YOL. 48.
V MIMIC AN VOLUNTEER.
PUBLISHED EVERY THURSDAY MORNING BY
JOHN B. BRATTON.
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LOSS AND GAIN.
BY ADELAIDE A. PROCTOR;
Thou hast done well to kn**cl and B{iy
Since Ho who gave can take away
And bid me suffcr-rl oboy.
And also welt to tell thy heart
That,good lies in the bitterest part,
And thou wilt profit by her sirmrt*
But'hitler hours come to all
When even truths like these will pall,.
Stale-hearts, for humbler comforts call,
Then I would have thee strive to soq
That good and evil come to-thee
As one of a great family..
And as material life is planned, ,
That even the loneliest one must stand,
Dependent on his brother’s hand.
So links more subtle and more fine
Bind every other soul to thine, •
X'x one groat brotherhood divine,
Nor with thy share of work ho vexed j
Though incomplete, and e’en porploxt/
It fits exactly to the next
.What seems so dark to thy dim sight ;
May bo a shadow, soon aright,
Making some.brightness doubly bright.
The finch that struck thy tree—no more
To/aholtar thee—loM Heaven’s blue floor
Shine where it trover shone before.
Thy life, been dropped aside
Into Time’s stream may stir the tide
•In rippled circles spreading wide. '
Thy cry. wrung from thy spirit’s pain
May coho on some far-off plain,
And guide a wanderer homo again.,
Pail—yet rcinlcc. Because' no less
The failure that rmkes thy distress
May toach_ another full.succ.ese.v
It may bo that in some. great need .
Thy life’s poor fragments arotfoorood
To'hcip build up.a lofty deed*
Thy heart miirht throb in vant,content,
Tims knowing that it was but meant
i\B chord in o 10 great instrument,
That ovon tho discord in thy.goal
May .make cnmplotor music roll -
From out tho great harmonious whole.
It maybe, that when all is light, .
Deep pet*within .that deep delight,
Will be to know why all was right j
To hear life’s p"rfeet music rise.
And. while'it floods tlio happy skies,
Thy feeble* voieo to recognize.
Then strive'more glndlv to fulfil
Thv little part., This darkness still
Is light to every loving,will.
“ Yes, I shall little deserve her love,” said
Carson ; “ little requite her faithfulness, if
I waited till npirning, Gome on, my
friends, we shall celebrate the happy New-
Year yet.”
They were about departing through the
front-door, when Saunders again saw in his
mind that weired phantom beckoning to him
through the moon-light, over the snow. He
cheeked them, saying:
“ There is something which tolls me we
shall find her in no house to-night. She wont
forth, to my idea, in desperation ; and if wb
do not follow hard upon her. something ter
rible will bofal. There has been rashness on
all hands.”
" Sir,” said Carson, “ it is too late to blame
now. Had we dared to correspond, or had
ncit sickness detained mo, this had been avert
ed. She has been too faithful to onr secret.
But bow shall wo follow her, except from
neighbor to neighbor?”
“By her foot-prints in the snow, We can
trace them by the moonlight.”
“You are right, Saunders, you are right.
Through the fields, then. Gome onl” said
Browning.
So saying ho turned to the back-door, fol
lowed by the other two. They could distin
guish with ease her foot-prints in the light
snow. . It was a small, delicate foot that had
ghno that unusual way, and, by the unequal
distances between the prints, they saw that
in l*7 7 \ it had borne a weary frame.
. , onc u ec *-i And they saw, too where at short inter-
Browning then continued: vain, she must, with a breaking heart, have
“The rest you may have gathered. She turned and stood looking atthe home she was
refused to name the author ot her disgrace, leaving. No fed-man of the forest could
nor could threats or entreaties for or induce have watched,more narrowly or judged more
, e 'V ? 10 °. n , s 10 .. wnR a wife ; but said correctly of those tracks than the father and
she had promised.net to declare her husband, husband; and a groan escaped them ns, one'
•Oh . she was the true woman in her suffer- after another, the evidences of the wander
mg ; my own sweet daughter Susy, spoiled er’s agony were • revealed to them. They
.and dishonored as she was ; nod my father’s They kept on, saying nothing; for a dread
heart was wrupg-and strained to the utmost. ful suspense began to harrow up and chill
X told her of it ; she saw it arid knew it. But their spirits. They kept on in silence. The
to all my prayers she turned a doaf ear. So keen air smote their cheeks, the snow chir
whon her strength had been perfectly restored, rupod under their feet, and over them rolled
.and twas but this afternoon, I led her to the on the descending moon. Lot them make
door and showed her the wide, wide world, haste, for the pale orb will not much
' las delt sorely with me and my longer pour her light for them ; and if
wim, Harry ; but I will not fall to cursing.” Susy, poor sweet, and faithful Susy, has
Hero a knock at the do ,r startled the in- sunk in her journeying, the terrible Frostr
mates. “ ’Tia she 1” said Browning, in a King will lay in his icy hand upon her heart
whisper ; and Saunders shuddered as he and still its beatings for ever ; or if despern
thought. of the_figuro he had beheld heokon- tion has seized upon her, a single moment
mg to him. There was no answer to the nay a second, may lose her, to them, and
summons. In a moment a hand tried the homo, and Heaven! Ay, let them speed
floor. It opened. None of them looked i and to be wary lest they miss those foot-nrints
around, as a man closely muffled up entered, iirtbo snow. But what is it Saunders sees ?
