I “OUR COUNTRY—MAY'-IT ALWAYS RIGHT OR WRONG OUR COUNTRY.’’ ' , t> ' ‘ .... .... ... Y§L. 49. AMERICAN VOLUNTEER. PUBLISHED EVERT THURSDAY, iIORNINa BT JOHN B. BRATTON. Subscription;— Two SDnllars if paid within the year? and Two Dollars and Fifty Cents, if not .Within, tho year. These tonus will bo rigidly ad iiorod to in every instance, No subscription dis 3ontinucd until all arroprages aro paid unless at 'the option of tbo Editor; „ Advertisements—Accompanictito.ihftCAsir, and not exceeding ono squarlL-J)e^feorlod three, times for Ono Dollar, cents for each Additional insertion. Those *oTa greater length in proportion. . - 'V. JoB-Par.HTiNO —Such »s Hand-bills, Posting-bills, Pamphlets,' Blanks, Labels, Ac. &e., executed with . ccnraoy and at tbo shortest notice. ffortfral. [i’rom tbo Cincinnati Enquirer.] THE CAGED BIRD. BY ALICE JIIcLDIIE. Liston S listen ! listen I ■ From tbo woodlands near mo, Where the bright loaves glisten, Swcot notos como to oheor mo. Brother warblers' singing, ; In the scented bowers, .. 1 '•/ "Where are dew-drops clinging Sweetly .td' the flowers. - -■ From their soft nests, ligbUy, . Friendly,birds have irises-; And on pinions, brightly, Wheel above my prison, .. See ! one has alighted ! Oh! how sweetly singing To the soft, green spriglot, In tho free winds swinging ! Singing songs I loved so. When,.amid,my kindred, I on light wings rovod through Wood and grove unhindered. How my bird's heart flutters ! Oh, how wildly beating 'Gainst the gilded sbutftcw, For one friendly greeting. Grant mo hilt one blessing, X will ask no othor; X would send a message To my sweet bird-mother. Tell her that! never, ‘ Never more shall meet, her; Nor at morning’s early dawn Kiso with songs to greet her; But for hor swcot cosufovt,.. Toll her that a maiden, M tU^.»norniiifi^broo»o ? With,dewy fragrance laclbu, Is the tender keeper ' Of my captive hours, Xu whoso lovo I half, forget My native woodland bowers! HWIaiWM. A STORY FOR THE LITTLE FOLKS. Signs and Wonders, * Grandpa,’ said little Kata, looking stead ily into tlie tire, ‘ do you believe in dreams V Old Mr. Evans stopped paring his apple, .and smiled playfully as ho answered, ‘ Be lieve in diearns, my : dear? To bo sure! ,do! Thai is, if they are worth having. I believe in pleasant 'little girls, Kitty, and pleasant little dreams, every night in the year.’ ‘O, you’re such a funny grandpa ! Just as if I didn’t suppose folks had dreams ! But Jane Snow thinks they mean something —something particular ! She says they come 'Jo pass!’ ‘Of all things 1’ cried grandpa,, opening •Bis eyes -very wide. *. *1 shouldn’t think Jane ■Snow would dare to go to sleep. If I had mistrusted that dreaming w*as such scientific 'business I AVhy how you make ,mo feel, Kitty! I’m such'a miserable hand about getting up dreams!’ . * "Well, grandpa, I want to toll you—l dreamed about a wedding last night, and that’s a sure sign of a funeral ; and sure enough, a man died this very day on Cedar street! Now what do you think of that?’ ‘ 0 dear, 1 dear!’ said grandpa, laying down his apple. ‘ I wouldn’t have dreamed ■what you did for any money—you couldn’t have persuaded me ! Don't lot that man’s friends hear of ib; don’t Kitty! They might take it into tlieir heads that you dreamed, iiian to death on purpose, .and then how could they forgive you'f’ ‘0 grandpa, now:I know you are joking. Hut won’t you tell mo truly if you belieyo in ■omens and such things? Some grown up folks do. Now for'ono thing, it’s a bad sign to break a lookin'); glass, they say.’ ‘ IVell,’ said grandpa, ‘ 1 think it is myself; it is generally a sign of carelessness. But, speaking of omens reminds mo of something that 'came to pass’ when I was a little hoy. It was.perfectly awful! Come and sit on" my knee, Kitty, so I shan’t feel so frightened When I come to the worst part of it. There 1 Well, once upon a time, my father jived in the first house that was built in tins town, where Mr. Mason lives now; right at the corner, you know, by the big willow tree.— It is a very old fashioned house, full of little Cubby-holes hud dark corners. Well, ray grandmother lived with us. She was a dear eld lady, and her sentences were as even and, precise as n paper of pins. Not much like this poor old grandfather of yours, Kitty.— Yod know the words trip over one another bn iny tongue, and get strangely mixed up Sometimes.’ 1 0, no they don’t, grandpa,’ said Kate; you talk just the best of anybody I know of, and I love you dearly. Why I love every hair of your head 1’ ‘ Do you, my -dear V said grandpa, hugging Kate; • well, I haven’t but very little hair, you k tiovr. But I was going to tell you of your great grandmother. Sho was’ never well aft*f I was old enough to remember anything. She wae sick in the front room this way—the ono the Masons use for a par lor. The room was kept darkened, and I remember how the light used to trickle through the e'rackr, of the shutters. Only once in a while, the shutter of the south win dow was folded brick a little way, so ray poor grandmother could get a peep at the blue summer sky, the green trees and the river. " ell, Kitty, if you believe it, one day about sunset, when there wasn’t a leaf stirring, or a sound louder than a fly could make, all of a sudden a pane flow out of that south win- shivered into a thousand pieces, and T E EM S ■V/'-fc-A: foil at the foot of my grandmother’s bed 1 I was not in the room, and didn’t see the sight; hu tmy mother did, and my sister Betsy and Eliza Pried,- /the girl who was taking caro ol my grftntfniather.’ Kate shuddering, a creature to he seen as far. as you could glass flow as if alive, witches had sent it; think ? ’Liza Price eaiiitiwits a;warding, and it was her opinion wouldn’t livea week. Vhouse that .night, I saw a-.Mjpjr solemn .looking group, assure ydd.