VOL. 48. AMERICAN VOLUNTEER PUBLISHED EVERY THURSDAY MORNING BY JOHN B. BRATTON. TERMS Subscription.—Odd Dollar and Fiftjr Cents, paid In advance; Two Dollars if paid within the year; and Two Dollars and Fifty Cents, if not paid within tho year.. These terms will bo rigidly adhered to in ©very instance..-. No subscription discontinued until all arrearages.arc paid unless at tho option of tue. Editor. ADVEnnsEJtfcyra—Accompanied by Ihffoian, and not exceeding one square, will ho inserted thro times for One Dollar, and twenty.fivo cents for oaob additional insertion. ThoSe of ft greater length m proportion; . Job-Printing— Such as Hand-bills, Posting-bills-, Pamphlets, Blanks, Labels, <tc. &e., executed with accuracy and at tho shortest notice.. IVE=Fe?.-JW^KS£ T?is better to give a kindly wbrd Thau' over so hard a,blow,- To, know wo have by-kindness stirrM The innn who was our foe; . To fool wo have a good intent, ~ ■ Whatever.ho may feel— That gentleness with us is meant To make the old. wounds beak ,*Tis better to give oar wealth away . Than let our neighbors want, To help them in their needful day, While they are weak and gaunt ; A kindly deed brings kindly thought In hamlet and in city ; A little help, wo have been taught, Is worth a world of pity. ’Tis better to work and slave and toil, Than lie about and rust; An idle man upon the soil Is one of the very worst. He eats the bread that others earn, And lifts .his head so high, ' Af if it was not his concern 1 How others toiled, or why. *Tis better to have an bumble heart, Living in faith and trust, To act an over upward part, . Remembering wo are dust; , To lot the streams of I?fo run past,' . Beloved and lovingly, , ■ Until wo roach.in’joy. at last ■ The great eternal sea. SEST TO HEAVES. , I had a message .to send her, - To her whom my soul loved best; - Bnt l had ray, task to finish, . • And she bad .gone homo to rest. To rcst iri the fur bnght ;beaven — , Oh, so far away from there; It was vain tb-gpcaU tp-my darling, 3?or I knew : shocpuld'np,£bear. '! had,a mcswgp^loiaeaiiiThoc;'^ „» ’ • .86 truey ana^swcct'j ■'" 'jQomrcd for ftn-fttagcVto near it, -1.-: ' ’■. Audlay fceK'*. I placed it, one silffimef yviming On a little white,cloiid'B breast; But it faded in golden splendor, And died in the "crimson west. I gave it the lark, next morning, ’ And I watched it soar and soar.;- • But its pinions grow faint and weary, And it fluttered to earth once mOro. ■ To tho heart of a rose I told it; , And tho perfume, sweet and ritre, , Growing faint on tho.hluo bright ether, . Was lost in tho balmy air, -. I,laid it upon accuser, * And I saw the incense rise; But its cloud of rolling silver Could not reach tho far blue skios. t cried in my,passionate longing: “lias tho earth no angol friend Who' will carry my lovo the message That my heart desires to send ? " Tbon I hoard a strain of mnsic, So mighty, so pure, so clear, That iriy very sorrow.was silent And my heart stood still to hear, And I felt in my soid’s deep yearning At last'the sure, answer stir— “ Tim music will go up to hegren, And carry my thoughts to her.” It rose in harmonious rushing Of mingled voices and strings, And I tenderly laid my message On tho music’s outspread wings. I heard it float farther and farther, In sound,more perfect than spooch; Farther than sight can follow— .'Farther than soul can reach., And I know that at last ray message Has passed through the golden gate; So my heart is no longer restless, And I am content to wait- Hiisrellawoitfl. A CHRISTMAS DINNER. BY CIIAIU.ES DICKENS. Christmas time 1 The man must he a mis anthrope indeed, in whoso breast something like a jovinl't’eoling is not roused—in whose mind some pleasant associations are not awakened—by, the recurrence of Christmas. There are people who will tell you that Christ mas is not to them what it used to bo, that each succeeding Christmas has found some cherished hope, or happy prospect of the year before, dimmed or passed away, and that the present only serves to remind them of redu ced circumstances and straitened incomes of the feasts they once bestowed on hollow friends and of the cold looks‘that modt thorn now in adversity and misfortune. Never hoed such dismal reminisenoos. There ore few men who have lived long enougli in the world who cannot call up such thoughts any day m the year. Then do hot select.the mer riest of three hundred and sixty-five for your doleful recollections, but draw your chair nearer the blazing fire—fill the glass and send round the song—and if your, room be smaller than it was a -dozen years ago, or if your glass be filled with reeking punch, instead of sparkling wine, put a good face on the mat ter, and empty it off-hand, and fill another, and troll off the old ditty you used to sing, “^ h f nk G( i d >t's no worse. Look on the the fiL faC n of 7-°V ollUdron as sit round sbn.hH; °?, e “ttle soat may be empty ; one an^ron?