Iho newcomer, m his over-shoes, made no There is a broad river yonder, and through
“ 1,0 entered; and they all thought it the centre of the enshrouding ice lie can see
i . the glitter of the dashing waters; and Those
cal voice ® d “ de ° P ned ’ musi - B , to p£ he can see then, faltering down the
Had a serpent stung him. Browning would ' ■T**? ‘i° "'“a "‘"T"-., Antl
not have atnrtod more Bpasmodio'a"fy7°Ho I a "? laid . ? n0
sprang from his chair, and with one iionTrl-l P , Carson's shoulder, gazing with a
reached the rifle hanging from the joists and and thn 6 ! I ™*- 1 '"' 1 P 0 5° tlle foot-prints
before any one was aware of his pul o ! "’ at °'c ° n beym,d ’ Parson
pulled the trigger. Its harmless ilink com P rel,o . mled V lO significance of the father's
ever, announced his “V" ““ V? d Soaking away,
vanoed upon the stranger- with the clubbed 0 0010:0^111 '** de ° lvlty ’ Pursued by his
gun. Saunders rushed up behind Ln^S
•• ssrtts S y r d i ß crr g i : F aj v?r^ f JSttiS
shall Lid that man my te who shall dare to I Th» IT' . Th ? traokB lod on to
a.tand between mo and my revenge I” *„° n ° » ‘|. l,oy /““owed them toward the
rnc aim my revenge I 1 opening, whore the rapidity of the current 1
And trust—as if already plain
Hnw inst thy share of loss fl,ud pain
Is for another fuller,gain.
I dare not limit tlmo or place
Touched by thy life ; nor dare I trace
Its far vibrations into space.
Oxrc only knows. Yot if the fret *
Of thy weak heart; in weak regret,
Needs a more tender comfort yot,
Then ,thou mav’sfc take thy loneliest fears,
The bitterest drops of all thy tears,
Tbo dreariest hours of all thy years.
And. through thy anguish there outspread
May ask that God’s groat love would shed
Blessings on ono beloved head.
And thus thy .soul shall learn to draw
Sweetness from out that loving law,
That sees no failure and no flaw, -
Where all is good.. And life is good*.
Wore the ono lesson understood
Of its most sacred brotherhood.
HimllnnEim -
FOOT-PRINTS IN THE SNOW.
A NEW-YEAR’S STORY.
BY C HA R L E 8 A. HUNGER.
Saunders replied, without relaxing : .You
are rush, George. Would you add murder to
your misery ?” .
The stranger, a young man,, then came up,
and after a little struggle wrested the gun
from - Browning, saying, “ What doei all this
mean, and what this reception ? Explain
yourself, ■ Mr. Browning, while I keep this
weapon os a. pledge of my safety.’’
“ Explain 1 How dare you cross my thresh
old ? Have you come to gloat upon tho ruin
you hove wrought ? The snake that stung
me in ray heart of heart, comps ho haoH to
coil arid hiss around his victim ? Hal hit!
ha ! but you have missed it. Look in. the
highways and hedges for her. Go 1 the
world is wide enough for us both, and tjevenre
hereafter how you cross my path I' 1
“Mr. Browning,” said the youug man,
whose name was Frederick Carson, “J do
not comprehend all this. Of whom, or what
do you speak? I have come here after a long
absence to see your daughter Susan. Is she
here?”
Here 1 Ask the winds where she is, - Ask
the ravens that feed her. What I you aroy
al bird of prey, stooping to such garbage I”
. “ (ioud Uod I wliat'ylb'ca all thTs T"
Susan is ray wife
“Thank Heaven!” shrieked Mrs, Brown
ing, staggering forward. “ Thank Heaven
for that, Fred Carson. I knew she could not
lie* I knew we wronged her, husband.”
“ And here I am come to make her public
ly my wife, and to keep the happy New-
Year, and you. tell n?e she has gone m shaipe
and dishonor. Has she become 0. mother,
and concealed our marriage? or has she told
you, and you have not believed ? Alas! wo
must nil suffer,enough without sleeping in
nocently 1"
“ You say she la-your wife,” said Brown
ing ; “what evidence is there save her off
spring ?” ‘ r .
‘My own avowel. If you need more, the
certificate and witnesses,”
“ May Heaven forgive me-for the wrong I
have done her I” said the father, with, a
choked utterance : “ hut she persisted .in
naming no one, and turned away from all en
treaties.”
“’Twas my fault.” said Carson, “Uwas
mine. A few days before I left for the South,
we were privately married c for I fenced my
payouts, and she feared you. We promised
never to name, each other' as husband and
wife, till we meet again , jinfeil I might claim
her without fear, and she me without re
proach. And hero lam now* and .sjbe, noble
giri—tell mo where she. Is, old man. I de
mand her at your hands.” .
“I am a bruised reed now, Fred.. Demand
her of the winds.”
There was a pause, and Saunders, who had
let go of the subdued Browning, saw again in
his mind, that same day wild phanton beck
oning tb him oyerthe glittering snotv, through
the keen moon-beams.
:X .Gap:yau.hot.tell mo whefelmay find her?
Where did she go from here’?”
Mrs, Browning replied ; “ She bds been here
■to-night. So cold, and pale, and pitiful, with
her'sweet, .baby! But’she dare not stay, for
her father’s return. -Oh ! ,if she has died
this cold bight, wo arc her murderers !”
“ Heaven and earth !” exclaimed Carson;
“ can you 1 no. guesti whither she has gone ?”
.“No,” said the mother; “she wont out
the back-door, through the fields. Her heart
wasbreaking?” .
“ Let us search for .her,” said Browning,
“and bring her back, and ask her
Through she has not been filial, she has been
loyal; and I have done her a grievous wrong.
Let us go back about it this moment. We
shall doubtless find her at some of the neigh
bors. Let us disperse at the forks of the
road, and inquire dt the house tiji we find
her.” -
« ODD. COUNTRY—MAT IT ALWAYS BE RIGHT—BUT, RIGHT OR WRONG, OUR COUNTRY.”
had beori too great for concealment. Along
the edges of the ice for the width of from
fohr to six feet, the water had overflowed in
a very thin sheet, saas to . melt the little
snow, of the evening,and frozen again, leav
ing a long border of pegrl- like glare. There
they beheld, tho foohstops terminate. The
dreadful truth fell upon their giinds as an
avalanche:--the plunge, tho shriek, the
splash of the closing stream, the rising of the
white face twice to the surface, the final dis
appearance and the death-gurgle, the subsi
dence of the waves : all these passed before
them. Oh I the agony of that husband. Oh 1
the depth of that father’s despair. Oh!
Whift a scene, as they stood .'gazing upon the
vanishing foot-steps, with clasped hands ;. ns
they stood there nit the ice by the glittering
waters, in that winter night, under the des
cending moon. This was the New-Year’s
■Em. Would the New-Year’s Day he more
cheerful to those two men? Would their
hopes and joys kindle with its rising beam ?
Would their faith and charities plume their
sail and wearied .wipes, and spar away, to
newer and nobler flights,-with its full-orbed
splendor? Alas! alas 1 .
T~Ttfß~ scoiTe - was too' : soTSthirnTra - aTiectrng
for, Saunders, and he walked down the river,
leaving the two standing there. Ho, howev
er,'kept a' look out upon .them, as well' ns
upon the stream, to notice any traces of the
suicide’s death-struggle, which might be visi
ble. . lie had proceeded but a short distance,
when he again'discovered that same small
foot-step leading from the water, with the
current, and apparently.to the. shore. Like
an arrow he sped to his companions, shout
ing : " The track I,the track! I have found
it again t She is not drowned 1 The track •
this way, this way : oouje'l” -.
The. twain started up, and.rays of hope
flashed over their pallid- countenances like
ligntning. They joined.him, .crying: “ Thank
Oon! we shall find, we shall save her yet !”
They arrived at the place where the' foot
prints .came but from the glare of ice, and
'knew them, and followed thein. For a short
distance the tracks diverged to the’shore, and
then they turned and led to-the water again;
What l. hud she repented of her last resolve,
and indeed sought refuge irom her woes - in
the cold and glittering element? No she bad
but hesitated there for a short while. In a
little ways the diieotion of her path changed
to the shore. But what, if in that bitter
night, instead of drowning she had frozen 1
How the terrible alternative obtruded itself,
upon their minds; for if she had sunk, her fate
was already sealed.
! And now the moon was , dipping behind
the western hills, and they would lose the
foot-prints ere long. They hurried on, shout
ing her name. She had. taken her way to a
long line of ehesnut and oak that skired the
high bank of the river,- They reached the
shore, and tracked hertalong under the shclv
ing banks ; and thoro as the rim of the moon
trembled a moment oii the horizon ero .it dis
appeared, beneath the tangled roots of a hngo'
oak, and superincumbent thorn-hushes, whore
the snow had. not penetrated, they discovered
her. A cry of joy issued Irom the lips of the
three: but she beard,it not, for that fearful
stupor and warmth consequent upon intense
cold was creeping over her- A little later
and they bad found her a stiffened corpse!
Yes, there she sat on that cold winter night,
pressing her child to her breast. ’ Oh 1 deep,
enchanting, and abiding mother-love 1 What
was the keen air to her, but that she might
keep it from her babe ?—-what all tbo world
to her, in comparison with that little lifo ?
what were all the pangs she had suffered,
the agony she bad undergone, the dishonor
that had fallen upon her, and. the scoyn that
would point it? slowly-upiying linger at hoi
ks she should weep through the garish would ?
.Nothing, nay, less than nothing, while the
smile of hor little one should gladden her ;
nothing, while in its eyes she could behold
the coming glory of the spirit she had lit-for
eternity; nothing, nothing’; fordespito all the
pitiless, pollings of the mortal storm,
those oheruh-hnnds would nour oil upon the
troubled waters of her soul. True, there
would he times when her vexed heart would
fret, when reproach would lift up the waves
of hate, but mother-love, like the Master
awakened, would say, “ Peace, be still 1”
“ Poor, poor girl 1” said Saunders, for Ife
was the first to discover hor,
Carson saw and sprang to her call
ing her na». o. She heeded him not. Ho
bent over, elapsed her in his arms, and im
printed a kiss upon her pallid lips. Still she
heeded him not. A deep sleep was falling
upon her, and they must rouse her from that
lethargy i or a deeper slumber, ono in which
there are no dreams, would fall upon her.
They carefully unwound hor arms, which
were conclusively yot cautiously hugged
about her babe, and took it from her. Tho
littlo one was warm, and as the cold air
struck, its cheek; it opened Us eyes, and com
menced crying. Saunders covered it and
stilled its complaining ; for ho hold it. The
father and husband then drew,the girl from
her hiding-place, and shook her very roughly.
Finally she opened her-eyes, and their wild
and wonderoua lightmet tho gaze of Saunders.
Then he knew who it was that had beckoned
to him through the moon-light, over the
snow. True, she was clothed in-black ; but
tho small pallid face, the same lurid lips con
fronted him : that same dark and soul-thrill
ing oyo.was upon him : ho,shuddered, spnko
to her, but she understood him not. She
was, however, alive and awakened ; and sup
porting heron each side they compelled her
to walk. Tho influence of tho exorcise was
magnetic ; slowly her muscles relaxed, and
her wandering senses returned. Faster and
faster they urged hor on toward tho house,
Saunders following aVUIi tho babe. They
had more,than balf-accompliahpd tho way,
when Carson, who narrowly watched her
countenance, saw returning consciousness j
and in another moment, and ere they were
aware of it, she broke from hor father's hold,
and shrieking, V Fred I v threw her arms
about him.
Fred, you have come at last!" Carson,
with a flood of tears, strained her to his bo
som.
“ Thank Heaven, Susy, your are yet
.alive I"
Suddenly recollecting, she disengaged her
self, and inquired for her child.
■“'Tia safe, dear Susy," said her father.
** Father, is it you speaking? 0 father 1
I am a poor, sinful girl, and hava not loved
you as I ought I"
w You have loved me better than I deserved,"
said Browing, winding his arin about her
nock, and kissing her. ".I have wronged
you I"
f* Say not sg, say not so, father. I was at
fault." ‘
Hero Saunders, who, unaccustomed to the
transportation of children, had trudged along
slowly and carefully, fearing lest he should
fall, approache I, shouting : “Go on, go on
as fast as you can. I’ll bring the baby safe
ly. Go on, and keep the blood stirring." So
they proceeded. ,
" Fred," said Susan, “ I am so glad you
have como. I dreamed as I grow warm and
CARLISLE, PA., THURSDAY, MARCH 18, 18G1
sleepy, under the tree by the river, that you
had come back, that our .parents had sanc
tioned, our union, and that wo jvoro living
happily together. ’Twns a wild, strange
dream for me, for one so dospairihg, Father
had cast me off, and I had begun to mistrust
you. Forgive me, Fred ; hut my brain was
little turned I”
'‘Heaven he praised, dear Susan, the
dream shall soon prove true. I should have,
been home two mouths since; ;but I have
been jalob; very, sick, even to the point of
death. I dared not to inform you of it;. It
has wrought a change. I- shall- !<iad a bettor
life, hereafter; and wb will li«e together
joyful and contented, in charity with all—.will
we not ?” , _ , ;.
What more the?- aiiffion ,'thoif tray homo
it matters not. happy, happy walk.
Now Saunders, sensible of thourt'.at responsi
bility resting upon him, gloriedJn his jour
ney ; stopping along so carefully (that lie did
not once awaken the sleeping'irif
Mrs. Rrowning, when the, meh left'for-the
search,' laid her babe upon the be I. arid stood
in the door watching their retroi,' Jng figures.
When they had disappeared, jjjSe sonreeh
: -7t^Tnrtr-oi-'itvxicitpctr~cnc —rrtniu=W|ynr^TnirTlTO =
till it roared and crackled -like njihugo fur
furnace. She ,then sat down afyv distance
from the blaze, and awaited the return. She
had; however, little hopoofseeihgihor daugh
ter again that night, and she fearetl the worst.
How her thoughts went out into the night
seeking .for her girl .; how many prayers site
sent up for her safety 1 What,, length of
time she sat there she know notr She was
roused by the opening of the door.; pier daugh
ter stood before her. Their clasping of one
another, their weeping upon ijno anoth
er, the ineffable rapture and overflowing of
the fullness of joy—who shall tell;? Not they
who beheld it, .for their eyes wore blinded
with tears ; nit they who saw ~}t not, for
language, with all the glory that imagination
ever gave, could not depict it ;-!but there
was Joy in the house that night, of. rather that
morning, for now the i Niw- Tearjbad begun.
In a moment Saunders; enteroi|-, with the:
babe. Susan reooivod it from ;|iis hands,
looked at it, saw that all. was well, kissed it,«
and handed it to Fred, who gazdtS U-pon' it,
kissed it, and.gave it to-her again; , The ex
citement beginning to die away, Sitsipi sank
rapidly.. Restoratives, woro.applicd, and in
an hour she was sleeping calmly and quiptly
with baby by her-side. The bid Dutch
clock in the corner. . struck four, when
Browning, gathering :the other throe about
the fire-side, renderod-thanks to .‘Heaven for
the .sovereign mercies bestowed tipop him and
his family ; and, iti.a few momenta after, the
whole house was huahed.in slurafcr.
* » * » »• Uti ’ *.
Ceeah; cloudless,;and heaptiful, came the
day. How tho sun.poured upuij.tho house
of Browning its gloldeu shower apfl gladness!
How. it clasped thp.old‘-y^tßarSj£yted. ; walls
ii'i its groat afms\>f'figuFT6ow it crept into
every nook and, cranny, and fell in glory
through tho.windows, olv.the'.floor,'.filling the
silent room, even up to; the great hearth
stone, with a flood of warmth and exultation 1
The ligh tin the window-of the old blacksmith
was relumed, and the fire on his hearth re
kindled. Yea, and the all bounteous hud
life-giving orb smote with bis swift beams
that thin,' light snow, and it molted ; so that
when the sleepers arose to the music of a
caged rphin hanging in tho window, those
small and delicate foot-prints, coming, going
and returning, had vanished, wore oblitera
ted for ever. So beneath the snnshine of
loyo, charity, forgiveness, from the memories
of the inmates of that house, were all wrongs,
all rashness, all blame, all bitterness, all
harshness, and all hardship bl itted out for
ever. They thaaked .Heaven for it.
Susan still' slept; but her sleep was free
from all care and pain, and they know when
she awoke she would be fresh and fair, and
halo ns ever ; save in respect of fatigue, and
the effect of mental suffering, The children,
who had soon her depart the night before,
glad to learn that she had returned, would
just ■ open the door and,peep through’to see
sister Susy as she slept, and then coiue away
on tip-toe clapping their hands, but so softly
that they made no noise. Mrs. Browning
hustled about with the greatest importance,
for there was to be a New Year’s dinner in
the house ere night-fall ; and there was the
best room to bo swept,and set in order for com pa
ny. There were chickens and turkeys to
roast. Then Mr. and Mrs. Carson (so Fred,
who had been to the village forvarious articles,
■and purchased presents for- the children,
said) wore to bo there in the afternoon—and,
they were the richest people in town.
Susan awoke about noon, quite well, and
dressed' herself. There were traces of her sor
row that with her utmilat care she could not
efface. She wished, noble girl, that not a
single trait or lineament should remind her
Idved-onos of what had passed ; and no she felt
stronger than she . was, apd went about the
house singing snatches of her old songs, and
tolling the children with merriment by her
pleasant and funny ways.. But strong as she
thought and said she was, by two o'clock it
was necessary for her to keep her chair. At
about throe o’clock, Mr. and Mrs. Carson
made their appearance. They were very
grand and formal people, and the children
were very shy ; but Fred was with them, and
a right royal fellow they said he was, and so
they were not afraid. lie had. told Ilia pa
rents of his marriage to Su an, of her faith
fulness, and hor patient sutfering, and of his
own love and reformation ; and they embraced
hor, and kindly kissed her, and'called her
daughter. And old bachelor Saunders was
thoro, laughing and talking, rubbing his hands
with glee, and blessing bis stars that ho had
fallen on such happy times. Then, in the
great kitchen, whore great logs wore piled
and blazing in the great chimney, the table
was spread with all thingsgopd of rural cheer
At five o’clock they lit the candles and sat
down to the blow-year's dinner. Yes, all—r
the blacksmiths, tho children, mother, those
grand and formal people. Fred, and Susan in
the largerocking-chair—allsatdown together.
Did Browning always say grace so fervently 7
And while tho fire roared and crackled, the
knives and forks clicked and rattled; and they
eat, and talked, and laugh, and wept together ;
blacksmiths, children, those grand and formal
people, mother, Prod and Susan—all togeth
er. So when they rose from tho table, old
things had passed away; all was forgiven, for
gotten, and confirmed. Thus they kept the
Happy New-Year's Day.
And Fred, ns he laid his head upon his pil
low by the side of his wife that night, felt, as
ho pressed her to his bosom, that without a
fond and faithful heart, \vhoroin all the affec
tions may be garnered pp, this world is noth
ing worth; and that pure pud fervent love,
the one thing (lon-like which our first parents
brought out of Paradise, is for more, and ex
ceeding all its pomp, power, and magnihceno.
And ns she told him of her hopes and fears,
tho alternating trust and despair that ho came
not; how she had '
“Stralvbd hor inner oyos till dan,
To 800 the coming glory awitn
Through tho rich mist of happy tears;
of her pangs; of tho entreaties and throat-
nings, tho shame and sorrow of her parents;
of her short but terrible wanderings in tho
winters' night; of her woes and sufferings,
her desperation and suicidal resolutions; her
walk upon tho ice ; her lingering by the glit
tering'wnter; the final triumph of her faith
in him, her husband, and in Heaven ; her
shelter beneath the roots of the tree; her
drowsiness, and the fearful comfort of the be
numbing cold, arid her dream,: so timely bro
ken and so happily fulfilled ; ho thanked Gon
who had made her his—so good, so beautiful,
and so true, and wept like a child. Mingling
their tears they fell asleep.
So closed the Happy New-Year’s Day.
H Touching Incident.
In the champaign of Napoleon in Russia,
while tho French army was retreating from
Moscow, there lay in a poor low cottage, in a
village, an invalid hoy. This village, was
exactly in the course of the. retreating army,
and already the reports of its approach had
reached and excited the terrified inhabitants.
•In their turn they began to make preparations
for retreat; lor they knew there was no hope
J/eU-Alram-lmron UtAJka mla-AfjJia ofilfljorxr pooV-
ing their own preservation, and gave no quar
ters. Every one who had tho strength to fly
fled; some trying to take with them their
worldly goods, some to conceal them. The
little village was fast growing deserted. Some
burnt their houses or dismantled them. The
old were placed in wagons, and tho young
hurried their families away with them.
But in tho little cottage there was none of
this.hustle. Tho poor crippled hoy could not
moyo from lushed. Tho widowed mother had
no friends near enough to spare'a thought for
her in this time of trouble; when every oho
thought only of those nearest tq him pud of
himself. What chance of fliglitvwas there for
her and her young children, among whom one
was the poor crippled boy. r v r .
It was evening, and the sound of distant
voices and pf preparation had died away.
The pomjhoy was wakeful with terror, now
urging his. mother to leave him to his fate,
now dreading least she should take him at bis
word and leave him behind, ■
“The neighbors are just going away ; I-hoar
them no longer,’' he said, “I am so selfish, I
have kept you here . Take tho little girls witli
you ;it is not too late. And lam safe ; who
will hurt a poor; helpless boy ?’’ ,
“We are all safe,” answered the mother,
“God will not leave us, though all. else forsake
us.” ‘ .. . ' .
“But what can help us ?” pvesisted tho hoy,
“Who can defend us from their cruelty ?
Such’stories as 1 have, hoard of ,the ravages of
these men 1 They are not men, they are wild
beasts. Oh why was I made so weak—so
weak as-to. be utterly useless? No strength
even to fly.-’ ■ ; ;
“There'is a sure wall for the defenceless;”
answered the mother. “God will buUd qs a
sure wall - .”' : ......
“You are my strength now,” said the boy ;
“I thank God that you did not desert mo. I
am so weak, I cling to you. Do not leave me.
Indeed I fancy 1 can see tho cruel soldiers
hurrying in. Wo are too poor to satisfy them,
and they would pour their vengeance upon us !'
And yet you ought to leave me 1 What right
have Ito keep you here. And I shall suffer
more if I see you suffer” ,
'■God will he Our refuge and defence,” still
said tho mother; arid at length, with low,
quieting words, she stilled the anxious boy,
till he, too, slept like the sisters. The morn
ing came of the day that was to bring the
dreaded enemy. Tho mother and children
opened their eyes to find that “a sure wall”
had indeed been built for their defence. Tho
snow had begun to fall the evening before. —
Through the night it had collected rapidly.—
A high wind had blown tho snow in drifts
against the low house, so that it had entirely !
covered it. A low shod behind protected the
way to tho out-house, where tho animals were,
and fora few.days the mother and children
kept themselves alive within their cottage,
shut in and concealed by the heavy barricade
of enow. . . -
It was during that tinjo that the dreaded
scourge passed over the village. Every house
was ransacked ; nil the wealthier on.es de
prived of their luxuries, pad the poorer qnos
robbed of their necessities. But the low?roofed
oottago lay sheltered beneath its wall of snow,
which, in the silent,.night, had gathered
around it. God had prfiteoted the defenceless
with “a sure wall.”
A Maulv Youth.—Last week the “Grab,
town' Boreas Sewing Society” held th oir an;
mial meeting, and on motion it was voted
“That ohr Parson Wait on Tony Jones, and
see if nothing ean bo done to improve the man
ners of young Tony.”
•The nos't day the Parson called upon I'mir
ny, Sr., and informed him respecting the ob
ject of his visit, to which he replied <■
“Parson, I’d let Tony go to mootin' every
Sunday, if I only kmny’d you’s goin’ to preach,
But, Parsim, there ain’t a boy in the village
of Criibtown what’s got more manners than
my Tony, and.l can convince yon of that in
just a minit. Yon see Tony out thero skin
nin’ them niffers?”
The Parson nod led assent.
“Now, see, I’ll call him.” And raisinglus
voice to the highest pitch ho shouted—
“ T-o-o-ii-y 1”
The response was quick and equally loud.
“Sir?”
“Do you hear that, Parson ?” said the man
Don’t you call that manners?”
“That's all very well,” replied tho Parson,
“so far as it goes—”
“'What do you mean by far ns it goes ?
That boy, sir, always speaks respectfully to
me when I call him.’’ Then raising his voice
ho again called— ’ '
“T-o-o-n-y!’'
The boy dropped a half-dressed fish, and
shaking his fist at his sire, yelled out—
(The Parson shook his head.)
“Yo miserable, black, old, orunken snob,
I’ll como in there in jist two minits, an’ maul
ye like blazes.”
The Parson was astonished. Tho old man
was disconcerted for a moment, but instantly
recovering himself, ho tapped tho Parson on
the shoulder, saying—
“ You see, Parson, my boy has got ynt as
well as manners. This chap will make an
ornament to your society some of ’em days,
Tho Parson shook his head and mizzled.
Modern - Definitions. —Oversight—To leave
your old umbrella in a news room and carry
away a now one.
Unfortunate Man—Quo born 171 th con
science,
' Progress of time—A podler going through
tho land with wooden clocks.
Bight Justice—A.juror on a murder cas.e
fast asleep.
Independence—Owing fifty thousand dol
lars which you never intend to pay.
Honesty —Almost obsolete ; a term former
ly used in tho case of a man who paid for his
paper.
017“ A witty man can make p. jest; a wise
man can take one,
Republican Intolerance.
Tho Republican party bus bad a very brief
existence, but brief as that existence has been,
it has exhibited more bigoted intolerance to
ward nil those who differ with it on.questions
of National policy, than any other party that
ever bad an existence in this country. This
is the more inexcusable trom the fact, that it
commenced its career with loud professions
in favor of the largest amount ofliberty to all
classes, conditions lind' races of men, taking
into its freedom loving arms “all the world
and the rest of inandkind;'* It battled
through its first Presidential Campaign with
“Free Speech, Free Press, Free Homes and
Fremont” ns its motto emblazoned on its ban
ners alt over thecountry.' ' ■; •
It passed,through its second Campaign, if
possible, with even greater professions of love
for freedom. Members of this freedom lov
ing party were seen to turn up their eyes.in
■holy horror, at tho idea of Southern men.pro
venting abolition, fanuctics ivom preaching se-
: nnTroirvffnimgsc
.to insurrection,- pronouncing it a terrible out
rage on free speech. . '
Well, this, party got into power hy gulling
the people with these lying professions., And
now, how do they proceed to carry then).out?
By making good their profession and granting
unrestrained'liberty of speech and the, press t
Not a hit of it. But if same unfortunate lol
lnw—in fin unguarded moment happens to
criticise sonm uctof the administration in pew
or, he is immediately “spotted’' as a traitor,
pud Mr. Secretary Seward- has him arrested
hy telegraph and lodged in Fort Lafayette,—
Or if he express the opinion that the Repub
lican party is net and best party the
world over saw, ho is denounced ns ft seces
sionist by a pack of .newly fledged patriots
and “Union Sliders," who never felt a genuine
patriotic emotion stir in their breasts. Or of
a.Nowspapor Editor intimates that the man
agement of tho War Department under the
administration of Simon Cameron - has - not
ns scrupulously honest ns it might have
been, ho is put down ns.an onepiy of the-gov
ernment; Or if ho presumes to suggest, that
this is not exactly the right time lor inaugu
rating the “first ball ever given in the White
House” ho is politely informed by some idiot
ic fanactia that his pstablishment is to ho torn
down by vioh violence, dud his paper sup
pressed by the government. Such, gontlp
redder, arc ft fpw ot the practical illustrations
of the Republican of "freq speech
and'a free press.”
But, thank God,, a better day seems to ho
dawning upon us, the reign, pt terror and fa
naticism id rapidly drawing to a close—-reason
Isbeginningto rosumo her sway, sensible and •
intelligent Republicans now look nt things
move calmly and that kind of work is left-fil
most entii-e'.y
-Who reached their maturity at- ten .'years of]
ago.
With a Democrat at tho head of, tho Wat
Department, a Democrat at the head of the
Andy and Democratic Generals commanding
almost every division, wq may .uxpeot an en
ergetic forward movement, with negro eman
cipation in the hack ground, and the restora
tion of the Union and the preservation of tho
Constitution ns tho Pole Star for tho guidance
of every patriotic heart.
With patriotic and conservative officers, to.
lead on our brave troops, such as McClellan,
| Ilallecki Dix, Butler, Sherman, McClernnnd
and the gallant Col. John A- Logan of Illinois
who, at the battle of Fort Donolson, when his
men were fulling thick and fast around him.
and ho himself fearfully wounded, rode along
the Jines, waving his hat and eryingout "snf
fe death, boys, hut disgrace never.” _ With
■such men > n the .field, wo say, there is hope
for tho country yet. • , ■ ,
‘God speed the day, when Northern fanati
cism end Southern treason shall find a com
mon grave,.when tho glorious Stars and Stripes
—tho banner of tho Union—shall wave in tri
umph from Maine to Texas, when sectional
hftte and animosity shall he banished fronj the
country, we trust, forever, and when wo shall
again “know, no-North, no SoiUh, no East.no
West, but a,common bond iy a common broth
erhood”— Valley Spirit
A Hero. Wanted
Tho Republicans are in a.desperate strait
for a'hero, Since tho collapse of Jim. Lime,
they are bleating about like sheep without a
shepherd. Their first hero in this war was
Fremont. He achieved the defeat of Lynn,
tho surrender of Lexington, the “freedom”
of a fiiw niggers, and squandered millions of"
public money. We hardly know which ex
ploit most commended him to their favor.—■
When Fremont was retired from command in
disgrace, they fixed their hopes upon one Si
mon, surnamod Cameron, who, it has been
said, “ was a thief from the beginning,” and
did not hesitate to sell bis country for a few
pieces of silver. But Simon wanted the big-,
gera set -at liberty—-bo wanted arms put in
their hands so they could butcher the, women
and children of the South. This exalted him
in the eyes of the Republicans and they loved
him ns they loved their own souls. Rut Si
mon is dismissed from the council table which
ho bad disgraced. Just then dim Lane turn
ed; up and the Republican journals turned
their eyes upon him and sew that bo was
good at stealing niggers, and they proclaim
ed that bo was to do wonderful things in that
lino—rit just suited him. But General Jim
is suddenly squelched”—his “ expedition ”
vanishes, and ho is left before the publio n
miserable charlatan, a dirty jack that has
brayed his- own fame, a tit object of scorn
and anathema from all patriotic people. Who
will bo the next boro of the Republican jour
nals?” —Ex cfittntje. ■
■ A Contrast.— Decidedly the most brilliant
military campaign in which nnr country over
1 engaged, was the Mexican War, during the
administration of President Polk. Ex-Pres
ident Buchanan was, at that lime, Secretary
of-State, and the late Governor Marey, Sec
retary of War. The most extensive means
had to bo provided fur the maintenance of a
largo army in a distant country, and millions
of money passed through the hands of the
government officers. But wo do not remem
ber that any one of them was ever charged
with peculation or dishonesty. Certain it is
that not a whisper was over hoard affecting
the integrity of Mr. Maroy, and he retired
from office enjoying the respect of the whole
country. The Democratic administration of
President Polk, in that campaign, apt an ex
ample which might have been profitably fol
lowed bv those holding, high places under
Mr. Lincoln. It certainly is not necoaa yv
to the successful prosecution of a war that all
concerned in conducting it should turn high
way robbers. —Easton A^r/ns.
835“ A great toper, who had drank noth
ing stronger than brandy, called for a goblet
of water on his death hod, saying!“When a
man is dying ho ought to make up with his
enemies."
%iroltorQl Ifjiartmmt;
HINTS ON PIBM IMPROVEMENT.
Farmers are generally anxious to improve
their farms, or ,at least to reap the results of
such improvement in bettor crops and greater
profits, but very many of them have yet to
learn the most direct road to prosperous ag
riculture. It lies rather through careful
management of abundant labor and capital,
than in stinting these to the lowest possible
amount —the saving is in the prudent iise of
every means of progress, rather than in .the
miserly neglect, of nl| which scent to be indi
rect aids, but ‘which are really the trifles
which ensure that increase above thfe cost of
production which alone counts as profit.^
Let us look at one of the simplest axioms
of the better farming. “ There is no way,"
says John- Johnston, “ that land- can bo BO
profitably improved ns by grass kept in a
vigorous state, of gtowth." f J,'o grow large
crops of grass wo must have rich, drained
land —naturally fertile or enriched by: mon
..ULe-Ond thorough culture before seeding down
and by frequent topKlrcssing afterwards, IfT
must 150 drained land—artificially drained if
subject to stagnant water—or the beat grasses .
cannot be grown, nor can it bo brought into
profitable rotation with tho grain crops. It
must he thoroughly seeded—economy in gross .
Repd “ saves at the spigot to lose at the bung,"
in tho loss quantity and poorer quality of the
product. And it must not ho overstocked,—
'flip begt pasture land, especially while young,
pap bQ ruined by feeding too closely and un
seasonably-^—late. in. autumn and early id
Spring time.
J3ut fanq improvement by thito method re
quires Ij>bor and care. Autumn top-dressing
comes at a busy season, and requires previous
attention to provide the requisite composted
manure. Hence too many neglect it, even
though convinced of its importance and of
the greatly increased crops which follow tho
practice'. * Our better farmers do not practice
economy of lahor\ striving to ,gqt along with
as liille as possible. .They have found that
plenty of help for all the operations of tho
farhxia'tho only way of productive and prof-
i table farm management.
A hint or two on getting hotter grass from
our meadows gnd,pastures next season. Let
no mild weather tempt us to allow a hoof up
on them during the winter.' Bettor buy ad-,
ditional forage fop our stock. Where a mix
ture of- clover prevails \ye,should give a top
dressing of plastey in the
ft has been found profitable toniix ashes with
plaster for, this purpose, and wo should never
sell a bushel,of ashes from the farm, but rath
er buy. ipsthad. If intcnljed fur pasture, let
start before turning .on
stock litffiijpJ'oduc t will be much larger than
during the whole season.---
mjjstprpsinjay be fed early with :leS»
grasses;’ IWo have fou a'd tj> kood'pblioyj'til
change pastures'quite frequently, benefitting
both the pasture and the grazing animals.—
Farms so situated that they may be irrigated
at small expense, should'enjoy this great
means of enhanced productiveness. Mead
ows should ho top-dressed iyith fine manure
after haying—oortij.inly whenever the crop
falls below twq topg per aero. If
land is to pc plowed up fop tillage another
year, top.drcssihg in autumn'will he found
the host means of applying manure for the
future product. Jjut we need not exten I
these hints farther in this connection—wj
have dwelt u'pq'p them freely heretofore. ,
! The farmer, anxious for improvement, is
never at g joes for employment, upon hit
farm in winter.' There are a thousand things
ho cun do to enhance the comfort and thrift
of pis stock, and to increase the amount npd
value,of Pis'mO-buro. And it'should not be
forgotten that the richer and better our stock
are fed, the more rapid and profitable their
growth, and the far greater value their ma
nure.
Preparations for the labors of tho coming
seed jimo can be largely made—fences, tools,
sheds, gird, no less important, plans for the
work cp.il bo. got in readiness in this time of
comparative "leisure.. Too m any are engaged
off (heir farms at this season, —in work, per
haps; bringing in more ready money—but
practically of far less advantage to themselves
as farmers. Others idle away the winter to
grumble at bad crops and the burry of farm
life during.tl)e summer and autumn. .With
the hi;w year there is room for all to “ turd
oyer a now loaf” in the volume of progress.
■r-Oo'untnj Gentleman.
The Care of Horses,
A late number of the Maine Farmer con
tains the following practical remarks on the
Care of Horses, a matter which we fear is
still much neglected by many :
As a rule adapted to general npplioatioja,
farmers do not take sufficiently good oape.Jpf,;
their farm horses, although we believe they
receive better care than the other stock of the
1 farm. In speaking of care wo do not mean
1 to hq understood that watering and feeding
1 is all that is requ'rcd of tho funner in tending
■ his stuck; albeit, clear water and good feed
1 are most essential matters in the business.—•
■ Lot any of our every day farmers go into it
i livery or hotel 'stable, and see the rubbing,
* attention and kind usage given to a horse
■ that lias been driven eight or ten miles, and
1 ho would staro in astonishment, ask if they
1 always gave horses the same treatment, and
' after much questioning and talk conclude
that they would feel better for it. There are
many fanners, who, if they have occasion, to
use their horse during a snowy day in winter,
when they reach homo, never card or brush
him down —although in moat cases ho is blan
keted—and with snow upon hisdegs and an
kles put him into a stall to pass the night,,
I with no bedding hut the manure of the pfe-
I vinus day. The horse is of'course fed, bat
this is about all. If a person thinks this is
taking proper care of a horse, let him work
hard all day in a ruin storm, go to bed at
night with wot shirt and stockings, and-he
will probably arrive at tho conclusion that it
is more comfortable to go to bed with dry
feet than with wot. and lie will find"quite a
difference between sleeping in good dry bed
clothes and lying down in pis own wot gar
ments. The care is pn oven one. The horse
is an animal, the man in this instance, is no
more. Both need kind treatment; and the
man who goes to bed without humanely at
tending to tho wants of Ills horse, yet not ne
glecting bis own, is only in part a man.
Having alluded above, in a single word, to
an erruy in the care of horses, we now refer
to an error in feeding. It is in feeding them
when fatigued from hard work. No horse
should bo "fed, either with hay or grain, on
being put into tho stall after work. They
should ho allowed to rest at least half an
hour, then fed with imy, half an hour after
wards watered, and then grained. By this
method, they will ho healthy, and loss liable
to suffor from attacks of disease. Regularity
in feeding is by all moans indisponsiW*. '
i
NO. 40.