|;?’Liza had .the gruel burn, and was flit roo.in,'.;Mlkirig in low, vtasdn tears, and her, hair falling down Promos, and her eyes -My father was trying reason with them. ‘One thing j 1 s r: 'SUl'b; ’s o ld ho, ‘ nothing over happened ■ A’ttitfto-ut-a.'pnuse., Depend upon it, we shall find'Out before, long. what broke the glass. lYait 'a wtyilo.’ Well,'sir,’ said ’Liza sol nmuly,i>"aud.-.poirltidg at my father with .;hordiuig.;doreflnger, f ‘ just look here. There « ain’t a breafh of wind stirring, and nary a : anhldu;osight; . I’llfieayo it to your wife! Niowil;askt:y6u at' a reasonable being what '■mortaKmeanSicould ha’ broke that ar glass into powder,d wink of an eye ?’ I crept ■■ jlieinivd place frightened. ‘ Pur 'thoiixo),o?swif( said’Liza, ‘ that ar glass made ! ofthe old lady’sbedasstraight ns-any .arpow that ever you see I If there /ever/waSa/warning, sir, that ar’s a warning nr Dpiino judge.’ | ’ t'Q grandpapa ! whispered Kate, clinging . close-.lo'his nook. • Don’t-nut mo out, Kitty ! When .I saw ■liowt solemn ; they all. were, I had a great r-many queer feelings, I went and hid in th'o ’meal room, partly for shame, and partly because I couldn’t keep from laughing.. Yet every word they said cut mo like a lash with, a pin in it. You see I had been down by the river skipping stones, and what should I do' in my idleness^but wheel round about, and ■send a little pebble towards the house. I little thought of hitting the .window, but ■when I heard the crash, my first thought Was, ‘ Now. for a good scolding!’ So I ran down the bank in a twinkling, and e tnok a very crooked path to go after my cows, hoping that when, I should get home my mother’s anger would bo cooled.- But they never dreamed'that I was the rogue who lind sent the warning. When I entered the house that night, I expee'ed a grave rebuke from my mother, and meant to tell her just how the accident happened, and. promise to do better next time. But when I found, to my. /surprise, that such a hreezirhnd been raised, I kept still, being very fond of a joke. Be-/ sides, I was a graceless scamp, Kitty, and hadn’t the moral courage to let my mother know what a dupe she was, for fear of the consequences. It really happened that my grandmother died that.week, In peaceful ignorance of tho. panic in the house ; and of course, our family and the neighbors talked very sadly and wisely-about the omen which had foretold her death. I listened and thd’t to myself, ‘ Well, my good friends, if that is one of your dreadful omens, I’m not afraid of them.’ Of course,' I told the whole story after, a while and took a whipping; and I .knew I deserved it. 'But I learned a good lesson, which I never forgot; and between you and mo, Kitty, it’s my private opinion, that if people looked into things as they ought to, there be quite so many siV/ns and.wonders. There, jump down, my dear, and lot mo finish my apple.’ Male Dress-Makers. A recent work by a French author (Polle- tan) contains some singular and interesting revelations in regard to male dress makers in-Paris, which our readers may like to see with their own eyes, and we therefore sub join an extract, derived from the French cor respondence of a New York journal : . But can you believe that, in tbe middle of the nineteenth century, there exist dress makers with beards—men, real men, like the Zouaves—who, with their strong hands, measure the exact dimensions* of. tbe most titled women in Paris, dress them, undress them and turn them round and round before them, as if they were neither more nor less than . wax;figurcs iu a hair dresser’s win dow. . ' Of course you know the Rue. da hi Patx—sa called because it celebrates war in the shape of a column. In that street lives an English man who enjoys a very different popularity in the word of frippery from that of Lent preacher. This Englishman, it must bo ad mitted, has created a now kind of art, the art of screwing in a woman’s figure with'a pre cision hitherto unknown, lie has the inspi ration of the scissors, the genius of the goro. Ho knows the exact spot at which the stuff should lit tightly; 'arid where it should float around at will. He understands at a glance by the whole context of the woman, what should be shown and what should be conceal ed. Providence has created him, from all eternity, to discover the law of crinolines and the true curve of the petticoat. He is a perfect gentleman, always fresh and clean Shaved, always curled, black coat,, white era- \ vat, oauihrio sleeves, fastened at the wrist with a gold button! He officiates with all the gravity of a diplomatist who carries the future of the wOrlil shut up in one of the compartments of his brain. When ho tries a dress upon a live doll of the Chausse d’ Antin, it is with tlie most profound contemplation that he touches, nts, measures, and marks with chalk the defec tive fold in tho stuff. Anon lie starts back, and, the - better to judge of hie handy work at a distance, be holds his hand before his eyes like an opera-glass, and resumes the work of modeling the dress on tho body of his customer. Sometimes he plants a flower here, or ties on a ribbon there, in order to test the general harmony of the toilette ; and all. this time tho Eve in process of manufacture stands .motionless and re signed, and allows hot creator to proceed with tho work of her creation in silence. At last, when ho has modeled the silk as if it were clay, and whoA ho has modeled the figure according to his ideas, ho takes his place at the other end of the room,' and scats himself upon a sofa with his bond thrown back, and directs his work as with a conductor’s baton, “To the right, madam,” and the lady turns according. “To the loft,” and around sho goes. “Paco mo,” and she looks straight at the artist. “ Right about {ace,” and the obverse is presented. In this manner a Gorman princess, acclimatized in Paries, executes, at the orders of a man, a complete course of drill ; after which ho dismisses her with a royal gesture. “ That will do, madam.” Gent. —Boy, give mo a light, will you. Bov.—Who you call boy ? I’ve smoked and chawed this two years. Tlie Follies of Crinoline. The suddea death of an estimable young lady in London, from her dress taking fire, has brought out a severe denunciation of a prevalent fashion. The editor of the London Slav says : A glance through a hook of English cus tomea affords startling evidence of the skill which our feminine ancestors have displayed in devising for themselves uncouth and pre posterous garbs. But for. examples of "this misapplied ingenuity, wo need not go hack to past generations. Wo need only wa ken our own slumbering reminiscences to summon into being the phantasmagoric imago of a host of abominations. A'man need not he niuoh past the middle age to recollect the days when the waist of the fashionable belle was immediately under her arms, making her look very much like a deformed baby in long clothes. Then, when the outline of the sauaage-iceased to bo looked upon as perfec tion, that of the wasp came into favor, and waists wore reduced by tight lacing to sueh terrible tenacity that the affianced lover hud ample reason to foal- that if the match was not broken off, the bust of his fair charmer would be before the wedding-day. ' Who does nut remember those awful coal scuttle bonnets, from the depth of whose 'Leghorn abyss the features of the wearer loomed hazily upon tho gaze ? Does it not seem almost incredible that, tho same gene ration which cherished those colossal head pieces should have given-itself up tho wear ing in their stead of small silkier lace cat aplasms, which it was necessary to attach to the back of the head by {tins, and should then have oast thein asidd in .favor of spoon shaped monstrosities, -each holding in its in- terior the contents of a small green-house piled up in a pyramidal form above the wear er's forehead? . Do we not remember all va rieties of ugly shaped sleeves—tho shoulder of mutton, puffed, tbo pendulous, and the tight fitting, which made the dantiest arm look scraggy? All these things, we have ,borne with, if not Without repining, nt any rate without serious opposition, simply, be cause we admitted, the .right of those, who wore them to please themselves in the mat ter of. costume and in the same spirit we have endeavored to bear with crinoline. We may have grieved to see that'those whom nutiire has made graceful should do tlieir heat to render themselves unattractive by insanely adopjjng the dom .of gt. Paul’s as the bean ideal of perfect outline in the human form, and walking about with their bodies incused from their waist.downward in a swaying structure, the movements of which suggested the idea that there must bo ball and-socket joint somewhere about the middle of their spine ; but we have not sought to impede theif.ehtifo freedom in the choice of costume. We.have been physically annoyed by the friction of, steel hoops against otir an kles in public thoroughfares—rby the plaster ing of mud upon bur clothes, and oven upon our faces,Tiyviho 'teuno ofmoxlbhs: Apparatus brought into omnibuses on rainy days—by the iuconvenieiit ns. well as' humiliating ex tinction of onr nether personality in places of public assemblage where the mate bust is alone visible.'nll else being smothefed in ,a cloud of feminine drapery, yet though we have groaned we 'have not forced ourselves to be prompted to any overt act of antagonism. ■Even though it is patent to all observers that this new garment is tainted with gross indelicacy, and incessantly places its wear ers, independently of their own will, and, indeed without their own consciousness—in positions utterly repugnont to modesty, we have deemed that our duly was discharged by signalizing the tact, leaving • those who bad a right to regulate their conduct accor ding to their own sense of propriety to act as they pleased, They might vex our eyes, abrade our limbs, spoil ourolothes.and shook our feelings by unseemly exhibitions ;■ we could only complain, for in all these mat ters they are entitled to make themselves as objectionable as they please.. But it is not one of tlieir prerogatives to place their own lives in perpetual peril, ft is not only that the voluntary tempting of death is a heinous crime which wo are bound to prevent by strong measures, if entreaties ln.il.’ Tlie catalogue of women who. have boon | burned to death,- is beginning to ■ assume frightful proportion. Who can wonder at this, if he lias watched a devotee of the fashion able deformity as she walks across a room? The movements of her skirts are indepen dent of her volition ; the. bell shaped mass wafts and sways abi’ut With perilous freedom, and it is impossible to see its wearer go near, a' fire-place without a shudder of apprehen sion. When the dress, swinging against the grate, catches lire, that which promoted its ignition renders almost impossible the ex tinction of the blaze. The hooped cage de fies compression, and obstinately retain its shape, maintaining an open space, within which the flame may play freely around the victim’s limbs, 'charring and calcining them, while she shrieks in agony for the aid which none can give. Family Prayer. —There is not on earth a scene more interesting than a family thus bonding before the God of Heaven; a collec tion of dependent beings, with tender feel ings, with lively sympathies, with common hopes,'fears, joys, blending their bliss and their woes together and presenting them all to.the King of Kings, and the great Father of the families of mankind. There is not on earth a man more to be venerated, or that will be more venerated, than the .father who thus ministers at the family altar. No other man, like that father, su reaches all sources of human action, or so greatly controls his powers, yielding their years, and following the direction of his moulding hand, that is soon to'control all that is tender and sacred in.the .interests of the Church and State.— No Solon or Lycurgus is laying the founda tion of codes of law so deep, or taking so fast a-hold on all that is to affect, the present or futile destiny of man. We love, therefore, to look at such venerable locks; and to eon template these ministers of God, who stand between the rising generation —feeble, help less, and exposdtl to a thousand perils—and the Eternal Parent of all. _ They stand be tween the past and the coming ago, remnants of the one and lights of the other; binding the past with that which is to come; living lights of experience, to guide the footsteps of tho itinerant and erring; to^.illuminate^ the coming generation, to obtain for it blessings by counsel and prayer, and then to die. And if the earth contains) amid its desolations, one Spot of green on which the eye of God re poses with pleasure, it is the collected group, with the eye of tho father raised to heaven, and tho voice of faith and prayer commend ing tho little worshippers to the protecting care of Him who never slumbers nor sloops. 017“ “ Say, Mister; come back and give us alight.” “ No, sir-eo, you’d spile my cigar with your cent-a-grabs,” CARLISLE, PA, THURSDAY, APRIL 16,1865. The Wo«.( of Life. Sweetly, sang the morning stars, heralding the rosy dawn nndwrrowy. sunbeams that, glancing in golden tho dew gemmed earth, wakened its diyellera from slumber to tho activity of life. Within a quiet dwelling, on a shore of a lake whoso rippling surface is glowing with the reflection. d|j golden light, a mother clasps the-fraiLfofm-of an infant son to her bosom ; raising, ,her-:hoart in prayer to God that his life may he psoful and happy—such a life as wUI fit soul for a homo of otornal-llight and joy. Low bending from above is a b.eautifuj angel clothed in gar ments of purity, and! 1 the silver radiance of its wings overshadow tho new-born babe ■with a halo of guijrdinn love! Tho web of tho life just begun onward through this mortal to the.-immortal beyond tho shores of time, and (U with prophetic eye tho guardian angel sees,, the dark, silver and gulden threads, that». ; ;make the woof of life, woven into it, she breathes a vow to shield itjfrom danger ; andlmusio, sweet-toned as a Seraph’s lyre floatMtiut upon the soft air as on shining wing#hat soars to heaven to wri to the name of That babe in tho book of immortal life. : ' Childhood is past; and youth has come. Tho woof of life hasi.bnly sliver and golden threads, with andfthere a shadowy tint, while lie whom wo saw so frail,and helpless in his mother’s arms, now, with noble aspi rations, looks forward, seeing only threads of a brighter and more-enduring hue. .Thesky above him is calm and shining, and flowers grow on either side of his pathway,' while that sweet angel-spreadsdibovo him her overshad- owing wings. '. '-ft’' ' ■ „ Time moves on with noiseless step—nobly *0 enters upon the arena of active life, and and into the woof of life is weaving a name that future generations Shall repeat and bless. It is a summer's, eye, mid within the room where he first opened his eyes upon the light life he sits by the couch of her who kindly cared and loved hir'd in infancy and. child hood, and with moistened, eye'watches her lamp of life'.to go out. Then there are dark threads in the woof of life,, but the angel wingh that overshadowed him on tho day of his birth are hovering oyer him still., , Again are the golden threads in the woof of lilo. lie stands-.before the alter with her whom lie has chosen to bo the partner of his days, and utters the responses that hind two ■ willing hearts in bands stronger and more induring than his life. Again the beautiful angel 'bends low,. !,whimpering of n homo of peace and love, and ho walks -the earth with a happy, trusting heart, while the threads that make up tho woof of life ate only of silver and gold. . . Years, are gone. Cfhere are many darkly-' hued threads mingled, in the woof of those years ; here and there are dark tints whore the simn'on breath-qt disappointment swept across his pathway?.— 'a darker thread as a bodutijul that had.bloomed awhile in his hoirie, was exhaled to heaven, in its native clime,, leaving-a memory both bright as the noonday sun, nn,d dark as,mid night while a lonely mound fells us where rests the mortal casket. ■■■ Silver looks shade his brow, but his arm is strong to protect her lyho has tynlkqd by his side for so many years;'and hopefully, strug gles to hold her hack from the enemy of the Angel of Death. In; vain ho hopes—the' loved form ho presses to his heart becomes pulseless and cold. In that dread hour of darkness he is not alone—the angel is near, and once more folding hind in her shining wings, tells him of that other life, upon an other shore, where hearts severed may he reunited ; only,a little while—the wavering of a few more threads in the woof of life— and.he, too,, will no longer walk life’s path way. From, the windows of a dwelling a light streams out into the still midnight darkness. Within, a Weary form is'resting on-a low couch, the eye dimmed by four-sooro years wanders from one to another of the group around, and as the hand of a fair grand child puts hack tho snow-white hair from the thin, furrowed brow., on which the day.of death is gathering,- and kisses the sunken cheek, his mind wonders back to that golden morning when before the altar, ' and ho repeats the name, of her'who, with him, there pledged her vow. ■ The beautifuljangol that has followed him through life is with him in the hour of depth —the silvery brightness of her wings over shadows him ; yet still ho lingers upon earth’s cold shore; ’till the morning stars pale in tho eastern sky, and the golden sun light glances over the dew gemmed earth. The last thread in the woof of life is woven and tho guardian angel spreads its wings to to guide tho freed immortal to a heavenly home, while strains of seraphic music never heard by mortal ears welcome another dweller to that clime where no dark threads are wo- ven in tho golden woof of life beyond the river of death. The Orphan Duck. —A duck’s egg un luckily got into a nest of hen’s eggs. The hen kept them all warm under her motherly feathers, whin in due time the chickens wore hatched. Two or three days later, duckling broke liis egg and waddled. The chickens soon perceived that he was none of them, and what did they do—cherish the poor orphan, give it a warm side of the nest, and’ a hearty snuggle under their mother’s wing. I am sorry to say those thoutloss chickens did not treat the little motherless stranger so. On the contrary they flow at him, cruelly drove him from tho nost, and almost picked him to death. In vain he tried to come hack to his adopted home, and the old hen, I dare say, would have been willing to have him ; but what could she do, since her ten foolish children were against it. AVoll, what became of poor duckling? A oat saw this ill-usage, and she, being a feel ing oat, with much knowledge quite likely, of the distresses with which this world abounds,' befriended the little duck. She took it by the neck—not to wring its nock, ah no 1 but she took it by the sumo motherly grab with which she lugs her own little ones, carried it to her nursery, laid it down beside the kittens, and there took ns much care of it as cat could. As for the kittens, they be haved in the sweetest manner; and it was a curious sight to see them all curled together, fast asleep, duck and all, ns happy ns could bo. I am sure no little friendless boy or girl need ba discouraged after this. God will provide him friends.— Child’s Taper. Uncle or Father.—" I say. boy, whose horse is that you’re riding ?” “ Why, it’s daddy’s.” ■« Who is your daddy?” " Don’t you know,? why, Uncle Jones. “ So, you’re the son of your uncle ?" “ Why, yes, calculate 1 am.' You see, cKd got to bo a widower, and married mother’s sister, and now he’s my uncle.” 3 Good Story. 'The following amusing sketch of the man ner in which an irascible President of the old Cambridge College was once molified, is from tho pen of Jack Robinson. Apropos of Porter, whoso name I have just taken in vain ; I hoard a good college story tho other day, which I may ns well set down boro. Porter is an institution in Cam bridge. Ho is a person of varied accomplish ments, and keeps “ a house of call." None like him to brow boshop, or mingle a shady goff. Rut his chief d’ amvrc is flip. It is re ported among the students that Ganymede, when dying—it is all nonsense about Gany mede being immortal—ho left Jupiter’s ser vice, married Hebe, set up an inn with his savings, and died at a good old ago—it is re ported that-Ganymede, left Porter the recipe for making both nectar and ambrosia,-which recipe ho surreptitiously coped from Juno’s rceipo hook, and Porter, improving on the idea, conceived the happy thought of mingling both divine materials, and producing-an in effable beverage, something which should combine the elements of supernal drink—a harmony of solid and fluid, to which each -element should contribute its celestial flavors. He. carried dub the-idea. He mingled the ambrosia and nectar, and all Olympus turned-' pale with envy, for the result was flip.' . With such a classic origin it was not to ho Wondered nt that-under-graduates, who arc nptoi-ious for their love of mythological mat-, ters, should find themselves attracted to.. Porter’s and there refresh their reminiscenc es of Olympus with draughts of the divine beverage.- In fact, siieh was their devotion to this branch of classical study, .and so ’inspired did they frequently get—inspired even to the Pythonio pitch of being unintel ligible, in their speech, that the matter at tracted the attention of the President of the College : —a venerable gentleman of the period, whoso name I have forgotten. . Jloartless and ignorant persons, entirely misconceiving tho spirit in .which the under-graduates visited Porter’s reported to this worthy , person that tho sudents were in the habit of getting drunk every night bn flip. It must bo seen to. The President put on his most authorativo wig and sternest countenance and sallies out to. blow up the classic Porter, for leading his students astray. First of all, in order- to ’dpoak more decisively, that he will, taste this noxious beverage with his own lips. Then there can bo no mistake. With much .dignity, he enters Porter’s.. Ho interrogates Porter. ' , ■ ‘ A few,’ modestly replies Mr. Porter. ‘ They come here frequently, Mr. Porter?’ ‘They drop in now and then, sir.’ ‘ And they drink a beverage called flin, sir?’ ' . 4 Sometimes, sir.’ ‘They.:drink a great deal of it, Mr, Por-: ter?’ . ‘Well, sir; they do take considerable,’ “They get drunk on it, Mr. Porter?’ The discreet Porter remained silent. ‘ .Make mo tv—'a—Hip.* at length says the v.oncrablo President, still frowning and in dignant. Porter, whose sang f oul has never for a moment forsaken him, deploys all the resources of his art. Presently a superhuman flip, with an aro matic foam creaming over the edge of the goblet, is the result of this effort. He hands it respectfully, with some anxiety, to -the,Pre sident, on whose faob judicial thunder-clouds have been gathering. The President tastes it gloomy. Ho pauses, Another sip. The thunder-clouds have hot flashed forth any tightenings. Potter, resigned, awaits the outburst. The President gazes wonderfully at -his glass.- A general emollient exprosr Sion scorns to glide over his face, and smooths the frowning brow. Tim lips relax, and a smile seemed about ,to dawn. He lifts the glass once, more to bis lips, heaves a sigh, and puts it down. The glass is empty ! . 1 Mr. Porter,’ ho says, ‘the students get drunk on this, sir ?’ • Porter sees that the storm is passed, and boldly answers in the affirmative. ‘Sir,’ says the venerable man, walking gravely away, ‘ sir, I don't wonder at it.’ A Stupencous Work,— A wonderful plan has booh exhibited recently in Paris lor a railroad across the'Simplon pass. The. lino has been most .carefully surveyed for four months by Italian engineers, who have passed that time amongst eternal snows, and now exhibit their astonishing designs and declare tho work practicable at an elevation of three or four thousand feet above the sea. Tho estimated ; cost is seventy-two millions of francs. The object of course ; is to connect the Swiss Lino of Geneva end tho Valley ot the Phono with the Italian Cis Alpine lines. During four months, a band of en gineers and their assistants, numbering forty individuals, have traced tho line over moun •tain summits, across valleys! gorges,- and precipices, living all that time in temporary sheds, and carrying with them food, clothing,' and all tho necessaries of oxistanco into tho very heart of unexplored mountain forests. Out of about seventy miles of railroad thus laboriously laid down in these places, nearly twenty will he in tunnels and as many more in galleries, witli latent openings, having ar cades on oho side like those Of the Puo do Rival!. Tho appearance on tho. plans is wonderful and magnificent in the highest de gree, and appears tho ne plus ultra of tho daring of modern science, Tho execution is calculated to occupy five years, and when achieved will more than rival the famous tunnel now being perforated through Mount Con is. A Model Speech. — A Captain in an lowa regiment, having been informed. that his company had subscribed a handsome sum for the purpose of purchasing .and presenting him with ah elegant sash and sword, called his men together, and delivered himself of the following model speech : “ Boys, if you have any money to spare, send it homo to your families if they need it; if not, keep it until you need it yourselves.— I will buy my own .sword. Should you do it and should it como to disgraco in these hands, you could but regret the gift; or should I accept it from you, and some day find it my imperative duty to kick some one of the do nors out of this company,, it might bo un pleasant to think that I was under obliga tions to that person as a contributor to the ologaut sword fund. For these reasons I must firmly and kindly decline the favor which your loyal hearts prompt you to bestow Wait until the war is over; wait until the tide of battle shall have been stayed—till the raging billows of this accursed rebellion shall have boon rolled back; wait until I have proved myself worthy to receive so noble a gift —until you have shown yourselves by deeds of daring and feats of bravery worthy to be stow it upon me; then, perchance, I may bo happy fo accept, dt your hands, some last ing testimonial of your confidence and esteem. Till then wait, [From thu New Jersey Journal.] The End of Human Greatness. History abounds in startling incidents.— The novelist vainly attempts to rival the elo quent narrator of events that excited the ad miration or astonishment of nations. Histo ric annals furnish rich material for the tragic muse. The records of departed years are interspersed with- narratives that -alter nately thrill us with horror and incite us to pity. The coronation of Inez do Castro, which took place at midnight with extraordinary pomp, in oho of the majestic temples for which her land was justly famed,, is a fact more marvelous than romancer's pen ever indited. The spacious edifice wa's thronged with the brave and' beautiful. In’the principal nave was a stately throne, surmounted by a gor geous pavilion. Thecostly purplo that formed the lofty canopy, spread; its wave like, folds on the marble floor,, its dark shadows impar ting a funeral aspect to the brilliant-scene. Arrayed in robes that sparkled with jewels, her classio brow decorated with.a glittering diadem, Inez occupied the royal seat. While strains of triumphant music resounded along the hallowed arches, and the mighty boll tolled loudly in memory of a departed soul, princes and warriors pressed forward to touch her hand in token of their fealty. Alas 1 that fair hand was insensible to the pressure of affection .and respect. The pulse hud ceased its throbbing. The fingers that ip child hood’s, happy hour Oft toyed with a' mother’s ringlets, had: lost their elasticity.' The elo quent lips wore incapable of invoking bless ings. The bosom that but yesterday jespon- noble sentiments, no longer swelled with generous emotions. The heart that yearned for sympathy, and glowed with love’s | pure flame, had grown icy cold. No passion ate appeal, or pathetic entreaty, might ever arouse the tranquil .sleeper. Her immortal spirit, accompanied by angelic 1 -messengers, had passed .through the.portals of the skies, into a world ineffably glorious. Beside the marble form of his martyred queen, his lips, pallid as those Death had sealed with a kiss, stood Don Pedro scanning closely the bearing of all who drew near to do homage to his bride. . -A flood of light re vealed every feature of the lovely one, -whoso charms were fast giving, place to the pallor of the grave. The crown that had adorned lief brow sparkled brilliantly, though- the orbs it Shaded took no note of the thousands assembled to witness a ceremony so impres sive.