^ mav not hn H mot £ or ’* P rid « to look upon S not tw ro, D r U not a Pon the past! Child now rosolrin® ’ ',o with blooni pf heaUh n hTo„k td U.e gay unconsciousness of infiinc'v in sVf IF' h- R t! Q ° Ct UpOU y° ur Prosit blessings— of which every man has mahv g past misfortunes, of which all mon ba^some'' Fill your glass again, with a merry face and contented heart. Our life U ££ Christmas shall be merry, and yournewyear a happy one. , . • Who can he insensible to the outpourings of good feeling, and the honest interchange of affectionate attachment, at this season of the year ? A Christmas fami lr party 1 Wo know nothing in nature more dolightial 1 There seems a magic in the very name of Christmas. Petty jealousies and dis cords are forgotten; social feeling are awak ened in bosoms to whieh they have long been strangers: father and son. or; brother and sis ter,we have met,and passed with averted gaze, or a look of cold recognition for months before, proffer, and return the. cordial em brace, and bury their past animosities in their present happiness. Kindly hearts that have yearned towards each other, but have been withheld by false notions of pride and self dignity, are again reunited, and all is kind ness and ‘ benevolence 1' Would that Chr.ist-, mas lasted the whole year through, and the prejudices' and passions which deform our bettor nature, were never called into notion among those to whom they should ever be strangers 1 • - F|ll -" .yinci fiinll.: r -i%arty ill ah Iff 1 mp f is not a xnero assemblage of relations, got up at a -week or two’s notice, originating this year, havingno family precedent in the last, and not likoly, to be repented in the lt is an, annual gathering of all the accessible members of the family, young or old rich or poor ; and air the children look forward to it, lor two months beforehand, in anticipation,— Formerly it was held at grandpapa’s; but grandpapa getting old, and grandmamma get ting old too, and rather infirm, they have giv en up housekeeping, and domesticated them selves with Undo George, so the party al ways takes place at Uncle George’s house, but grandmamma sends in most of the good things and grandpapa always .will toddle down all the way to Kowgate-markot, to buy a turkey, which .ho engages a porter to bring home be hind him in, triumph, always insisting on the man’s being rewarded, with a glass of spirits over and above his hire, to drink "a merry Christmas and a happy new year n to aunt George. As .to grandmamma, she is very secret, and mysterious for two or three days .beforehand, but not sufficiently so to prevent rumors getting afloat that she has purchased a beautiful new cap with pink rib bons for each of the servants, together .with Sunday hooks and, pen-knives, and pencil ca : ses for the younger branches; to say nothing of divers secret additions tb the order origi nally 'given by Aunt George at the pastry cook’s, such as another dozen of mince-pics for the dinner, and a largo plum cake for the children. . ' On Christmas ore, grandmamma is always in excellent spirits, and after employing all the children during the day in stoning the plumbs” and all that, insists regularly every year on Uncle George coming down into the kitchen, taking off his coat, and stirring the pudding for half ah hour or so, George good-humoredly does .to the vociferous delight of the children and servants ; and the evening concludes a glorious gamtf 'of blind-man’s huff,' hi ail’early stage of .which’ grandpapa takes’care to bo caught, in order that he may have an opportunity of display ing his dexterity. On the following morning, the old couple, with as many of the children ns the pew will hold, go to church in great state, leaving Aunt George at home dusting decanters and filling castors, and Uncle. George carrying bottles into the dining-parlor, and calling for bork-serews, and getting intoeverybodys way. When the church-party return to lunch grandpapa produces a small sprig of mislo toe from liis pocket, and tempts the boys to kiss their little cousins under it—a proceed ing which affords both the boys and the old gentleman unlimited satisfaction, but which rather outrages grandmamma’s idea of de corum, until grandpapa says, that when he Was iust thirteen years and three months old, he .kissed grandmamma under amisletoo too, on which the children clap their hands and laugh very heartily, as do Aunt. George and Uncle George; and grandmamma looks pleased and says, with a benevolent smile, that grand papa always was an impudent dog, on which the children- laugh very heartily again, and grandpapa more heartily than any of them. But all those diversions are nothing to the subsequent excitement when grandmamma in a high cap and slate-colored silk gown, and grandpapa .with a beautifully plaited shirt frill, and white neckerchief, seat themselves bn one side of the drawing-room fife, with Uncle George’s children,and little cousins in numerable, seated. in the front, waiting the arrival of the anxiously expected visitors.— Suddenly a hackney-coach is hoard to stop, and Uncle George,- who has been looking out of the window, exclaims “Here’s Jane? ’’ on which the children rush to the door, and hel ter-skelter down stairs; and Unclo Robert aud Aunt Jane, and the dear little baby, and the nurse, and the whole party, are ushered up stairs amidst tumultuous shouts of “ Oh, my ! ” from the children, and frequently re peated warnings not to hurt baby from the, nurse; and grandpapa takes the child, and grandmamma, kisses her daughter, and the confusion of this first entry has scarcely sub sided when some other aunts and uncles with more cousins arrive, and the grown up cous sins flirt with each other, and so do the little; cousins too, for that , matter, and nothing is to bo heard but a confused din of talking, laughing, and riierrimont . A hesitating double knock at the street door,' heard during d momentary pause in the conversation, excites a general inquiry of “Who’s that ?” and two orthroechildren who have been standing at tho window, announce in a low voice, that “it’s poor Aunt Marga ret.” Upon which Aunt George loaves tho room to welcome tho now comer, and grand mamma draws herself up rather stiff and stately, for Margaret married a poor man without her consent, and poverty not being a sufficiently weighty punishment for her of fense, has been discarded by her friends, and debarred tho society of her dearest relatives. But Christmas has come round, and tho un kind feelings that have struggled against bet-, tor dispositions during tho year, have molted away before its gonial influence, hko half formed ice beneath tho morning sun. It is not difficult in a moment of angry feeling for a parent to denounce a disobedient child ;.but to banish her at a period of general good-will and hilarity, from the hearth round which she has sat on many anniversaries, of the same day, expanding by slow degrees from infancy to girlhood, and then bursting almost imperceptibly into the high-spirited and beau tiful woman, is widely different. The air of conscious—rectitude—and—cold -forgiveness," ” which the old lady has assumed, sits ill upon her; and when tho poor girl is led in by her sister, pale in looks, and broken in spirit— not from poverty, for that she could boar, but from'TOo consciousness of undeserved neglect and unmerited unkindnoss—it is easy to see hOw much of it is assumed. A momentary pause succeeds; tho girl breaks suddenly from her sister and throws herself, sobbing, on her mother’s neck.' Tho father stops has tily forward and grasps her husband’s hand. « OUR COUNTRY —MAY IT ALWAYS BE RIGHT—BtiT, RIGUtT OR WRONG, OUR COUNTRY.” Friends crowd round to offer their hearty con gratulations. and happiness and harmony again prevail. As to the dinner, it’s perfectly delightful— nothing goes wrong, and everybody is in the host way of spirits, and disposed to please and bo pleased. Grandpapa relates a circum stantial account of the purchase of the tur key, with a slight, digression relative to the purchase of previous turkeys oh, former- Christmas days, which grandmamma corrob orates in the minutest particular. Uncle George tells stories and carves poultry, and takes wine, and jokes with the children at the side-table, and winks at the eonsins that are making love, or being made love to, and exhilarates everybody with his good humor and hospitality; and when at last a stout ser vant staggers m with a gigantic puddingwith a sprig of holly in the top, there is such a laughing, and shouting, and clapping of lit tle chubby hands, and kicking up of fat dum py legs, as can only ho equalled by the ap plause with which the astonishing feat of pouring lighted brandy into mince-pies, is re ceived by the younger visitors. Then the Such beautiful speeches, and such songs from Aunt Margaret’s, husband, who turns out to bo such a qico man, and so attentive to grand mamma 1 Even grandpapa not only sings his annual song with unprecedented vigor, but on being honored with an unanimous en core, according to annual custom, actually comes out with a new one which nobody but grandmamma had ever heard before; and a young scape-grace of a cousin, who has been in some disgrace with the old people for cer tain. heinous sins of omission and commission —neglecting to call, and persisting in drink ing Burton ale—astonishes everybody ipto convulsions of laughter by volunteering .the 'most extraordinary comic songs that wore over heard- And thus tho evening passes, in a strain of rational good-will and cheerful ness, doing more to awaken tho sympathies of every member of tho party in behalf of his neighbor, and to perpetuate their good feeling duting the ensuing year, than all the homilies that has ever been written, by all the divines that have ever lived. A Goon One-—A good joke is told of Judge L— -. He always kept a demijohn of good Jamaica in his private, office for his own comfort and the entertainment of his particular friends. The Judge had noticed for some tiiuo that on Monday morning his Jamaica was considerably lighter than ho had loft it on Sunday; night. Another fact had gradually established itself in his mind. His sou Sam was missing from his paternal pew in church on Sundays. One Sunday afternoon Sam camo- in and went up stairs rather heavily, when tho tSidgo called him: “ Sam, whore have you been?” “ To Church, sir,” was tfio prompt reply. “ What church, Sam?” , “ Second Methodist; sir.” “ Had a good sermon, Sam?” “Very powerful, sir; it- quite staggeroi me.” ’• “Ali! T see,” said tho Judge 1 , “quite powerful, eh, Sam?” The next Sunday the son came homo rath er earlier than usual, and apparently not sp much “ under tho weather.” Ilis father hailed him with ; “Well, Sam, beelrto the “ Second Mothor dist” again to day ?”" “ Yes. sir” ■ “Good sermon my hoy?” '• “ Fact was, .father, that I couldn’t get in ; the «huvch was shut up aud a ticket ou the door.” • “Sorry, Sam, keep going—you may get good by it yot.” . Sam says on going to the office for his usu al spiritual refreshment, bo found the “John” empty, and bearing the following label: “ There Will to no service here to-day, this church closed for repairs. A Bicu Scene.— A day or two since, a countryman walked info an office in one of our cities, without-taking any particular no tice of his whereabouts, lie took oft'his coat and cravat, threw them on a chair, sat down, crossed his logs, and, bran authoritative tone, called out— ■ , , “Is that water hot ?” “Wafer, sir!” said the clerk, who had been watching his movements with some lit tlq.curiosity; what water,'sir? You must be under a mistake.” “ Mistake the d—l, sir 1 I want to bo shaved. Why don’t you get things in readi ness? I’m in a hurry.” “I beg pardon, sir; this is not a barber shop ; it is an exchange office.” “ An exchange office 1 There must ho some thing wrong, by hokey! I asked a person in the street where I could get shaved, and ho directed mo to come hero.” ,„i The clerk looked daggers, and the cujtglfe or put on his coat and sloped. : r ’ ■- Patriotism;— We give, the following*!® proof-that oven j;he Jiqj.of blood are in the fervonoyslssdA|b common devotion Mp‘ tho national flag An aged gentleman—.of Jewish extraction living in a neighboring city, has two sons— one an officer in a. Pennsylvania regiment, the other an officer in the rebel array. The latter wrote to his father a short time, since, advising him that ho had taken up arms for tho South, anfl that ho proposed to come North to fight the Abolitionists. This was too .much for the equanimity of the parent. , Ho replied to his disloyal sou substantially ns follows: '“I have but two children in tho world. One of them has gone forth to defend the flag iof his country. Yim are fighting against that flag and conspiring against tho government. I disown you. No traitor shall boar my name,;. I have but ono hope left, which is, til at; if my loyal son goes to battle, tho first bullet ho shall send against tho enemy may pierce you to the heart.” Home.—A homo 1 It is the bright, blessed, adorable phantom which sits highest bn the sunny horizon that gildoth life. When shall it be reached ? It is not the house, though that may have its charms; not the field, care fully tilled, and streaked with your own foot paths ; nor tho trees, though their shadow be to you like that of a “gfeat rook in a weary land nor yot is it the fireside, with-its oozy comfort; nor tho pictures, which tell of loved ones; nor the books; but more than all these, it is the presence I The altar of your confi dence is there; and adorning it all, and send ing vour blood in passionate flow, is the ec stasy of tlf-i cbri vic tibn ’ that there, aTTeasf, you are beloved ; that there you are under stood ; that there your errors will meet even with gentle forgiveness; that there you may unburden your soul, fearless of harsh, unsym pathizing oars ; and there you may bo entire ly and joyfully yourself. OCT’ Stay awake in church. It Is a shame for tho church to bo made a cemetery, where tho living sleep above ground as thodcad do beneath. CARLISLE, PA., DECEMBER 26, 1861. THE FIRST MtLITARV EXRCiiTION IS THE shooting qp i MSEniER. “Wm. H. Johnson, the seedier executed, in Gen. Franklin’s division dfi Friday last, for desertion, made a confession, in which ho stated that ho was a'native- of New Orleans, and Was twenty-three years old. lie joined the army for the purpose bfusing it as a me dium of reaching Now Oilcans, whore his mother and a younger .brother reside. When he left the camp on the-dnjt of his arrest, he did not intend to desert, hit when out of the lines of the army, as ho believed, ho came to the determination'to empreoo the opportuni ty, and when the scouting party of Federal officers came up, he mistoujc them for Con federates, and answered the', questions put to him in such a way as to show that ho was a deserter. Ho said that it Was his intention rrri-foi nnaircwsi as he had seen his friends? at New Orleans, andth'at he never would. fought for the South. The following account of tho scenes at the execution is'furnishtfir bj a correspond dent of the Now York Herald: The culprit was called frpih tlio puard-hoUsO .into the Provost Marshal’s lent. Capt. Boyd ’then read to him the finding ofi the court, and the sentence signed by Gcb. McClellan that he must bo shot, the time, havinghcen designa ted by Gen. Franklin ns.Filklny afternoon at three o’clock. Johnson did not manifest the slightest signs of discomposure at this an nouncement. ’ lie did. not eftra to realize that it was the sealing of his fate. The Captain told him his end was neiir.i’niul all the advan tages which his, peculiar‘situation required ■ would bo cheerfully, extended. Johnson was asked whether he had .any. friends whom he would wish to, have visithim. At first lie said he had none w'horajjp could see, his father being dead and liis'lViothcr and broth .er living .in New Orleans. . Afterward he said lie wished to see a gentleifrtmin Washington, who was senffpr, but was finable to conic. ■ During • the’ ;cjremng ttifi members of the compa-uy called at. tho. guard-house, and were admitted in squads of ’ fdiVr, to taken final leave of their- unfortunate comrade. The guard-house is. abbut tliiidy by twenty feet, built ofoaklogs/chinkedwitli mud. A bright fire was burning in the centre; and the smoko ascended through an aperture in the roof. It was interesting to observe the expressions on tho . countenances; of . th.o men, which the bright fire plainly revealed, when they enter ed, and the different manifestations of charac ter when they bade him aflaA farewell. He stood near the door, often Jobbing and wring ing his hands. Then lie ({ 'peered considora- j bly affected, being most oftho time in tears: Those whom ho know weviaie; would address by-'nEmc,-and..appe^ v -igtf&*;fd sue’’ tbem, but those with whom ho was not personally ac quainted received a mechanical shfiko of tho -hand. Some would stumble in, and not rec ognizing him, ask, where is Jnhnson V Others .would rcogntze him imuiejiately; and 'ex tend their hands, some men' smiling; others solemn. “How are you,' Johnson ?” some would say; I’m sorry foiwirou; old fellow,’ another would remark, “ I never expected to to sco you in such a fix as. this“ Remem ber, Johnson, whore you arc going;” “ Good bye—God bless you “ I hopo God will for give you,’’ and other expressions of a like nature fell from the lips of his fellow soldiers as they passed. Several put their-hands on his shoulder in a friendly manner. One en thusiastic comrade embraced him, while an other said, "Keep a stout heart.” Early in the morning Johnson went over to'the chap lain’s tent, where ho engaged in religious ex ercises 'with Father F. McAteo, chaplain of the Thirty-first Now York regiment, and Father W. .1. Willett, chaplain of the Sixty- Ninth Now York regiment, who wore unceas ing in their kind, attentions to him till the latest moment. There was an unusual stillness provailingall tho morning in tjio cajjfps..throughout tho whole division. Tho importance of the cere mony about to ho perforated had evidently been deeply impressed on the mind of every soldier. Orders for tho ..formation of the lino had been read in every regiment, and every nian was busy, preparing to attend tho exe cution. - ' Johnson remained in the chaplain s tent until tho hour arrived for him to take his place, the most conspicuous one ofany in tho mournful funeral procession. Tho spot cho sen for tho impressive scone was a spacious field near the Fairfax Seminary, a short dis ste.nafl.from tho camp ground of tho division. slm' ! ffi(Dps foil into line, forming throe linos are, .in tho order designated in. the SaMhiii. precisely at throe o’clock p. m. |||pHlin meantime the funeral procession was Spined at She quarters of Captain Boyd, Pro ytSt Marshal of tho Alexandria division, near Tho headquarters of Gen. Jj'rivnklin. Shortly after three o’clock it reached the fatal field. The Provost Marshal, mounted and wear ing a crimson scarf across his breast, led the mournful cortege. |Io was immediately fol lowed by the buglers of the regiment, four abreast, dismounted. Then came tho twelve bnoh company in tho regiment, selected hv ballot—who constituted the firing party. The arms, Sharp’s breech loading ri fle, had been previously loaded under the di rection of tho marshal. One was loaded with a blank cartridgeMicording to the usual cus tom, so that' neither of tho men could positive ly state that the shot from his rifle killed tho unfortunate rann. Tho coffin, which was of pine wood stained, and without nny inscrip tion, camo next, in a one horse wagon. Im mediately behind followed tho unfortunate man, in an open wagon. About five foot six inches in height, with light hair and whis kers, his eye-brows joining.oaeh other, John son presented a most forlorn spectacle. Ho was dressed in cavalry uniform, with tho reg ulation overcoat and blaokglov.es. He was supported by Father MoAtop, who was in con stant conversation with him, whilo Father Willett rode behind on horseback. The rear was brought up by company 0, of the Lincoln Cavalry, forming tho escort. Arriving on the ground .at; half-past throe o’clock, tho musicians and* tho escort took a position a little to tho loft, while thp criminal descended from tho wagon. Tho coffin was placed on tho ground, and ho took his plaoo besido-jt; The firing party-vras ranrohod up . to within sis paces of tho prisoner, who stood between tho clergymen. The final order ot execution was then road to the condemned. Whilo this order was being road Johnson stood with his hat on, his head a little inclined to tho loft, and his oyes fixed on tho ground. Near tho close of tho reading one of his spiritual attendants whispered , something in his ear. Johnson bad expressed a desire to say a few final words before ho should leave this' world to appear boforo his FIiDERAtiRM. Maker. Ho was conducted close to thofiring party, and,'ill an almost inaudible voice, spoke (is follows: “Boys: I ask forgiveness from Almighty God and from my fellow men for what I have done. I did not know what I was doing. May God forgive mo, and may the Almighty keep all of you from all such sin.” He was then, placed beside the coffin again. The(: troops wore witnessing the whole of thoso proceedings with the intensost interest. Then tho Marshal and the Chaplains began to prepare tho culprit for his death. Ho was too weak to stand. He sat down on the foot of tho coffin. Captain Boyd then bandaged his eyes with a white handkerchief. A few minutes of painful suspense intervened, while the Catholic clergymen wore having their final interview with tho unfortunate man. All being ready the Marshal waved his hand kerchief as tho, signal, and tho firing, party discharged tho volley. Johnson did not move, remaining in a sitting posture for several sec onds after tho rifles were discharged. Then he quivered q. little, and fell over beside his coffin, Ho was still alive, however, and the t » - n_-i i . —a 1— morn etc mu Ts«r.tr :tr*c It was found that two of the firing parly, Gormans, had not discharged their pieces, and they were immediately put in irons. .‘John son was shot several times in the heart by the first volley, Each of the four shots, fired by the reserves took ofieot in his head, andj ho died instantly. Ono penetrated his eliin, an other his'left cheek, while two entered the brain just above tho left eyebrow. - lie died at precisely a quarter to four o’clock. .".TheiroOps then all marched round, and caqli 'man looked on tho bloody corpse of his late comrade, who had proved a traitor to his coun try. ; ■ ' Oircdsllocution.— A few days aincd ilri unsophisticated darkey waited upon a certain military gentleman with a bill of §l. 15, for, ■Washing done at the camp, hospital, which, aftaer undergoing a rigid scrutiny by tWb officer, was returned with the following ex planation, which the of Ethio pia listened to with an equal amount of wonder and perplexity : “This bill,’’.said the gentleman, “will first have to be sent to the Quartermaster General .at Washington, and ho; will report to the Adjutant General, who will lay it be fore the Secretary of War for his approval. The Adjutant being satisfied, it will bo sent to the Auditor of State, who will approve of it and send it to" the Secretary of the Trea sury, who will send it to the United States Treasurer, who will at once dispatch an order the Collector of this port to pay the bill.’’' The darkey relieved' himself of . a long drawn sigh. “Den, massa,” he remarked, “ dat last gomman you spoke of pays do bill, does he ?” “ No,” continued the other, “ ho will hand it to the. Quartermaster; but as there is no such officer here at present, some proper per son, must bo selected for that purpose, who must be appointed by the Secretary of War, under direction,of .(lip President* and his .ap pointment ‘must-be'np]srdved by tile S'cnate. Congress not being in'session now,, the com mission can not bo issued until after it meets. When this commission is received, the Qunr master will show it to the Collector, and do niand the funded You will then call upon him ; ho will examine your bill, and if cor rect, ho will pay it, you giving your receipt.” • The unfortunate 1 nigger.first scratched his head then shook it, and finally said. “I guess I’ll hab to let dis washing slide, but it am do last job I does for Uncle Sam, shu !” A Soother Shot fob Inshboroination.— A Washington letter writer says: “Quite a Eainful affair occurred at the camp of the First istriet Regiment, on Saturday afternoon.— It appears that ft private named,Paul Powell, ol Captain Rodier'a company, was placed un der arrest for alleged misconduct. While confined in the guard-house, ho was very vio lent, and Captain Rodier wont to the prison and endeavored to quiet him, hut as 'soon as ho entered the place, Powell attacked him, and throw him down, and commenced beat ing him very roughly, when Lieut. Towers, of the same company, hearing the noise, wont in to the help of the Captain. As soon as ho saw the situation of the parties, he drew his pistol and tired at Powell, the ball entering his left Idng, In the act of preparing to fire again, the pistol was accidentally discharged, the ball taking effect in Captain Rodier’s leg, inflicting a very painful wound. Powell died yesterday. lie was believed to bo from Pennsylvania. • Capt. Rodier is now at his residence, on Bridge street, George town, and was suffering very much yesterday from his wound. Lieut. Towers is exonera ted from all blame in the affair. Keep tiib Po nr.^aeMlouse Clean*.— From twelve to fifteen foi®pi% bo kept in a house eight or ten foot squalSrtvlth a yard attached about twice that size, and with profit, ns wo know by experience. The house must ho kept clean the inside occasionally whitewash ed, and the nests frequently changed. The yard should havo partial shade from trees or buildings, otherwise shade must be provided. Dig up a few foot of the yard every day for the fowls to work among and dust themselves. After it is all worked over twice, remove the surface, aud'ipGO it in the garden, and give the fowls aToad of fresh earth. That re moved is worth all the trouble it causes, as manure for the garden, It is unequalled for flower beds. The house, if it has no other floor than the earth—and this is better than boards—should bo served in the same manner. Fowls in almost all cases become diseased by neglect.— lhtral New Yorker.. Wants a Situation. —A young man out of business advertises for a situation as son in-law in some respectable family. Wo have no doubt that tho number willing to serve in that capacity is largo.—. Ex. Yes, but then the willing ones are not all confined to the male sex. Wo know a large number of young Indies—blushing damsels of various ages—say from sixteen to thirty, who would most willingly accept of certain old gentlemen ns dady’s-in-Iaw —who would come down to dots at once if the situation of daugh er in-law was offered them. Fall from the Dome of the Capitol.— Yesterday Robert Sleight, the foreman of the wort on tho dome of tho Capitol building, foil from tho upper works down sixty foot up on the roof of tho old dome, down which ho rolled about forty foot, and lodged in tho gutter around the dome. His shoulder was ■dislocnted,-forehcaibadly cut,audothor,-parta of tho body out and bruised. Ho wasdakon to his residence’ and medical aid procured, who pronounced his case doubtful, from the fact that ho was suffering from internal injuries. Washington Chronicle [C7” Of what color is grass covered with snow? Invisible green. Ky” Not every man who dives into the sea fo matrimony brings up a pearl. COFFEE. Tho coffee plant (coffer arahica) is a native of Abyssinia, but it was in Arabia that it first became nn object of importance to the civil ized world. . ; It is said that the discovery of its stimula ting and restorative properties is due to the following circumstance. 1 Towards tho middle of tho fifteenth cbfitu ry, a poor Arab was traveling through Abys sinia, and, finding himself weak and weary from fatigue, he stopped near n grove. There being in want of fuel to cook his rice, ho cut down a tree which happened to bo covered with dried berries. Ilis meal being Cooked and eaten, tho traveler discovered that the half-burned berries were very fragrant, lie collected a number of these, and, on crush ing them with a stone, he found that their aroma increased to a great extent. While wondering at this, ho accidently lot fiill tho substance in a can which contained his scan ty supply of water. Lo l what a miracle ! the almost putrid liquid was instantly puri fied. lie brought it to his lips: it was fresh, agreeable, and, in a moment after, the travel 1 orgy ns to be able to resume his journey.— The lucky Arab gathered as many berries as he could, and having arrived at Aden, in Arabia, ho informed the Mufti of his discov ery, That worthy divine was an inveterate opium smoker, who had been Buffering for years from the influence of that poisonous drug, lie tried an infusion of the roasted berries, and was so delighted at the recovery of Ids former vigor,'that in gratitude to the tree he called it CaJiudh, which in Arabic signifies force* • The wonderful medicinal virtues of the cof fee-plant caused it to bo spread in the East with great 'rapidity ; a number of the trees wdfo transplanted in the vicinity of Mocha, and afterwards ill every part of Arabia, From Arabia the plant was transplanted to Java by the Dutch, in 1690. In Paris, coffee was nearly unknown until the arrival of Solomon Aga, the Turkish Am bassador, in 1609. In the year 1714, a Dutch naturalist sent a flourishing coffee-plant to liouia XIV., who deposited it in the Jardin dc.i Plantes of Paris, In the year 1700, M. do Clieux, a French officer, who owned a plantation in-Martin- 1 ique, formed a project of settling in that is land, and attempting the cultivation of coffee, lie fortunately obtained a. young coffee-shrub from the Jardin des Plantes of Paris, and em barked in a ship'for Martinique. The vessel had a. long passage, and the. passengers, as well ns the crew, were put on short allowance of water ; but M; do Clieux; took great care of his peant and daily divided with it the. small quantity of water which fell ■to his share. Having at length arrived at Martin: ique, the first care of M. d« CUous was to plant his coffee shrub in the most favorable spot in his garden, The first crop produced about two pounds of berries, which ho gener ously distributed to his neighbors. A few years afterwards, a severe hurricane destroy ed ,jsll the cocoa-trees yuibo.island*’ The qbl fee-tree was substituted in their place, and, in a few years, it became a groat source of wealth to the planters. ■ The people of Martinique, in gratitude for the service rendered to them by M. do Clieux, gave him an.ahnual pension of §5,000, which ho enjoyed until his death. ■ ■ Coffee was introduced from Martinique in to llayti in 1768, aud then to all the West India islands. To those who ere interested in the culture of the coffee plant, wo say that the berries or seeds are planted in beds of soft loam,,and when the young plants are one year old, they are transplanted, at a distance of four or five feet asunder, in holes of ten or eleven inches deep. They begin to j’ield fruit in the third year, but are in full bearing in the fifth or sixth year. When ten years old, the tree is from six to ten feet high. The stein is then from throe to four inches in diameter, and is covered with a whitish and rough bark; The flowers grow in clusters at the root of the leaves and close to the branches; they are white and have the sweet fragrance' of josa minc. When the blossom falls off; there re mains a small green fruit which, when ripe, is purple, not Unlike 1 a cranberry, and is sweetish to the taste. Under the flesh of the fruit is the bean which is called coffee.— When ripe, the fruit is gathered and dried in the sun, on a large, paved platform. After being exposed to the sun two or three weeks, the fruit becomes a pod of a deep brown cob or, which contains one berry, that splits into two equal parts, giving thus two seeds of cof fee. The pod being perfectly dry, is broken under, a wheel, then sifted, and put into bags, when it is ready for the market. A native codec gatherer, either maid or fe male, dan easily pick one barrel'of ripe fruit in a day, which, after being dried, broken and sifted, will give from twenty to twenty-five pdunds of coffee,'worth, in Ilayti, about two dollars, American currency. The delicious Mocha, or Arabic coffee seed, is small, almost round, and has a very agree able aroma. In many districts of Ilayti, such as Port-au-Prince, Port-de-Paix, Capo Tibu ron, &c„ coffee has preserved, to a certain ex tent, . the appearance and properties .of its original stock; while in other parts of the island it has somewhat degenerated into a flat berry of an aroma. Coffee, well prepared-, is a powerful stimu lant, and an excellent cordial, It is one of the best remedies in asthma, and h good res torative in faintness, It counteracts, also, the effects of narcotic poisons, such ns opium; belladonna, &c., and is highly disinfectant. The French Government is so satisfied of the nutritious property of this precious berry that the Zouaves.and the Turcos are allowed every morning, for thoir breakfast, one quart of coffee and a piece of broad; and it is said that, after taking such a nical, those heroic troopers can walk or fight a whole day with out needing more food. A celebrated physician, one day, advised Voltaire to give up eoffoe, having just found out, said he, that it was a slow poison. “It must bo very slow indeed," replied the French poet, “for I have been using it over sixty yeors, and I mil still alive." Horse Shoeing in Winter. —Some black smiths acorn to forgot that horses shod in tho winter should have the inner side of tho shoe of such configuration ns to lot go easily of snow balls forjifdd within tho hoof. It only requires a gradual increase in size outward, with no dovetailing in figure, and each ball, almost ns fast as formed, will roadijy bo parted with. Why, suggests tho Scientific American, •could not tho horsoshoerfor cityuscj'havOTt slight coating of gutta poreba on its upper side, so ns to break tho momentum of blows on tho paving stones? This would materially ameliorate tho difficulty so frequent in. cities, whore ono-lifth of the horses have their feet ruined in a low years by continually treading on solid pavements. [O’ Morose men are lindolighted amidst all delight, joyless amidst all enjoyment, state less in the Very lop of satiety. '' • fl@“.TVo pity tho family that sits doivn tp! it broil three times a day. bachelor has to look for numbei*,. one —the married man for number (tea: "... When is a flock of sheep like our climate? When it is composed of all wethers* If .you are conscious of being grcOn, and don't wttnt folks to see it, try and be an in visible grden, '• O 4 Domestic jars, when concealed, are half reconciled. ’Tis a double task to stop the breach at hottlO and men's mouths abroad. ft/ 3 Htch Spend their lives in their passions, instead .of crrtploying their passions in the service of-their lives. [C/’Wliy cotildn’t job sleep at night.— Aits. Because hd had such miserable com forters. tJCT" The reasoning power is the. corner stone of the intellectual building, giving graci • O” Why arc railway companies like laun dresses? Because they have, ironed tlie : whole , country, and sometimes do a little mangling, . O” AVhy can a ship’s crow always have fresh eggs when they are out at sea ? Be-* cause tlie captain can make tUe ship lay to (cwo) when ever he pleases. ■ firm faith is tho best theology; ft good life.the best philosophy; a clear science tho host law; honesty the best policy f and temperance tho best physic. BSy Mourn not that you are weak, and humble. The gentle breeze is better than the hurricane, the chcorftil fire of the hearth stone than tlio conflagration i : . '■ Grapple over with opportunity.. And;* as you don’t know when opportunity will ;t happen along; keep your grappling-irons at J ; f ways ready.- took Got t— -When cold tho wind blows; take card Of your nose, that it doos’nt get froze, and Wrap up your toes in Warm wol len libse; The above, we suppose, was writ t’.n in prose; by some one who knows the Cf- i' feet of cold snows; . , ■ ■ A BnsTrfocnVE Individual. —The felloW* ] ing toast was lately given: Bam yoUr canals, ’ blast yoilr iurnnoe's, sinkyoitr coalpits, dbtfn .' with yotir railroads, away with your.eleptfip; telegraphs, and over with your suspension bridges.” ‘ O’* 11 dennio”said a venerable CamßrOhian ’ to his daughter, wlib was asking bis Consent. to accompany her urgent and fnVored shitor i to the altar; ” deilnie. it is a, very solemn thing to got married.” “1 know it; father,"' replied tho-damsel s bUtr lt isia'groot'deal Bcjl* •’ omu.cr not to." k Coon Advice.— A Philadelphia paper lays down a number of rules of action irt ddhe of one’s clothes taking fire, and conoludes by reoommending.any Judy who should on fort u J nately find herself enveloped in’ the flames of her burning garments; “to keep as cool as■ possible.-” , Ptous Saßkev. —“Sam, why don't: y dl-'. talk to your massii, and tell hurt to' lay up his treasure in Heaven 1” Practical Sam.—“ What’s do use, of Idy laying up treasure Acre, wore ho neber.see mu again 1” The Cobbler's Last Wonus;— l feel that I wax weaker every succeeding day, and that I am fast approaching my eitd; afow iriore: Hitches and all will bo over—-in hcavon thore is rest for the weary sole ; earth hath no sor rows that heaven cannot heel. Having said, awl he wished, ho oalmy breathed his last . 0“ A Dutchman relating his troubles says: “ One night Ven I comes homo I finds do'doors, yasht aslepp, and ali. de neighbor’s bunkins vos in my hoefc-patoh; <1 goes out and takes a hookandhreaka it over every rail’s back in te flit, and dey run tur dur tifil ns to dq very fence vos after dem.” A, Dew l!n,r,.—Why Uncle Dewlittle how dew you dew? Dew como and rest a. little, dew. How dews aunt dew, find what is she dewing now ? And dew tell usnll about news. Come, dew sit up to the table, and dew as we dew.; dew help yourself, and dew talk some, and dew not make me dew all the.talking, for I shan’t dew it. Now dew, say something, dew," . . Kay “Mother, have I got any children ?" asked an urchin of eight summers. "Why no. .What put that into yonrhead my boy ?” Because I read in the Bible to-day nt school about children's children. lloro Mary, ■ this child is feverish ; wash him in lob-water, and put him to bod. Good Biscuit or .short Cake.—To one pint of, sweet milk, take two teaspoonfuls cream tartar, one tcaspoonfnl of soua,_. and two tablospoonfuls' of good butter; a trifle of salt. Mix in ftotif sufficient to make a soft dough, roll to an inth iri thickness, cut with a sharp edged cutter, Crowd closely in the pan, and hake with a rather quick, but gen tle heat, fifteen minutes. When'they are done, remove from tho oven, Cover with a thick cloth, and allow them to stand under tho the stove a few minutes— Ohio Farmer . Kay A youthful Frenchman received from liis love the following letter : “ Isadoro, yon have abandoned me; that is tho reconmonsq for my virtue. My land lord will Wart flo longer; come to-night, or I shall sleep in tho room with a charcoal fur nace. - &ANICBE.’' Isadora-was in no hurry. Ho Went tho next day to sea her corpse! The furnace whs burning, and his own Nanicbe was—frying sausages 1 .1 . ■ A Baxvis Boy.—On almost every vessel af ter the. fight at Beaufort, the men were called aft and publicly thanked by their respective Captains. Oh the ship Bienville, .particalar mention was made -and special thanks ro turnod.-inprcßcncoof'thoßnipVcompanyrto' William' Henry Steele, a toy not fourteen years old, who conducted himself with dis tinguished bravery.' .Ho is a powder-boy, and not only never flinched or dodged a shot, but when two raon were killed nt bis gun he did not turn palo or cease for instant T'is duties, hut handed tho cartridge he had in his hand to tho gunner, stopped carefully over the bod ies. and hastened below for more ammunition. Young Sleil cannot fail to make such a sailor us his country will yet be very proud of. , no. m
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers