shrill child’s
Voice, and she.snatched up the golden pieces, I
and actually ran out of the saloon. I turned,
to follow, but she had disappeared, leaving the
umbrella bii the floor. 11 picked it up, think
ing it might lead to Some acquaintance with
the mysterious little-person., ■ ■ V
./My'invalid had become worse, and I was
much taken up with him, and did not go to the
, Curaaol for some days. Sitting one afternoon
in the garden with him, we were listlessly
, watching some children; both German and En
glish, in a, game of hide-and-seek,
chasing each other found the trees. A little
girl; .whose remarkably graceful movements
find caught my attention, suddenly exclaimed;
wfth a laugh and a shout: “,0 beautiful 1” .
• The voice':
'tßke'l6^,ii , ith'tfiai'of,‘fheliftl&’bld'wdmdhtof
the Cursaal,' I was’ determined to be convin- 1
oed of the fact, and when ! again looked at the
perfectly chiHish creature of eleven yiiafs old,
I could not behove her to be the same. .' I rose,
from my seat ns she came: near, but was ra
ther puzzled how to. accost her. I have an
odd sort of shyness with children, Ifeel'so
afraid of encountering either of the two ex
tremes, of, shyness or peftness.', At last I be
thought me'of the umbrella; "
' “ Stop, my little .lady," fcaid I, very timid r
ly. She looked roiihd wondering, and with the
softest blue eyes in the world, “Have you
not lost something lately, the other evening in
the Cursaal?”; , i/', ■;
Poor little thing 1 all her fun and frolic were
gone; She blushed and hung her head and I
saw the ready childish tears swelling under
her eyelids. •
“ I don’t know, I” she murmured; and
I felt so guilty in tempting her to an untruth,
that I said at once:, “ You dropped.your um
brella when you were dressed up the other
evening.”
She came.quite close up to mo; allher shy
ness was gone. “O sir,” she said, “ifyou
have found me out, don’t tell upon me,, pray;
don’t. Never mind the umbrella; and, sir,
if you should see mo again, so, dressed like an
old woman, don’t take any notice.”
“But, my dear little girl, or my dear old
lady, I cannot'promise anything, because !
am sure I should laugh. What can be the rea
son of such a disguise?”
; She had not the shadow of a smile as she
answered: “ I cannot and may not tell you:
and perhaps I was wrong not,to say at once,
“ No, it was not my umbrella”—rand yet that
would be a story. .It is so hard to know what
is right, isn’t it, sir, sometimes ?’’ . ...
'Her companions here come to call her, to
play, hut she said in German—which she spoke
like a natiye—“ No, I must go homo now.”—!
Thotrlurning to me with a.soft of involuntary:
| o,otiftd'ehce, , she said: “ Thefe is nobody but
|mo now to attend to poor papa,-and it was ;
very wrong indeed of mo to stay, playing
here.” . : . /
“ I wish,” said I, “ you would tell me‘some
thing more of yourself; I might help you, per
haps, and your papa too."
' She shook her head sadly. ..“I daro not,”
she said. “It would vex him so much, that
he^ might die. We don’t want anything now
—just now, I mean ; only, if you see me again
(here, don’t toll anybody; for, you Jmow : —this
she said in a whisper—they won’t let children
P>“y-” ■■ , ••' •,
She wont away out of the garden with a se
date stop, andhop face, thin; and pale when
not animated, had lost its childish expression.
1 1 watched her, and longed to follow and know
what the mystery ;was. .Shei stopped, and
looked back hesitating, and. I instantly joined
her. “ Shall I send your umbrella,’* said 1/1
“ or bring it to you here to-morrow .
“Never mind that," she said. .“If you will
only tell me where you live—l may—l don’t
know ; but papa won’t let anybody come, and
we may—o sirfwe uiay want a friend 1” She
burst into tears, and then with ah effort to re-
press her. sobs, said; “ Toll,we whore you
ive?” , . r„• J
I readily gave her my, card, and 'pressed her,
slight little hand fan away.
■A : few days after that,'in’ the'Oufsaal, I
again saw the , strange little; figure.; I went
and stood, opposite to her, but I believe she
did not see, me. She had, as before, a double
Frederick d’or, which she changed into silver,
and began to play first cautiously, and consul
ting some, written directions', and winning eve
ry time; she then staked gdld-pioces, and
again. Won. Then she grew more reckless,
and placed high stakes on a single number—
she lost; staked again—lost again, and then
her last remaining gold pieces were raked off,
I could not see her face for the absurd dis
guise, but as I.saw her glide from the table, I
instinctively followed. She rushed down the
stops, and into the garden., Wheal oamoup,
she had thrown herself on o ghfdßii-seat, fead
torn off her disguise, and-With’ Her childish
hands covering her face, was sobbing in the
*
bitterest despair. When she looked up, on
hearing my stop, it "was sad. to,’see such wild
sorrow in a child’s face. , “My poor Child,"
said.l,.going up to her* “.whatffl it?"-X \ -
;“,0 sir, p. sir," she sobbed,'. “.that' cruel
man!” .Then a'sudden idea seized bet; she
sprung up.' “ Don’t you think, for once, only
once, he, would give me back a little, money,
and me try again ?" •
; “ Ithink not,’’ I said. “ HoW is it that you
do this,and know so little? Tellnne all,.and
let me, perhaps help you."' .
She looked wistfully in my face, “If you
would lend me n Frederick'd’or, I should be
sure to win this time.” l . 1
. “ I will lend it to you,” I said, “tut not;to
piny—take it home."
She hung;back; and blushed; “ I dare not
—I cannot go home.” Then she burst into a
passion, of, sobs;- exclaiming; ,“.0 no;- papa
would die ; it would kill him to see me come
home.with nothing—all-lost 1”
“Let me go home with you,” said I. “I
am a doctor; if your father is ill,' I may be of
use to him."
She hesitated, and then, with a sudden reso
lution,_took my hand, and led me on. ; It was
a turning not far, from the Cursaal; down a
lane, arid into a yard, whpro there was a stand
of donkeys at one.end, and a washerwoman at
the other. The door of the mean house; stood
open, and my little guide'asked me to stop at
the bottom of the stairs, while she first' went
up to her father. I watched her light, step
and saw hempen a door very cautiouslythen
a shriek of alarm and terror rang through the'
house, and I awaited.no further summons to:
rush to the room. . : .
■ Thesight that presented itself was indeed,
appalling: on 'the bed lay a man apparently
lifeless, the pillow and the sheets.covered with
blood. I immediately raised, his head,, and
found the bleeding proceeded,from the mouth
and hose—he had broken a blood-vessel.- The
shrieks of thefchild bad brought more assist
• ance; than enough, and by dismissing some,
and making use of others, I succeeded at last
in restoring consciousness to the invalid, , and
calmness to. his poor little’daughter.
'While'applying*remedies, X was obliged to
stop every attempt to speak on the part of the
patient j but he smiled at Alice, whose every
faculty seemed absorbed in watchinghim, and
turned his eyes, towards the table by the side
of the bed. / On the table wCrca pack of cards
and a pair of much-used ,dice, a note-book to
prick the numbers, aadmnothor with a pencil
by its side, and tilled with calculations.,. ;The
man’s face washaggard and. emaciated,' evi*
dently in the last stages of consumption, ,b,ut
of finely chiseled features; his hands, were al
so delicately’formed. He was.making.efforts
to apeak,.and,tried to point still to the” table,
whoh.Alice’s quick eye fell bn a letter, which'
he. must have received in ker absence. .She
held it out to him. I saw the hectic mount
to his cheek ; and with a flash of the,eye and
a violent 'effort i to raise, himself and to seize it,
he exclaimed: Gcd! I have not ru
ined-my little, AKco. . ; , JtJs all her luck, andahe
.deserves it ni1.”,., The effort hrougliSon a re
turn p_Ohe,hlce,di.ng ;,;he fell back, exhausted,,
land neverspoke again. . , . :,'v'
The letter, whose perusal had so strongly
affeoted,him, proved, to bo the announcement
of a considerable fortune, which had been long
in litigation, having been adjudged to him,
and at his death, to his daughter Alice., ,’His
name and family ,were discovered by this and
other papers. • '
The rest we could only guess; his fatal pro
pensity to gambling, his illness,:and his send
ing his child, when unable to go to the table
Himself—living thus, by what her called her
wonderful luck, sometimes in case, sometimes
bn the very verge of starvation ; and, the'end
Of the feverish fitful life coming as; I have
said.,,
Poor, desolate little Alice did not now ■want
friends; aunts and cousins who had ignored
her. .existence, and avoided her gambling 'fa
rther, how disputed with each other so yiolentr
ly for her bringing up, that she stood a chance
of being torn up by the roots altogether.
I did not lose sight of her - ; and when, many
years after, I mot the graceful, somewhat pen:
sive girl—for she always retained a shade of
melancholy—she had never forgotten her friend
the doctor of Bad-Sohlosseribourg.
Singing to Her Babe.
’ I passed a-dwelling in Duke street. The
I front door was open, and close by the step sat
a young wife singing-to her,babe. There was
a low, sweet melody in her voice. True, the
words were wery simple, but all the fascina
tion of song was there. The little babe, not
yet ablo 'to make the adventurous circuit of the
room, lay quietly upon her lap ; its little hands
were folded across the breast, and its soft,
beautiful eyes seemed to dilate with joy and
wonderment, as-.the musical so.unds fell upon I
its: cars,. ' ■ . f
Singing to her babe! A scone, indeed, to
touch the sdul with quiet pleasure. A moth
er’s: heart wrapped up in.her first born; her
joy, her light, her very life! Already she was
dropping soft, welcome .sounds into the tea
chable soul. I could not help murmuring
“ Rich; though poor 1
That low.-roofed cottage ia this hour a heaven,
Music is in it—add thd song sho sings,
.That awcofc>voicod wife arrests the ear •
Of fche'young child awakoupon her knoe.l*
. Singing to her babe I Would it be here to
load these tiny feet into the way of rightous
ness and by the river of everlasting life ?
“She was ono who hold a treasure, •" '■
: A gem of wondrous cost;
Did it mar,her heart’s deep pleasure,
The four it might bo lost ?”
She could instill in that young, impressible
mind the knowledge of good and evil, the life
toned integrity of the soul, the_ earnest faith
that hopeth and believeth all things to Christ.
As she watched its slow; yet delightful appre
ciation of objects and words—ns she noticed
its developing intellect—did she feel her .re
sponsibility? Wasshe conscious that she held
the silken cords in her ,own hand that were to
bind the present to,the future? ....
Singing to'her babe.?' Asl gozed upon the
scene, I could not help wondering what the
fate of that dear child;might be. , Would it
treasure-her precepts, and follow her exam
ple ? or would it drift idly about on the 1 sop of
life,"oafeless■ whore its world of truth might
he, and sinking at. laet into a dishonored
grgve? Would it exclaim, when ago dined
the dark looks with silver, and added ti tre
mor to the voice—
“ Yen, I. have 16ft the golden shore; '
Where ohilhocd 'midst thejroßos play’d ~
.Those sunny dreams will come no.more,
That youth a long bright Snhhath made. '
, . Yet, while those dreams of memory's eye ;
Arise'in nio'uy a glittering train, . t •,
My soul goes buck to infancy,
And hoars my mothers song again I” : .
Saving Gbacb. —A blunt spoken; off-hand
ed old gentleman, one day, previous to dinner,
arose and delivered himself as follows • "*< For
,whot wa are about toreoeive, may the ; Lord
make us truly thankful—what, wife! a plain
hash again to-day 1” It was all; in the, same
breath, and the effect was inexpressibly ludi
crous.
CARLISLE, PA, THDBSDAY, AUGUST 10, I 860;
has been
many years the I ,prosecution of
military claims, fell iff; accidentally -with a
case in which both .a ‘man and his 'wife re
ceived, pensions for rfivolutionary services.
Tho sinMlarity of struck
him so forcibly that he instituted an inquiry,
and elicited from-an’bldlady, the sole surviv
ing descendant, 1 the??ollowing 'foots.' (We
state them substantially,.‘hut our informant
not beihg_ present. it' is, possible we may be
incorrect in some insignificant particulars.)
: Early,'in. .-war, a man
named Lane (we thinfi) enlisted in a company
raised in the neighterhodd of Manchester, to
Serve three years. He.went, with his regi
ment, to the North,'find there joined Wash
ington’s army? Taking\part in all the previ
oup .battles, he. waStfjjyriirely wounded nt.Bran
dywine or j, and during the ba£
tie, and lifter, was taken care of. by a, Brother
soldier, .to whom. ho . had become greatly . afr
taohed, and who.belonged to the same compa
ny with himself. ’ .The.term of service haying
expired, these two,Soldiers were discharged,
and returned home.'devbted and inseparable,
friends. ; In' the* meantime, the tide of war
rolled to the the couple had hardly
reached their destination, when they, again
enlisted to servo in’ General Lincoln’s, army,
at thot time engaged ..'in. the seige of Savan
nah.' Our. readers well know that Lincoln
was afterward oooped'. up in Charleston, arid
compelled to a long seige, to.
the royal forces, under the command of Sir I
Ilenry Clinton; ; ' • ' •
. Throughout this ,'seige; Lane and his friend
stood to their posts like heroes, and-did their,
duty bravely. At Inst Lane’s comrade was
wounded in turn. and .carried off the field in
the arms of his friend." 'What must bavc been
the amazement of Lane, on discovering that,
the brave conjrade whojflad so lohg fought by
his side, and had nursed’him so tenderly
when ho was,wounded,'through the report of
the attending surgeon,'-was a woman 1 Itap
pears that she had accidentally,fallen in.with
[ min "some where, and had formed a.strong at-.
■ tachinentto him., At. the same time,from
[some cause or other, she had made so little
impression upon hint, ! that he did riot recog
nize her in the least when he afterwards mot
her disguised as-p soldier.;. She was; in de
spair when Lane enlisted, arid under the in
fluence of that feeling, she fled from'her pa
rents’ home, donned ilioContiriental uniform,
and &llpwed ; him to'thh wpfae ; What followed
was, a proper, finale to such a romance. -The
wounded womari recovered, and as soon as the
twain were released from captivity, they be
came one. .They, lived,many years.happily
together, and loft several children.
Incidents of this riatrife-Vdiaguised damsels
following their lovers to,'the wars in the ca
pacity of pages—were great favorites with all
the .old 'romance writers..;'. The "'readers of
Shaknpcn.ro will lecoWeritthat one of his plays
turns upon;something ofjtKe sntriesort. .Nev
ertheless,'-we feel assured . that the tale is true
both the man and his vrifo received pensions
for Cervices rendered-.as-soldiers, until the
days of their deaths, respectively. ,
• =■ ■ ■ ’ Richmond D’
:'v>'
Frlie Mortified,
I AM hall given in Prjraount, a celebrated
watering place in Germany, the tutor of a
I ypung count,’ a Gottingen student, requested
a young lady to danoe with him.
Just as the dance was about to commence,
the lady inquired of him:
Y “With whom have I the honor of dancing ?”
I “I am the'tutor of Count Von Z—/' replied I
her partner. ■ : -k :
, “And a commoner, 1 presume she rejoin;
ed, to which he answered in the affirmative.
“Oh; then,” continued the lady, as she
withdrew her hand from that of the tutor, “I
beg -you will.exouso me, for my mamma has
forbidden me to. dance with a commoner.” jj
This rebuff completely threw the modest
preceptor out of countenance, for on the con
| tinent to be so deserted on the eve of a dance
is’ to lose cast for the rest of*the night, if not
longer. :It:is: supposed todndicate the exis
tence of some moral taint discovered, by , the
person whci|quits the: side of another, and
which is exaggerated into something henibus
bythe 1 company,; particularly if they are ig
norant of what it is. ’
Tho young man quitted : the room, and
sought’ the open .air to breathe more freely
and collect himself.
Hid pupil i followed him, and - learned the
cause of his distress. • •
‘‘You shnll soon haye ample, satisfaction for
this mortification, said the generous count,
and hastened bach to the ball room, followed
by his tutor. :• .
The-moment was propitious.. Preparations,
I were going forward for .another waltz; the?
young, count requested the rejector .of his tii->
tor to be his partner in the dance, andjahei
eagerly accepted the proposal; no doubt great
ly rejoicing at ■ the immense - stride she had
taken, from ranking with -the humble tutor
to pairing off with the wealthy noble. -
Just before the dance began, he addressed
to her the question-which: she herself had
I put: - , ■
“With whom have I the: honor of danc
ing?". . '• ■
“With the Lady Von B—," she replied. I
“Ob 1.1 beg your pardon,” said the Count,
“but papa has . forbidden me to dance with
any but countesses, and instantly quitted ber
side. , ’ , ’ , ' , ,
He had'the satisfaction, of Hearing that his
conduct was applauded by every sensible per
son in the room.’ '
Few will deny, that it was a well-merited
punishment. -
, .Wiiat is liife,— Tho raero sleep of;a year
is riot life,.. To eat, and drink, and sleep—to
bo exposed to darkness and the light—to pace
round iri the-mill of habit, and turn thought
into an implement of trade—this- is riot life.
In. oil this hut a poor fraction of consoibus
ness of humanity is awakened, and tljo sane-,
titles still slumber which riiake it worth while
to he. Knowledge, truth, love, beauty, good
ness,faith,' alone can give vitality to the me
chanism of existenoe. The: laugh of. mirth
that vibrates through the . heart—the tears
that freshen the' dry wastes within—the situ-,
sic that brings child hoodhgok—the prayer
that calls the future near—the doubt which
makes us meditate—the death which startles'
us with mystery—the hardship which forces
us to struggle—the anxiety that ends in trust
—are the ’true nourishment 'of bur natural"!
being.
- Fable.—A gourd had wound itself around
a lofty palm, nnd in a few weeks climbed'to
its'very 'iop.i "How old mayest thou-bo?”
asked tho now comer, " About a hundred
years." “About a hundred years, and no
taller? Only look; I hove grown os togas
you in fewer days than you con count
“kknowthat well,", replied the pal™- ® J
year of my life a gourd has climbed up round
me. ns proud os tliou art, and as short lived
os thou wilt be,"
! One Ear at a Time.
, Many extraordinary persons "who have fig
ured in history as men Of action, have had a
propensity to do their their thoughts rather
than spedK'fbem, to convey, dr at least to en
force,,their; meaning by some; significant, ac
tion rather than by words. '
Sir Walter Scott relates of Napoleon that
once, in a sharp altercation With ’his brother
luoien/not being able to bow him to his will,
he dashed on - the floor a magnificent watch
which he Held in his hand, exclaiming, “I
made your fortunes. I can shatter them to
pieces easier than Ido that watch 1” •
Everybody has heard the story of Canute
the Great, Who, when his courtiers were ex
tolling his power and good fortune as a kind
of omnipotence over nature as well as man,
quietly ordered his throno to be set on the sea
beach.when the tideiwas out, and, when : the
waves came rolling, playing around his seat,
and irreverently throwing water and spray
over his sacred person, he silently allowed the
spectacle to rebuke their silly flattery.
A good instance of this symbolism is related
of Alexander, the Great.,; An accusation, was
once presented to him against one of his offi
cers. When the informer began his statement
Alexander turned one ear towards him, and
closed tbe’other firmly with his hand; imply
ing that he who Would form a just judgment
must not abandon himself altogether to . the
party who gets the first .hearing •' but, while
he gives one ear to the accusation, should re
serve the other, Without bias or preposession,
to the defence..
If .wo should shut "both ears when we hear
an injurious report, in most cases no' harm
would Kb done. But the least that fairness'
requires is to keep one closed and reserve it
for the other aide. For, who' does hot know
(though inost' people forget) that there are two
aides to every story? If we would only stick
to the rule of one ear at a time, it would pre
vent inany a fash judgment,-and spare many
an injured reputation and many a wounded
heart. : ’
Aunt llettv , on' Matbimont.—“ Novv,
girls," said’Hotty, “ put down your einbroide-'
ry ond worsted works; do something sensible,
and; stop building.air castles, and talking of
lovers ond honey-moons; it makes me sick,, it
is perfectly .nntiraqnial. >. ,i ' 1
, " Lovo is a force, matrimony is a humbug,.
husbands. ore domestic Napoleons, Neroes,
Alexanders, and sighing for other hearts to
! conquer, after'they are sure, of yours.. , , ;
The honey mqon is as short lived as a luci
fer match; after, that you may wear your wed
ding-dress, at th&wasn tub, and your husband
won’t know-it. ... : _ . . • ,
, ‘‘ You may,pick up.your own pocket hand
kerchief,: heipgyourself to a choir, and-split
your gown news's the back reaching over the
table: to' gist a piece of butter, while he'is lay
ing in his breaMast .as if.it were the last meal
ho should eat in the world. ' . ’
“■When bp gets through He will aid your
digestion while you are. sipping your first cup
.Olsraffep*
dinner, whether the cold lamb was all ate
yesterday, if the charcoal is all oiit, and what
you gave for the last green tea you bought,
ond where you got it. : :
“ Then he gets up from the table, lights his
oigar,with. the last .evening’s paper that yoii
haye not.had A chance, to read)-gives two ot
three whiffs of smoke, sure to give you' the
headache for the ■afternoon’,' ahdjust as his i
coat tail is vanishing through the door, npolo
fizes for not doing that errand for you yester- I
ay, he is so pressed with business. ■ .
“ Hear of Him at 11 o’clock taking ice cream
I with some ladies at Vinton’s while you are at
homo new lining his coat sleeves. Children
by the ears all day .can’t get out to take the
air, feel as dizzy as a fly in a drum, husband
combs home at night, nods a how d’ye do, Fan
boxes little Charley’s ears, stands little Fanny
in the corner, sits doWn in the easiest chair,
latch.
in.the corner, puts his feet up over
the grate, shutting out all.the fire from view;
“ The baby’s little png nose grows blue with
the cold; he rends the newspaper all to him
self, solaces the inner man with a cup of tea, 1
and just as you are laboring under the hul
| lunciatipn that he will ask you to . take a
mouthful offresh air with him, he puts on his
dressing gown and slippers and begins to reck
on up his family expenses 1
~i “ After this he lays down on the sofa, and I
you keep time with your needle while he snores
till riine . - I
■“Next morning ask him to leave you a lit
tle money: he looks at you as if to be sure
you are in ybnr right mind, draws a sigh long
and strong enough to inflate a pair of bellows,
and asks you what you wantto.do with it, and
if a half dollar won’t do..
“ Gracious king I as if these little shoos and
stockings, and petticoats could be had for a
half a dollar!
“OH, girls! set your affections on poodles,
I cats parrots or lap dogs, but let matrimony
alone. It is the hardest way on earth of get
ting a'.living; you never know when your
work is done np.
“ Think of carrying nine or ten children
through the measels, chicken pox, mumps,
■rash and scarlet fever, some-of them twice
over; it makes my head ache to think of it;
“Oh, you may crimp and save, and twist
and turn and dig. delve, and economize, and
die, and. your husband will marry again, and
take what : you have saved to dress his second
wife with,’ and she’ll take your portrait for a
fire-board; but what’s the use of talking ? .
“I’ll warrant every one of you’ll try it the
first chance you gotthere is a sort of bewitch
ment about it somehow. I wish one half the
world warn’t fools,, and t'other idiots, I do,
oh, dear me!’’..
[ (O* In Paris the gallery of the theatre is
called Paradise. The Duchess of Orleans
took a fancy to go to the play one night with
only a fills de chambre, and sit there. A
young officer who sat next her, was very free
in hie addresses, and when the play was over,
concluded by offering her a supper, which she
seemed to accept. He accompanied her down
stairs but was confounded when he saw her
attendants and equippage, and her name, —
Keobyering, however, his presence of mind,
ho banded her into the carriage; bowed in si
lence, and was retiring, when she called out,
“ Where is the enpper_ybu promised ■ He
bowed and replied,Try Paradise wo are alt
.'equals; but lam not insensible ortho respect
I owe yon, madamo. on' earth. This P ro P'P t
and proper reply obtained for him a place ln
the Duchess’s carriage and at her table.
' 'rr~y~ Why tshoulfl man bo bo terrified at the
admission of eight air into any of his apart
mental It is nature s ever flowing current,
and never carries the’destroying angel with,
it. See how soundly the delicate little wren
and tender robin sleep under its full and im
mediate influence, aha how fresh, and vigor
ous, and joyous they rise nmidthe surround
ing dewdrops of the morning.' ex
posed all. night long; to the 1 air of heaven, their
fungfj aro never out of order; and this wo
know by the daily repetition of their song.
The Necessity of labor.
The notion is falspthat genius. can secure
its aims without,labor. - All the great minds
who have left their marks upon the history of j
the world’s progress, have paid for their suc
cess and notoriety by the price of onrelnittihg
toil and labor.' r, - 1 |
. Napoleon'Bonaparte worked hard and in-.
ceSsantly, and has been known to exhaust the
energies of several secretaries at one time.
Charles l Xll.'of Sweden, frequently tired
out pll his officers.
The Duke of Wellington was . the hardest
working man in the. Peninsula; his energies
never flagged. - , '
Milton, from his ydnth, applied himself
with such indefatigable application' to' the'
study of letters that it occasioned.-weakness Of
sight and ultimate blindness.
The labor of Sir Walter Scott is evident in
the number of his literary productions, and it
is apparent toevery reader thet the immense
masses of genoral.mformation which abound
throughout his multitudinous .works' could
only have been acquired by dint of many'
years’ hard study.
Byron was in the habit of reading even at
hismeols. :
Luther made it a rule to translate' a verse
of the Bible every day. This.soon brought
, him to the .completion of his labors, and it
was a.matter of astonishment to Europe, that
in the multiplicity of his other labors, besides
travelling, ho could find the time to prepare
such a surprising work. '
- Newton and Locke pursued their studies
with, tireless efforts, and Pope sought retire
, ment so that he might pursue his literary op
erations without interruption and distraction.
■ Industry is essential to all;. by forming the
habit of doing: something useful every, day, a
man increases his own amount of happiness
and enlarges that of others about him. '
Many a one, by judicious use of •the odd
moments,"-those little vacancies in every day
life which .occur to. all, have rendered, them
selves famous among their fellows.
Nature is preserved in its proper working
condition ; by constant exertion, and man, to
keep a healthful condition of mind and body,
must exert 1 his mental and physical faculties';
the constant employment ,of the first will give
the strength of character, so. that it is capable
of thinking on any subject at any time; and
by active bodily- exertion; be preserves his.
health, fortune, and-worldly position. ,
The Marquis of Spinola .once asked Sir
Horace Vere “of what his brother died ?"
:“He died, sir,’ 1 replied Sit Horace,“of-hav
ing nothing to do." •
“Alas! sir,” said Spihpla, “that is enough
to kill any general of us all.” • - | ■
Take Care ot year Eyes,
, One of;tho most eminent American divines,
who has .for some time been compelled‘to
forego the. pleaeure of reading, has'spent some
i thousands-Uf dollarsiin vain, and lost years of
time,;:in • consequence of. getting up several
1 hoprs before day and studying by artificial
Ilighti’Hisseye&Will never getr well; 1
1: of men,mpd, women have, their
eyes weak for life, the too . free use of eyesight
in reading, fine.print and doing ‘fine sewing;
[,ln view of these things, it will be well to ob
serve the following, rules in the use. of the
eyes: - . . ',
Avoid aU sudden ohangos .botween light and
darkness/ . . ■
I Never begin to read, write or sew, for sev-
I eral minutes after coming from' darkness .into
I a bright light. ; - ; ■. ;; , :
Never read, by’twilight, or mooplight, or bn
a very cloudy day. .
I Never, read or sew directly In front of the
light, of .window, or door. .’ ~ ■ ' (
- It is best to have the light fall frbmobove
obliquely, over the left shoulder.
Never sleep so that; on the first awakening
the eye shall open on the light of a window.
Do_ not usb the eyesight by light so scant
that it requires an effort to discriminate.
The> moment you are instinctively urged
to rub the eyes, that moment cease using
them.: , , •
If the eyelids ore glued together on waking
up, do not forcibly open'them ;■ but apply the
saliva with the finger—it is the speediest dilu
tant in the world; then wash your eyes and
face in warm water. . . • •
Hall’s Jmimal of Health.
CfIiBiCTEB.
BT JAMES FONDA,
In the training of hoys there are three ele
ments of character that should bo carefully
cultivated. .The first is the moral character;
and from earliest childhood religious princi
ples should be carefully planted and sedu
lously nurtured; for the manifest reason that
the religious training of boyhood generally
forms the religious character of manhood.
The second is physical culture. It is the
muscle and not the brains that first needs de
veloping, and . the parent or teacher who over
tasks a child’s mental' capabilities, while ho
stunts his physical growth, is worse than a
barbarian. We have no doubt but that many
a boy has been gent to a premature grave, be
cause his physical nature has been overlooked
in the attempt to cram knowledge in his
brains.. For instance, a boy three or four
years of age is sent to sohoolyand for hours he
is confined in a close room, compelled to look
upon a book if he starts at the sound of merry
voices, or looks with eager interest at a kite
sailing through the air.. A rap upon the
teacher's desk admonishes him of his task, and
thus dayaffysr day, and month after month,
ho languishes away, and you see the crape
upon the door hell, the little coffin carried in
the house,' and you know, that he is dead.
The third in order after full physical dovcl-1
opeinent is mental culture, That boy is sure I
to be on the right road to future-success and 1
greatness, who is endeavoring to cultivate his /
intellect. There is much, truth, in the old I
proverb: “Just as the twig is bent the (peel
inclines.” ' So when you see hoys thinking I
only of amusements,.or devoting then time to ,
dress, you may depend upon it that whan they ..
crow up to bo young men, you will find them
hanging around billiard saloons and gaming ;
tables, arid thus'running the road to ruin. ,
/ While on the other hand the boy who spends
j his time in .-intellectual.culture, .will in the
[ end rise'to the loftiest station, and leave a.
I namebehind which the world might well en
vy. Siioh have boon the men whose names
now adorn the pages. Of history. Men who!
have left thp plough, the anvil, or the bench,;
and have given to .the world such brilliant
names os Ciay, Franklin, Kitto, Burritt, and
ahostof others, whose'example like beacons
direct us,tp the shores :of fame. '
tO* Every desire bears its death in every
gratification. Curiosity languishes under re
peated- stimulants, and novelties cease to ex
cite surprise, until, at length, we cannot even
wonder at a miracle. ,
1C?" The streams of Rhode Island are so dry
that in some places the manufactures have to
stop work.
fiJiflialDre . Philosophers*
Who has hot-seen them? Who his not
been puzzled by theirofl, but <(ueer interrog
atories ? Has not every one ? Who, indeed,
has been able to, .answer all .the queries of
these, “miniature profundities?” Has any
one? ; Never! But, says one, who are your
“miniature' philosophers?"!.;; Who, indeed?
Who don't Know.? , Don’tyou,'reader ? Well,
we'll tell youl ; Children I Yc.s, children are
the greatest of .natural philosophers.
makes, all the trees ?" ’ lisps, tbe ;little' “three
year old"—and “where does the,tbi|pcjer.come
from?" says his elder by a year; Qod,ydu
say; made the trees—but why don't you:'an
swer from whence comes the thunder nnd
lightning ? Perhaps you can’t 1 r
ophers are sometimes nonplussed bytoe in
terrogatories of ,thie yoUng t What dhiid. jlpes
nof wish to know the pauses of all things un
der its observation? “What is God?".says
our “miniature." Who will answer? Sffch
questions are the imteushings of Nature—
'springing spontaneously from the ‘ heart I
Philosophical questions are common—ay, they
are natural to children I Who has . never
heard religion—religion of nature and reason
—from tho lips of infanta . in their innocent
■ queries,. which would shame the forced ‘argu
ments of “eloquehts?” To us! children seem
to. be Nature personified 1 , The little dne'.'os
soon as it begins to talk—rhegiris V philoso
phize. Many a toy has suffered destruction
by the “miniature” from his natural curiosity
to find what’s contained therein‘l. With equal
vigor the child strives to discover Ihej. machi
nery of the rattle-box or . the shilling‘play
thing, as does the- philosopher to ; investigate
the causes of gravitatiop, and the meOhamsm
of the natural world I Philosophy is simplic
ity ; to simplicity is everythihg, however stu
pendous, reduced by the question-asking child!
Simple questions are the keys which will tin
look the incomprehensible whole, of our,terres
trial systems. The philosophic disooveriesof
Newton and Galileo, are hut answers to the v
simple questions of children of a larger growth I
The boyish desire to investigate toe Wonder
ful, caused Waits to philosophize on the pow
er and. exprnsibility of steam. , The child that
never queries regarding the works of Nature,
will never be of a philosophic -turn of mind,
and no matter how ■ brilliant an, intellect, ho
may possess, he will be'superficial and de.ydid
of the qualification, intensity of thought! To
children! we owe many'of our' most simple
sayings and most beautiful . thoughts,! , In
their innocent prattle, the,- gems of- wisdom
often sparkle with remarkable brilliancy
Those little philosophers are Nature’s tongues,
apeaking in simplicity,;and-in truth!- -Philo
sophic little minds! Persuade them not from
the paths of virtue in which they Walk,’and.
soon toe gates of supprstitiotorWill'vanish'be
fore tho. gigantic of . Nature’s noble
men 1 1 ■ .a," '"/ , ■
’ It is astonishing how. muohmay he acOdm
plislied in, self culture by the energetic'tind
and the persevering,, who are; carefulto avail
themselves* of opportunities, and uaingup the
fragments of spare time which' the idle pep
td 'nm'td
■astronomy from the heavens whildwrapped in
a sheepskin on the highland. - hills.; Thus
Stone learned mathematics while working .as
a journeyman gardndr; "thus' Drew' studied
the highest philosophy in . the intervals of
cobbling shoes; thus Sillier taught Himself
geology while working as day laborer in a
quarry by bringing their mind to. beat' upon
knowledge in its various aspects, and careful
ly using up the very odds and ends of their
.time.,,.
From the Boston Eienitig Traveler, July 31. J
Amalgamation Case in Charlestown, Mass.'
About two months ago, an aged couple, ab
ate Neck, took into thoirservicc a girl of
Irish parentage, belonging to Boston;Who
shortly after began to receive the Visits b£ a
smart-looking colored man, whose way had
previously been prepared by the girl's state
ment that though her mother was Irish,'her
father was of mixed blood, &o. Still the 1 old
folks were at first a little surprised at the
sable hue of the aspiring beau, but tried to
imagine that in the dark complexion of the
girl a little of the race was apparent. ■ • ■
A.few days ago the couple wore seen in the
street by some of the girl's friends, who’ re
ported the fact to her : parents, and she whs
called homo. What occurred;is hot:flilly
known, except that after a week's confine
ment in a room, in which love didn't laugh at
the locks, the girl was given the liberty of the
house, her bonnet and out-door apparel hav
ing been put away that she' might not take
.advantage of her liberty. But she slipped
out between, two days,.and'before her jela- •
tives wore aware of her absence, she was
joined in the bonds of matrimony and had
gone to Charlestown after her clothes. The
old couple, had been unable to' account for
her absence, which she explained by announc
ing her marriage, and they,.not knowing that
she had acted without the consent of her par
rents,- gave the young couple a few
and they departed. Fifteen minutes'had
scarcely elapsed when the father, accompa
nied by ah officer, appeared at the door. His
rage, on learning of his daughter’s marriage;
and that he had been represented by her-as
part African, cannot be described.'
The. girl is but seventeen years of age,
though largo for her age, and. quite intollir
gent. Her father, is Irish, has some wealth;
owning one or two tenement houses in Bos
ton. At last accounts the father had two offi
cers in pursuit of the runaway, declaring that
ho would shoot the first one ne got sight of,
but ns two days have elapsed, and they have
not boon found, it is conjectured they took the
underground railroad tor partsunknown.
CuhTivATtos or Temper.—lf happily wo
are born of a good nature; if a liberal bdiicaj
tion.hos formed in na_a generous disposition,
well regulated appetites and worthy inclinai
tions, 'tiswoll for us, and so indeed we esteem.
it. But who is there endeavors togivotheso
to himself, or to advance his portion of happi
ness in this kind ? AVho thinks of improving, l
or so much of preserving his share, in a world
where it must of necessity run so great a ha
zard, and whore we kuownnhonest nature
is so easily corrupted? ■ All other things re-‘
dating, to us. are preserved with, pare, and have
some act of, economy helongiug'to them; this,
which is nearest related to us,-and on which
our happiness depends, is alone cbmmitted-to:
chance;, and temper is ■ the only thing ungo-.
'.vbmed, while it governs all the rest.'
The New Cor.—An oldolergymdn who had*
'an old tailor os his beadle for many years, re
turning from a walk in which the “minis tor's
man" was in the constant habit ot attending'
him, thus addressed hisfellow traveler: “ Thm
mas, I cannot tell how at is that our congrega-i
tion should be getting thinner,; for,lamenrol
I preach as well-os ever ! did,and must have
gained a great deal of experience tinoo I first,
crime among you.” “ Indeed, sir," replied
Thomas, “ old parsons now-a-daya ore just like
old tailors. lam sure I sew as well as ovenl•’
did, and the cloth is the same; but it’s the out,
sir—the, now cut—that boats me."
•>
mm.
; ft » 4‘i
‘ ,w' . >
n v? r
0 : NO. 10.