- Though the countenance of the high born lady boro no, impress of suffering, and her repose seemed peaceful as that of rosy faced cherub on maternal bosom, a strange awe seized .upon all whoso duty.required that they should touch her„delicate lingers. He-’ ■roes who Were ever foremost in the perilous enterprise; and laughed. Death to scorn iri the field of strife, approached their deceased mis tress with fear. How. singular; that one amiable in life, should prove' terrible when the animating principle had taken its depart ure 1 . I 1 As the last of the immense concourse salu ted their newlyrcrowned queen, Don Pedro placed himself at the head of his nobles, and the music that pealed so grandly was suc ceeded by a plaintive air ns they bore the illustrious dead to.the chamber prepared for her long repose. As the mournful cortege I passed down tho widc-spred ■ aisle, the re- i quiem’s wailing notes the only sound that] broke the midnight’s silence, none appeared do little affected as tho iriiporious man that had insisted on regal honors being rendered | to his stricken consort. Neglected in life, her obsequies surpassed in pomp and circum stances any.of royal birth. A magnificent robe of faro workmanship, thickly, studded with precious stones, formed'hor shroud.— With.tho ring of state flashing radiantly on her tapering finger, and an exquisitely wrought diadem resting on .a brow' Sorcno as thooonn tennnee of a seraph, they tenderly laid her in a mausoleum, sculptured by skilful artist. At that moment the excellencies of tho.de part-ed forcibly recurred to Don Pedro, and he who failed to appreciate them-while she lived, honored her memory by bowing low his head above her sepulchre, while he sought to conceal his emotion by hiding his face in tho folds of his mantle. j. s. D Fen at Home. —Don't bo afraid of d little fun at home good people. Don’t shut , up your houseslest the sun should fade your Carpets ; and your hearts, lost a hearty laugh 'should shako down some of the old cobwebs there... If you want to ruin your sons, let them think that all mirth and-social enjoy ments must be loft on the threshold without when'-they come homo at.night, When once a homo is regarded a 8 only a place to eat, drink and sleep in, the work is begun that ends in gambling houses and reckloks degra dation Young people must have fun'and relaxation somewhere ; if they do,not find it at their own hearthstones, it will be sought at other, and perhaps, loss profitable places. Therefore, lot the fire burn brightly at night, and make the home-nest delightful with all those little,arts that parents so perfectly un-. derstand. Don’t repress the buoyant spirits of your children ; half an hour of merriment round the lamp and firelight of home blots out the remombradco of many a care and an noyance during the day, and the best safe guard they can take with them into the world is the unseen influence of a bright little do mestic circle. —Life Illustrated. A Novei. Dinner Party.— Tho New York Home Journal 'soys the latest bit of uptown - fashionable news is tlto exceeding sumptu ousness of two successful dinner parties, given to two betrothed ladies by a.wealthy' bachelor of their acquaintance, each party numbering about twenty persons, and the latter one in ’cluding General and Mrs. Modeling nmopg its guests. One very expensive and exquisite difference from ordinary parties consisted in the novel furnishing of the table. It was oval shaped, but a white cloth only circling its outer rim, the whole interior being an ex quisitely arranged parterre, filled with bas kets of the most costly and sumptuous flowers, sot in wet sawdust and moss, and the air be- ing thus laden with fragrance, while the din ner was handed round, in a dainty succession of choice dishes, according to the ,beautifully printed carte distributed to a]l. At the close of the dinner, each lady guest took (as a present from the host) one of these costly and superb baskets of flowers, which had ornamented the centre of the table—the bountiful burden of the banquet being thus burno away by the most admiring beholder. . Exactly Alike. —White men are to pay S3QO per head to set the niggers free, and then S3OO more to free themselves from the draft. Thus the' value of a white man and nigger is placed at the same figure ; only, the former has the privilege of paying for both.' —Allentown Democrat. ~ O” “Have you said your prayers. John?” “ No, ma’am—it aint my work. Bill says the prayers, and I the amens 1 We agreed to do it, because it comes shorter.” Origin of Things, “ The Star Spangled Banner.” Tho author of tliis national song was Frances J. Key. Esq., a native of Maryland, and the attend ing incidents are condensed from an extend ed narratively by his brother-in-law, the pre- Ch'ef Justice Taney : “ the song has become a national one, and will, I think, from its great merit, continue to bo so, especially in Maryland, and every thing that concerns its author, must be a matter of interest to his children and (3osccn dants. The scene ho describes, afiSjHhe warm spirit of patriotism which, breathes in the song, were not the offspring of mere fancy or poetic imagination. He describes what ho actually saw, and what he felt while witnessing the conflict, and when the battle was over and the victory won by his countrymen. Every word came warm from his heart, and it never-fails ■to find a response in tho hearts of those who listen to it. Dr. Beanos, tho author’s particular friend, was a prisoner on board the British ■fleet then lying at tho mouth of the Potomac. Mr. Key volunteered in endeavoring to pro cure his release, in which he was finally successful, but was detained on board until the attack on Baltimore,'.which was then about to be made, .was oyer. Tho bombard ment commenced, and during the night, tho author, with his two fellow-prisoners, paced, the dock in breathless anxiety, watching every shell from the moment it was fired un til it fell, listening to hear if an explosion fol lowed.. .'...... , “ AVhilo the bombardment continued it was sufficient proof that Port McHenry had not surrendered. But it suddenly ceased some time before day,; and as they had no communication ■ with any of the enemy’s ships, they did not knew whether the, fort had surrendered, or the attack upon it been abandoned. They watched intensely for the return of day, looking every few minutes, at their watches to see how long they must wait for it, and as soon as it dawned, their glass es were turned to tire fort, uncertain wheth er they should see there the stars and stripes or the flag of the enemy. At length the light came and they saw that our flag was. still there, and were informed, that the attack on Baltimore had failed, and that the enemy.was re-embarking. : “ He told me under, the. excitement of the time ho had written a song, and handed mo. a. copy of the ‘ Star Spangled Banner.’ Af ter expressing my admiration, I asked him how ho had found time in the scones he had been passing through to compose such a song. , Ilo.said he commenced it on the deck of tho vessel in tho fever of the moment, whoa lie saw the enemy hastily retreating.to their ships, and looked'nt the,flag he had watched for so anxiously as the morning opened.?’ Mr.,Taney concludes; “ I have made this. longer than I intended, but £ have 'felt;a melancholy pleasure in recalling events con-: neoted in any degree with tho life of, one with whom I waft so long and closely .united in friendship and affection, and whom I so much admired for his genius and loved for his many virtues, ... Tit for Tat J—ln a small town on the Sohuykill river there is a church in .which ' the singing bad run completely downl" . It had been led for many years by one of tho demons, whose voice and musical'pewor had been gradually failing. One evening the clergyman gave out the hymn, which'Was in metrical measures rath er harder than usual, and the deacon arb'sa and said: “ Brother B—■ —-will please repeat I .the hymn, ns ,1 can not conscientiously pray after such singing I" ... The deacon very composedly pitched it. to another tune, with a manifest improvement upon tho first effort, and the clergyman pro ceeded with his prayer. Having finished, ho took up a book to give the second hymn, when ho was interrupted by the. deacon gravely getting up and saying, in a voice au dible to the whole congregation! . “Will Mr. -please make afcibther prayer? It will bo impossible for me to sing after such praying ns that!” . Talking to Ciiildken. —The Superintend ent.of a Sunday School was questioning his pupils concerning the address made to them during the previous session. ‘ Children what did Mr. Phonny tell you this morning 1’ ‘ No. answer was made. ~ , ‘Can’t any of you tell me what was said? Susie, can’t you remcnibor ? Susie, a bright little one of seven years, arouse, and with one finger in her mouth, bashfully lipsed out:. ‘Plodthe, thir, ho talked and'lid talked, and ho thed ath how ho loved uth, and he, talked—and wo all thought he wath agoin to thay thumthiug, but he didn’t thay nothing ?’ ' , Impeachment op the President.—Ar rangements are being made, it is said, to im peach the President dt the next, session of Congress. Certainly no public officer ever deserved it more. If a majority of tbo llouso vote in favor of the impeachment,die ■ will then be tried by the Senate, the Chief Jus tice presiding, and a committee of the House conducting the prosecution. A two-thirds vote of the Senator's required to convict. I The Flax Seed Crop in Ohio.— The crop of flax seed last year in Ohio was unusually large—fully 20 per cent/greater than the previous year. Prices are high, but ns the contract system prevails to a great extent farmers do not reap the benefit. The crush ers furnish the seed to the growers on condi tion that they sell them the crop at one dol lar per bushel. 3fnE Power of Kindness.— Dow softly on tho bruised heart . A word of kindness falls, And from tho dry and parched soul The raoistoring tear-drop calls! 0, if they know, who walk tho earth ’Slid sorrow, grief and pain, Tho power a word of kindness hath, 'Xwcro pa radiso again ! OCT* Never did an Irishman utter n better bull than did an honest John, who being asked by a friend : ‘ lias your sister got son or a daughter?’ Ho answered'! —‘Upon my life, I do not know whether I am uncle or aunt 1’ UC7” “ Hans, what-is the matter?” “ Do sorrel wagon has run away mit do green horse, and broke deaxeltrooofde brick honso what stands by do lamp-post across de telegraph, and mine pipe ran off mit de gooseneck.” ■ A young lady in this borough is so re fined in her language, that she never uses the word “ blackguard," but substitutes “ Afri can Sentinel.” NO, 44
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers