]|| VOL. 5%. ? jmiCAN JOLUNTEER PUBLISHED EVERY THURSDAY KOUHIHO BY SJOHN U. BRATTON. ‘\EK M S : imscniPTiOM. —Two Dollars if paid within lh r: and Two Dollars and Fifty Cents, if not paid lun tho year. Those terms will bo rigidly nd jd to in 'every instance. No subscription dis- K*s®Sitinucd until all arrearages aro paid unless at option of tho Editor. vJ*'* f ‘siLAD viJRTi sen k NTS— 5 * Accompanied hy the cas it, rind 'fcxceoding one-square, will bo inserted three for $2.00, Mid twenty-five cents for each insertion. Thoao of a greater length in portion. . -Such ns Hand-bills, Posting-Dills iphlcts, Planks, Labels, <fcc. &0., executed with iracy and at tho shortest notice. I ■JWif&l. WHEN THE BOYS COME HOME 1 BY ELLEN LYNN. From mast and spiro tbo flag fling oiit From gladdened hearts send up a shout, •And words of welcome clamor out, When. u the boys” come homo. L:SI ii li6t drum and trumpet beat and swell, As passing banners—shot, torn—tell 'Of battles bravo fought and well, Ere tho boys came homo. Train eye and car that sceno to moot. As watching earnestly tho, street, At last.you soo-tho way-worn fjet •Bringing'soldicts homo. How eagerly tho men will staro "On faces round them everywhere; Mothers and wives, bo surely there, When tho boys oomohomo, ‘Then, if tho visage, sadder grown, ‘Shall-tell of wounds, or fo\rer moafl, Of bivouac, and ward, alone, Slnco the boy left homo ; Ttcep down the tears, press down the sighs, But softly pray to God on high That now, so soon, ho may not die, Just as ho comos homo. But if ho wears health’s ruddy huo, Tf tried, ho si ill is staunch and truo ’To God, his-country, and to you, -{Shout-a welcome homo. If ho bus erred and shunned tho tight, Or groping stumbled in tho night, Point him to One who can guide right, . Till tho boys get homo. Hfefrilanwmfl. PARSON DOVE’S STORI. She was a very beautiful girl. I think I never saw such a lovely creature in my lile, though I know that we ate very apt to bo misled by our imaginations, and that the eye makes its own beauty. But no one ■cupld have thought her anything but pretty, standing by tho garden gate with her apron .full of wild-flowers, and her curls, lifted by tho wind, dancing around her 1 forehead liko a swarm of golden bees. “My daughter, Hose,” said her father, and she put her litttlo white hand into' mine as a child might have done, just as simply .and prettily, so that it’was very hard for me to shake it and lot it go instead of keep ing it. But there was somebody else to shake hands also, and he, standing on the other side of Deacon Olmstead, put on his long, lank fingers, in black silk gloves, and per formed the ceremony which ho always went through with when any offered to shako hands with him, and which could nBt have been agreeable to anything except tho village pump. “ Sir. Bittorworth, said Deacon Olmstead, waving his hand toward my companion with impressment, “ Mr. Dove,” and he glanced at mo. IV ho should say he is of no im portance 1 “Is tea ready, my dear t” She replied that tea was ready, and we went into the old-fashioned‘house, for wo were going to take tea with Deacon Olmstead, and, moreover, to spend the night beneath his roof, having come to W on ohnroh business, Deacon Olmstead always making a point of entertainiugltwo young ministers on •ueh occasions. im 1 Tho Rev. Benjamin Bitterworth was much Older than I, and much more important in every way. I had been lately called to a struggling little church, exceedingly unfor tunate in tho way of difficulties and debts, where the congregation seldom paid any sal ary, and always - considered themselves ill used by the minister/who, in turn, was. fiomohow always injured by a parsonage call ed Elder Bagshaw, and somebody was al ways accused of misappropriating the church funds. I never could discover what they were. And tho Rev. Silas Snow, having ta ken French leave in great disgust, the con gregation had called for an enterprising young minister, and I had been selected- But fur Benjamin Bitterworth a warm nest had been ready, and every one had predic ted him immense success. His was a country church also, hut it was a rich one, and ha had friends and influence and everything which I had not. Deacon Ohnstead showed that he know this by every glance of his eye and every tone of his voice. , But Hose Olrastead, who—her father be ing a minister—was mistress of the house, bxtuhited no partiality. On the contrary, I think she liked me best; and though Beuja toin Bitterworth, Jong and lank, leaned heroes the table to talk to her in his oily tones over and over again, somehow she al ways, returned to our old conversation as of ten ns she could, and made mo very happy With her girlish.prattle. She know the village which had been my boyhood's home, and had seen and spoken to a sister of mine, dead years before; so we found many subjects in common. But even had wo had none—had we spoken in differ ent language, unintelligible to each other—l am euro that to have sat beside Bose Olm stead, with her eyes looking into mine—not boldly, onlyfrankly—would'have been worth the most eloquent words that over fell from any other wopian’s lips. ft was a very happy evening; for after wards, in the gleaming, wo went out upon the porch, and she took me down to see tly) roses in the garden and the honeysuckle ar oor over the little seat where she set every fhV n £ 0a at w °rk, and we stayed so long V Deacon Glmstead came down after us ~ u scolded Rose for wetting her feat with ... .a dew r ond had eomothingof great moment to soy to rao, so that Benjamin Bitterworth offered hia arm to Rose to escort her through thegarden, while i walked behind -frith her father, AVWwent back to the porch after that and into the parlor, and soon there wore family, prayers and a genial good-night. But it be ing a bright summer evening, with all the windows opdn, I, sitting at mine, and looking at the moon, heard some one singing, and knew that, of all that household, it could on ly be Roso. It was a sad song and a sweet one—a farewell, a plaintive fail in it that was very touching 1 and I knelt beaifli my window, and with my head upon my hand shed tears, thinking what if I were that de parting lover, and Rose Olmstead sung that farewell Song to me. Do wo never uncon sciously reach the future? Sometimes I think so. . As we walked away to take tho stage the next morning, Benjamin Bitterworth wore n queer smile, upon his face, and rubbed his long black gloves as though something pleas ed him mightily. At last ho said to me in his oily tones, with-a-peculiar., affection of accent which-it had pleased him to adopt: “ -Brother Dove, I want to ask your opin ion on an important subject." This, was odd. My opinion had never been considered of any importance before, but I bowed my head and waited. “ Do you believe, brother Dovo, that Rosa Olmstoad would make a good clergyman’s wife 7” That was tho question. My cheek flushed scarlet. My heart boat loudly, but I turned toward Benjamin and looked him full in the face. “ I know she would make a good wife for any man who might bo fortunate enough to_ win her lovo.” 1 answered. “ Lovo 1” Benjamin Bitterworth elotrsted hie eyebrows. “We wore not speaking of love, I believe,” he said, “ hut ot fitness.— We should put tho vanities of this carnal world Out of the question when ice look for wives, brother Dovo." “ I believe that she would be admirably fitted fur the position,” he said, “ and I in tend to act upon the belief. I have been re solved to marry'for several years, and Deacon Dims toad’s daughter appears to have excel lent qualities—l shall offer her my hand." “ Perhaps she will not accept." I said it angrily. My voice was not Under my oontrol at that moment. Benjamin Bit terwerth understood mo—l saw that in his cold, black eye. But ho answered without emotion— “ Her father would decide that, I think. He is a man of judgment, and s/ic is an obe dient daughter.” ■“ Perhaps she might choose for hersolf,” I answered. “ Perhaps,” said Benjamin, “ but I think she has been brought up well.” “ You may have rivals,” I continued. “It is not consistent with my cloth to he any man’s rival," replied Benjamin. “ What I Jo, brother Dove, I do from a senso of du ty.” IV o said no more, but went on toward tho stage, ho treading softly along the-road on the tips of his polished boots, his thin lips sanctimoniously'pressed together, his black gloved hands folded behind his back, while I, warm and angry, put a strong restraint upon myself to walk beside hint decorously. After this day we met only under Deacon Olmstead’a roof, but wo mot there often. I went thither to see Rose, X mado.no dis guise of tho fact. lie. Benjamin Bitterworth, sat aloof, talking to her father, as a general thing, and then only, as it seemod, to prove his power. In whatever he did in this way, ho was aided and abetted by old Deacon Olmstoad. I could see that plainly. But I saw also that Rose began to like me very much. In that I trusted, lor, though a stern parent, Deacon Olmstoad seora.ed to love his daughter. Summer faded, and. the roses in my dar ling’s, garden died, with it. At last I spoke to her, saying something like this: “I lovo you, Rose—l think I lovo you more than man ever loved woman. Can you lovo me wollenough to he my wife 7” And the golden quids sunk low upon my shoulder, and I gathered my darling up against my heart. We were in tho garden then, beside a great elm, older than the old house itself, and sheltered by it, we stood to- : gether, I supporting hor ; sho leaning on my breast; and we saw nothing save each oth er’s voices; and I took the little hand in mine, and slipped a tiny ring upon tho taper finger—one that had been rny mother’s be trothal ring, and which upon hor death bed, she had given me, bidding me to give it to tho girl I loved upon tho day she promised to marry me. And so the sun went down,-and the elm tree’s shadow lay long and dark across the path, and mingled with it, fell another shad ow—that of rose Olmstead’s father. lie came upon us suddenly,' and found us stand ing together. Rose would have shrunk from me but I would not let' her go. “ She' has promised to be my wife, sir” I said. “ Give us your blessing. It is all we need to make us happy. You will give her to mo, -will you not ? X lovo Aar vary dour ly " The deacon’s face was like a stone. I could not read its import; hut he drew his daughter toward him and stood between us. “You have done wrong, Mr. DoVe,” he said, “ very wrong. She is young, and has but little judgment, I will speak to her alone. I should have spoken to hor tefore, hut I thought one of your profession could be trusted. Good evening. Como, Rose." And ho passed into tho house, taking her with him ; and as I left the garden, I saw Benjamin Bitterworth, with his stately steps and folded hands, making his way along the road. The next day a boy come to my study With a note. It was from Deacon Olmstead, end summoned me to his dwelling. I went at once, and in the parlor found Rase, pale as a lilly, sitting beside her father. She looked at me as I came in, for one moment, and then turned her face aside, and hid it with her hands. Her father spoke to her. “Wore you older, JMr. Dove, I might be harsher, but I regard you both as very inno cent and vory inexperienced. Had I known this baby-play of courtship was going on, i.t should bare been stopped before. It is not too late now. Rose sees her folly. She has resolved to obey me. Surge trifle of yours— a ring, I believe—she will return to you, and then you will part. Rose.” She left her seat ns ho turned toward her, and, crossing the room, calmly and sadly laid the little betrothal ring on my hand. “Good-bye,” she said ; “ I must obey papa. It isjall over between us. Oood-byo, wil liam.” But I could not bo so calm. I caught her hand, and turned toward the stern old man with his iron face. “ Do you remember your own youth ?” I cried. “ Do you know what you are doing.” And he answered, “ My duty, I hope. I shall endeavor to Moure the best interests of "OUR COUNTRY—MAY IT ALWAYS BE RIGHT—BUT RIGHT OR WRONG OUR COUNTRY." my daughter. You’ll cease to urge the point when you hear that she is to marry the Rov. Dr. Benjamin Bitterworth a week from next Sunday.” “Marry him 1” I cried. ‘ Rose, have you consented to this? Are you false to mo ? IlaVo you—” He checked me with a solemn wato of his hand. “ You have done your best to fill my daughter's head with folly,” ho said, ".bet you have not suocecdad. She has chosen Tor her protector one of mature judgement, and I am glad of it.” “ Hose.” I cried, •* is this true ? Have you, of your own will ohospn him 1” “ My father has commanded mo,” was the answer, “end I must obey.” I turned from her, and fled from the room and the house, mad and blind with grief and indignation. “ She is not what I thought her," I said. “ She has been won by gold. My poverty has lost her to me.” Yet I loved her still and the World seethed dark and desolate. I had-wild thoughts of wandering away and hiding myself from the eye Of mortal man, and was thankful that excitement made mo really so ill that on the Sunday of the wedding, I had ample excuse for deserting my pulpit, and, having procur ed a substitute, spending the day in my own room. This at least was my intention, hut, as th’e hours crept on an inlluonco which I found it impossible to resist, urged me to leave the house and go across the fields, and through the village to the church were Rose was to be married, and witness the ceremo ny. I think I was feverish, almost delirious. Surely, a wise judgment would have led me to any other spot in the universe. But I wont. It was a winter day and the snow lay thickly on the country path I trod. It whit ened the roofs and clung to tho tall spire, from which tho bell rang clear and sharp upon the frosty air. I listened to . it.— “ Surely,” I said, “ some awkward hand is at the rope. It is more like the peal tolled for the dead than that rung for a merry wed ding.” But this might have been my fancy, for everything looked dark to me that day. I know this was so, for ns I sat in a sheltered spot on tho gallery looking down, those who came in seemed to wear sad countenances and to exchange mournful whispers, yet still the thought that'it was more like a funeral than a wedding would creep across my mind. “ And so it is,” I thought, “ the' funeral of my brightest hopes—of every mournful dream which I have cherished.” Then there was a whisper—a stir. The bride was coming. I should see her again. Could I boar it? I strained my eyes. lIoW slowly they came—how gravely 'beads were bent; and they wore dressed in black, every one of them. Was I going mad ? I saw old Deacon Olmstead—l saw Benjamin Bitter worth. And what‘was this? 0, merciful Heaven ! the bride was coming not in bridal wreatli and veil, blushing and beautiful, but cold white as marble, lying beneath that sa ble pall, motionless, sightless, dead to words of earthly loyo forever more, JRose Olmstead was dead. They who lifted me from the floor whore I had fallen, told mo that she had died tho night before ; that sho had been failing.for the last few days, and that on that night sho had risen and knelt down to pray, it was be lieved, for they found her kneeling with her face upon her hands, quite dead. “ Her heart is broken,” tho doctors said, and I be lieved them. I was vory ill after this—-so ill that they thought I must die. But death choose those who were happier, and left me; and I dwell now in the same old place, where X can sit beside my darling’s grave, in the twilight of the Sabbath eve ; an old man weary with the weight of yearS. Yet I shall bo young again sometime —young and happy in Heaven with my lost one. O’The way in .which words are often, di vided, when set to music, sometimes produ ces a rather ludicrous effect. “A stranger was once surprised on hearing a congrega tion, mostly of women, cry out: O'for a man 1 ' 0 for a man II O for a man—sion in the shies 11 I While bn another occasion n choir sang out to the best of their ability : Wo’ll catch the flea 1 Wb’ll' catch the flea 1 I Wo’ll catch the flee—ting hours 111 It is hoped no body was bitten. lE7” “ Julius, can you toll me how Adam got out of Eden ?” Weol.l ’spose he climbed ober do fence.” “ No, dat ain’t ififc'. “ Well, den he borrowed a wheel-barrow and walked out.” “No.” ' *“I gum it up den.” “ Ho got snaked out.” JJSf Acute Yankee, in Kansas, sells liq uor in a gun-barrel instead of- a glass, that ho may avoid tho - law, and make it appear beyond dispute than he ia selling liquor by the barrel. Of course the cute Yankee’s cus tomers are liable to go off half cocked. OCT’ “ Doctor,” said a person onoo to a sur geon, “my daughter had a terrible fit this morning; sho continued half an hour with out knowledge or understanding.” “0," replied the doctor, “never mind that; many people, continue so all thoir lives.” 03 s A fellow Who took the mantilla from the boudoir of n pretty girl in Fifth Avenue, justifies himself on the ground that “ it is no harm to steal from a thief;” as the owner of the mantilla has stolen the hearts of some forty or fifty old bachelors. (C 7” As people usually sprinkle the floors before they sweep them, says an old bache lor, so some ladies sprinkle their husbands with fears in order that they may sweep the cash out of their pockets. O’ One of the Western editors speaking of a large and fat doteuiporary, remarked that if all flesh was grass, ho must be a load of hay. “ I expect X am,” said the fat man, “ from the Way the asses arc nibbling at me.” DCT “ Now mind you,” whispered a ser vant girl to her neighbor, “ I don’t say ns how missus drinks; but, between you and me, the decanter dont’t keep full all day.” DC?* A Memphis paper heads its list of di vorce cases in court, “ Miitrimonail ship wrecks.” ■ Bgy-It is safe to loam, even from our en'emios but seldom safe to instruct our friends.' CARLISLE, PA., THURSDAY, JUNE 29, 1865. WHY I RAN AWAY. Donald Lean and myself wore good friends at fourteen yenra of age, and wo both regar ded with little more than friendship pretty Helen Graham, our oldest girl at school.— 'We romped nnd danced together, and this lasted for such a length of time that it is with feelings of • bewilderment that I look' back upon the mystery of the two lovers con tinuing friends. Bat the time was to obnio when jealousy lit the spark in my bosom, and blow it into a consuming (lame. Well do I remember how and when the green-eyed monster perpetrated this incen diary deed. It was on a cold October eve ning, when Helen, Donald and myself were returning with onr parents form a neighbor ing hamlet. As wo approached a- ford, whore the water ran somewhat higher than ankle deep, we prepared to carry Helen across, as wo were accustomed to, with hands intorWo'ven “ chair fashion,” and thus wo carried our pretty passenger over the brook. Just ns wo were in the middle of the wa ter,-(which was cold enough to haVe frozen anything like fooling out of boys less hardy than ourselves,) a faint pang of jealousy nipped my heart. Why it was I know not, for wo had carried Helen across the brook ore now without emotion, but this evening I thought or fancied that Helen give Donald an undue preference by casting her arm around his neck, while she steadied herself on my side by holding the cuff of my jacket. No flame can burn so quick or with so lit tle fuel as jealousy. Before wo had- reached the opposite bank I had wished Donald at the bottom of the sea. Being naturally im petuous I burst out with— “ You need na baud sao gingerly, Helen, ns if ye feared a fa’. I can carry ye lighter than Donald can carry o’ yo.” Surprised at the vehemence of my tone, our queen Intefoosed with an admission that wo were both strong, and that she had no idea of sparing my power. But Donald’s fire was kindled, and ho utterly denied that I was at all'qualified to compete with him in feats of physical courage. On such topies boys are generally emulous, and by the time we reached the opposite bank it was settled that the point should bo determined by our sing ly bearing Helen across the ford in our arms. Helen was to determine who carried her moat easily, and I settled with myself pri vately in advance that the one who obtained the preference would really be the person who stood hightest in her affections. The reliction stimulated me to exert every effort, and I verily believe to this day that I could have carried Donald and Helen on either arm like feathers. But I must not antici pate. We suffered the rest of the party to pass quietly along, and then returned to Helen. With the utmost care I carried her like an infant to tho middle of the water. •tTcalousy had inspired a warmer love, and it was with feelings unknown before that I embraced her beautiful form, and felt the pressure of her cheek against mine. All went swimmingly, or rather wadingly, for a minute But alas 1 in tho very deepest part, of the ford I trod on a treacherous bit of wood which rested, I sup pose, on a smooth stone. Over I rolled, bearing Helen with mo, nor did wo rise till fairly soaked from head to foot. I need not describe the taunts of Donald, or the accusing silence of Helen. Both be lieved that I had fallen from mere weakness —and ray rival demonstrated his superior ability, bearing her in his arms a long dis tance on our homeward path. As we ap proached her homo,* Helen, feeling dry and better humored, attempted to reconcile mo. But I preserved a moody silence, I was mor tified beyond redress. That night I packed up a few things and ran away. mind, sensitive and irritated, exaggerated the negation which.it had received, and prompted me to better re sults than generally attend such irregulari ties. 1 went to Edinburg, where I found an uncle, a kind-hearted, childless, man, who gladly gave mo a place in 'nia house, and employed mein his business. Wealth flowed in upon him. I became his partner —went abroad—resided four years on tho continent, and finally returned to Scotland rich* educa ted, and in short, everything but married. One evening, while at a ball in QUsgoy, my attention was taken by a lady of unpre tending appearance, bub whose remarkable beauty and high-toned expression indicated a mind of extraordinary power. I was in troduced, but Scottish names had long been unfamiliar to my ear, and I could not catch hgrs. It was Ilelon something ; and there was-something in tho face, too, that seemed familiar—something suggestive of plensurb and pain, • , ■ We became well acquainted that evening. I learned without difhculty her history.— She was from tho country, had been well ed ucated, her parents had*!osb their property, and she was acting as governess in a family of tho city. I was fascinated with *her conversation, and was continually reminded by her grace and refinement of manner that she was capa ble of moving with distinguished success in a far higher sphere than that which fortune had allotted her., I was naturally not talkative, nor prone to confidence; but there was that in this young lady which, inspired both, and I conversed with her ns 1 had never conversed with any lady. Her questions about thovarious coun tries with which 1 was familiar indicated a remarkable knowledge of literature, and she possessed a largo store of useful informa tion. We progressed in intimacy, and riS oaf conversation turned upon the causes which induced so many to leave their native land, I laughingly remarked that I owned my ern travels to falling with a pretty girl while crossing a ford. I had hardly spoken those words ore the blood mounted to her face, and was succeed ed by a remarkable paleness. I attributed it to the heat of the room, laughed, and, at her request proceeded to relate my ford'Tid venture with Helen Graham, painting in glowing colors the amiability of my early love. Her mirth during the reoital became irre pressible. . At the conclusion she remarked : “ Mr. Iloborts, is it possible that yon have forgotten me ?” . . I gazed an instant, remembered and was dumbfounded. The lady with whom [ had thus become acquainted was Helen Graham herself.. I hate, find so do you, reader, to heedless ly prolong a" story. Wo were soon married, arid Helen and I made our bridal tour to the old place. As wo approached it in our car riage, I greeted a stout fellow working in a field, who seemed to ho a bettor sort laborer, or perhaps a small farmer, by inquiring some particulars relating to the neighbor hood. Ho gnsworod mo well enough, rind I was about to give him a sixpence, when Hel on stayed my hand, and cried out, in the old Stylot “ Iley, Donald, man, dinna yo hen your old freons I" The man looked up in astonishment. It was Donald Lean. His amazement at our appearance was heightened by its stylo ; and it was with the greatest difficulty that wo could induce him to enter our carriage, and answer our numerous inquiries ns to our friends. > Different men start in &je in different ways. I believe that mine, however, is the only, instance on record of a gentleman who owes wealth and happiness to rolling over with a pretty girl in a stream of water. CAUGHT IN MY OWN TRAP. Dora and T had been silent full fifteen min utes —an unusual occurrence for us—whoa she suddenly broke out in one of her gayest, sweetest peals of laughter. Tho-cars were going at the rate of forty miles an hour, but Dora’a laugh rang out above all their noise and conlusion. ‘ What is it Dora, you witch you ?’ I said, half piqued that she had not at first told mo what pleased her, and laughed afterwards. ‘ Nothing Nell, only I'was just thinking of something funny. Do you see that gentle man just in front of us, with the beautiful black whiskers and dreamy brown eyes ? Well, hs's been watching you bchihd that book for the last half hour, looking as if be should love to take a bite of the red roses on Your cheeks. Don't blush for ho is in love with you, I'll bet my gold thimble on it. I ’was jubt thinking of some of tho stories I have read about young ladies mistaking handsome young fellows for their brothers, etc., and thought what fun it would bo if you could only manage to mistake that gentleman fur your brother Fred.' I was ready for fun in a moment. ‘Tell you what I’ll do," I broke out eager ly. ‘ You know I haven’t seen Fred since I went to school, three years ago; and of course he's changed a great deal‘since then. Well, if that literary gentleman with the brown eyes (ho is handsome isn't ho, Dora?) should get off afour station, I'll wait till lie gets mixed up with tho crowd, see him sud denly, us for tho first time, rush up to him in a flutter of delight, call him brother Fred, and give him such a kissing as he hasn’t had since ho saw his sweetheart last/ * Yes, I would if I were you,' said Dora, sarcastically. ‘ You daren’t, you know.' ‘Don’t! dare too, though? Wait and soo.' And so I dropped back into the cushion m silence till tho train stopped at our station. Dora gave me a wicked look, and whisper ed that she know my courage would fail mo for tho gentleman was really getting off. I was not to bo triumphed over, though ; and so, as we stepped out on the platform,! the literary gentleman standing amidst the crowd, and with a little bound, throw myself into his arms, aud kissed him full in the mouth, hysterically saying: * Fred, my dear brother, how do you do?’ I caught a glimpse of Dora—she was in danger of going into convulsions. I expect ed to hear the stranger say confusedly, that there was some mistake; but to my surprise he gave mo a hearty embrace—kissed mo two or three times—said that he was well— that I had grown a great deal; and inquired for my little friend Dora—who, all this time, was exciting tho sympathies of the crowd, as they supposed she was insane, judging from her frantic laughter* ‘ Father and mother arc expecting you, Nellie, and are so impatient they can scarce ly waif to see you. I was afraid you would not know me, but I am really glad that my image has been treasured up so carefully in my sister’s heart.' I was bewildered beyond measure. It re ally was Fred, then, and I had not known him. I felt slightly ridiculous, and while in troducing Dora 10 my brother, whispered to her to keep quiet in reference to my intended trick.. I was too much confused to think of inquiring hoVv h 3 came to be in the cars with out seeing me ; so wo nil wont to tho car riage which was waiting for us, and rapidly drove home. I had never known Fred to bo so affection ate. Ho' held my hand at unnecessary inter vals ; but to tell the truth, I had never loved him half so well before —never thought him half so handsome. Wo reached tho gate. Mother kissed me and cried over mo all at once ; father repeat ed it 5 and finally a frank hearty voice broke out with t ‘ Hallo,-sis 1 aren't you a going to notice your scapegrace nf a brother, at all V * And to my astonishment, a handsome fel low, I bad not yet scon, gave us a genuine Inig, and a kiss that you could have heard across the yard. # * There is some mistake/ I murmured, * arc you ray brother Fred?’ I thought that gentleman/ pointing at the haadaomo'fellow I had embraced at the depot. 4 Why sis are you going crazy ? Of course Fra your brother, and that fellow there is, ray college chum, Archie Winters, who wont half way up the line to moot you. What are you blushing at Nell? There wasn’t any thing nrong in it; was there? I didn’t have time to go, and let him take your picture with him, ’so that he would bo sure and'knowyou. lie’s been playing off some of his mad pranks; and passing himself off fur me, I’ll warrant/ I looked at Archie Winters beseechingly j and as they were all going into the house I wlnspered to him : • For pity’s sake do not speak of that mis take. How could it have happened V^ 4 I overheard you in the cars, and will pro mise to keep your eocict only On one condi tion/* ( ~ j He whispered something to nio thn£ made niy face flush scarlet ; but I was at his mercy, and said I would think of it, reader; and to the delight of the whole family—ora and Fred in particular, Archie and I were mar ried in leas than two months,. And Dora said to mo, as 1 bado her good-bye, that it would give unspeakable delight to Fred and herself if I would attend their wedding in a month, and I did. Cornered.— Covetous people often seek to shelter themselves behind the widow’s mite, and to give a paltry sura to benevolent ob jects under cover of their contribution. The following incident Inis a moral for rill such : JL gentleman called upon a wealthy friend for a contribution. “ Yes, I must give you my mlto,” said the rich man. “.You mean the widow’s mite, I suppose,” replied the other. “ To bo sure, I do.” The gentleman continued—“ I will ho sat isfied with halt as much as sho gave. How much- are you worth !” , , “ Severity thousand dollars,” ho answered. Give me a check, then, for thirty-five thousand, that,will be just half as much as the widow gave, for sho gave all sho had.” It was a now idea to the wealthy mer chant., HORRIBLE AFFAIR. Lynching of a Guerrilla in Illinois—Hit Con fession—Scene at the Gallows, etc. [From tbo Quincy (111.) Iloruld, Juuo 3rd.] About half past ton o'clock on tho night of Wednesday a largo crowd, numbering about live hundred citiaons and soldiers, congrega ted at tho Court House, tilling the jail yard, the passage in the Court House and the street in front, it is proper that we state that a majority of tho crowd were drawn thither through curiosity. Those interested in tho niob—for such it was—wore very violent in their actions, and demanded tho keys of the jail hi terms that indicated that an excite ment wns up, which, under tho circumstan ces, could not bo satistied without a taste of human blood, Tho sheriff, .although-some what frightened, refused to deliver tho keys. Some parties scaled tho high fence winch protects tho entries to thejad yard, and by means of billets of wood and hammers forced an entrance, seized tho body of tho wounded and dying bushwhacker, and innnediatoly dragged him in the street, amid tho vocifer ous cries of Hang him,’- ‘-Shoothim,”-&o. The miserable man, bleeding from tho wounds received in his breast and abdomen but a few hours previous, was forced hurriedly along Fifth street to Hampshire, from thence to Sev enth to Broadway, from thence out to tho prai rie oast’of town to a grove of timber, a dis tance of about a mile. Arriving .therein cir cle 'was formed and tho wounded bushwhack er placed in the centre. Too weak to stand, ho laid down on his right side or hips and rested upon hiaolbow. This was the first wo saw of him. After grasping for breath, tho wounded guerrilla, well aware of tho near ap proach of his cud; in a clear audible voice asked his executioners to lind some one to pray fur him. Tho question was asked by one of tho men, a soldier : ‘ls there any one hero that will pray for this njau V A Gor man catered the ring and tendered his ser vices. On his appearance, Koso got upon his knees reverntly, and tho minister of the Gos pel began administering to tho spiritual wel fare ot tho poor wretch, Tho ‘preacher said ho indorsed tho action of the mob, that tho man deserved death, and that it was right that ho should die and prayed that God might bo merciful to him. After finishing his pray er, if it could bo called such, wo gained ad mission to tho ring, and seated ourselves by the wounded man for tho purpose of eliciting such information relative to his past life as would bo interesting to our readers, and also assist in Implicating tho remaining portion of tho thioving company. As wo sat by him wo had good opportunity of Booing tho man, and wo particularly noticed his words, actions, aYid oven tho working of the muscles of his face. Knowing that a great many stories would bo circulated about tho affair, we wore determined to givo in every way a true one. IN THE RING. The circle formed by tho mob and tho idle curious was on an inclined plane, the fall ex tending northward, at tho base of which tho gallows was erected— i, c., a rope had been thrown over thodimbofa Jargo'treo, the bran ches of which covered the crowd, and extend ing over an area of about twelve hundred square feet, and was about sixty feet in cir cumference; estimating from those figures wo thought there were about throe hundred per sons present. Tho prisoner was in a reclin ing position upon the ground, and V roaeu tcd a spectacle of pain and abject misery. As the glimmer of four or five lighted camllos, minglcd with dusky moonbeams, shed-their glaring and sicklylight upon tho prisoner, wo confess that we felt a little strange, and had wo not been present would have been gratified. Ilia head was bare, and his hair in wild disorder, inclining naturally to curl, and being full of dust, looked anything but pleasant. The following re all we could ob tain from him, which was'given with pain and labor, the prisoner stopping frequently to gasp for breath: “ I live in Troy, in Lincoln county, Mis souri ; have a wife and three children living there now. In 1800 I vuto.i for Stephen, A. Djuglas for President, and fur John H. Hen derson for tho convention. About this time I got into a personal.difficulty with a man by the name of CrcoJ, and through his influence was arrested by tho militia and placed in prison, where I stayed a long while. My bouse was burned by the militia in August last, and I found I could not stay at homo, so I went to Arkansas, and was commissioned by Kirby Smith as Captian in tho Confeder ate array." lie did not state when ho came back or. what ho came for. The confusion was so groat that wo could not get him to say. He .acknowledged that ho commanded the squad that robbed Fowler, and said that they had contemplated marching on Canton on tho night of Thursday, but was only going after guns. Ho designed going South. His com mission as captain dated from August last. lie endeavored to exonerate the boys now under arrest; also the man Riley. lie said ho know nothing about him or his eonipatiy, as ho told Riley when ho wont to his (Riley’s) house, that ho (Rose) wanted to board a low days. lie said that ho had come to the con clusion to quit raiding and had so declared himself to the boys. Tito names of the re maining numbers as yet at largo are Harry Snead and Jo. Bradburn. Roso frequently spoke of his wife and children, and regretted 'very much that ho could riot boo them. The crowd were so eager to hang hint that wo could gain no more, and being invited to leave the ring, wo complied with as much rapidity as possible. THE GALLOWS. After the ring was cleared, a rush was made for the prisoner and he was dragged to the plaoe of execution—the tree. Ho did nob display the weaknesOof a coward on such an occasion, bub seemed to nerve himself for the worst. There was nothing unusual about his appearance, more than a bright and.lua* trous eye. Ho was placed upon some boxes, prepared as a platform, with his hands pin ioned behind him. Before the rone was pla ced around his neok he fainted and foil groan ing backwards to the earth; Considerable confusion resulted from this, and cries from the crowd word voooiforously sounded, “ Tie him whore ha lies,” “ Hurry Jiim up.” Rose was again placed upon the stand growing weaker every minute. Just before the hand kerchief was placed around his eyes he ask ed to bo shot, again spoke of his wife and chil dren. The noose was adjusted and the box es kicked over and Rose was left dangling in the' air. He struggled but little. Wo thought bis neck was broken by the fall— The execution took place five minutes after twelve. Rose was a well-built man, very muscular, about five feet five or six inches in height, and twenty-coven years of age.— Whilst hanging some of the participants in the execution took hold of the body and start ed to swing it to and fro ; others uttered bru tal jests, “Is he fat?” “He’ll make good sausage,” tt nd otbeti too obscene to print.- Tho winding up was a warning given by Homo ono m tho crowd to “ copperheads and rebels," to which oheors wore given. This” is, without embellishment as.plain and sim ple as wo can make it a true account of the affair as it happened. EXCITEMENT ON THURSO VT. Wo wore in hopes that tho excitement of Wednesday night would bo eulßoiont to sat isfy tlio infuriated mob ; but our hopoe were vain. Tho god of light had not much mora , than raised his golden head above tho eastern horizon ore squads of toon began assembling on tho street corners, and thoir gestures, lan guage and every action plainly showed that a storm was brewing, that tho evil nature of man had taken hold of tho parties, and nn .othor outbreak might bo expected, renewing tho horrors of tho past night. At twelve tho crowd, about fivo hundred in number had. surrounded the Court House, and many were clamorous for tho prisoners in tho jail.—• Throats wero mndo which cuusod tho Sheriff to become somewhat solicitous fur his own personal welfare and safety. Ho, however, . refused to give up tho keys.’ During tlfo ex citement Gen. Prentiss, lion. I." N. Morris and other citizens attempted to address tho crowd, and, if possible, allay the excitement,' which, had reached a very frenzied-state, but without much avail, as many of tho crowd wore so worked up as to wish to hang Gene ral Prentiss. Tho General, however, wns" not intimidated, as his breast had boon bared to tho lire of a hot tile foe on several hard fought battle-fields, and ho persisted in hav ing .peace and quiot, and nobly urged tho crowd to disperse. Through a pieoe of good management tho prisoners were turned over to tho Provost Marshal who, with a squad of four or fivo men kept tho mob at bay. A telegram was despatched to Springfield for help, and company B of the 144th regiment was despatched and arrived in tho morning. Tho streets were full of excited men during tho entire day, but no very great demonstra tions were made. Wo presume the bristling of four or fivo bayonets in the bands of deter mined men looked rather formidable—too much so to run against. General Prentiss, lion. I. N. Morris, Lieutenant Cooper, and other citizens of prominence and soldiers of rank, deserve the greatest credit for thoir ef forts to put down the riot and restore order. A Word lo Young Ladies. Wo wish to say a word to’young ladies, about your influence dvor ydurig men. Did you ever think of it ? Did you oyer realize that you could have an influence*at all over them ? Wo believe that a young lady by her con stant, consistent, Christian example, may exert an untold power. , •, You do not know what respect, almost wor ship youbg men, no matter how wicked they may bo themselves, pay to a consistent lady, bo she young or old. A gentleman once said to a lady whoLoar ded in the same house with him, that her life was a constant proof ot tho Christian reli gion. . Often tho simple request of a lady will keep a young man from doing wrong. Wd have known this to bo the case very frequent ly and young men have been kept from breaking the Sabbath, from drinking, front swearing, just because a lady whom they re spected, and for whom they had uu affection requested it. A tract given, an invitation to go to church, a request that your friend would read the Bi ble daily, will often be icgarded when a more powerful appeal from other sources would fall unheeded upon his heart.' Many of tho gentlemen whom you niectir* society arc away from the influence of parents and sister, and they will respond to an inter est taken in their welfare. Wo all speak of a young man’s danger from evil associates, and the very bad influ ence which liis dissipated gentleman associ ates have over him. We believe that it is all true that a gen tleman's character is formed to a great ex tent by tho ladies that ho associates with be fore ho becomes a complete man of the world. Wo think, in oilier words, that a young man is pretty much what his sisters and young lady friends choose to make him. Wo know a family where the Bistort! en courage their younger brothers to smoko, thinking it was manly, and to.riliiiglo wltli the gay dissipated fellows, because they thought it “smart," and they did mingle with them body rend soul, and abuse the sqme sister shamefully. .- The influence -began further back than with their gentlemen companions. It began with their sisters, and was carried on through the forming years of character. Oh the other hand, if sisters are watchliil and affectionate they may in various ways—by entering into any little plan with interest by introducing their younger brothers into good ladies’ society, load them along until their character is forriled and then a high toned respect for ladies, and a manly self-respect, will keep him from mingling with low socie ty- ' If a_ young man-sees that the religion which in youth lie was taught to venerate is lightly thought of and perhaps sneered at by the young ladies with whom ho associate! we can hardly expect him to think that it ad the thing for him. . Lot none say that they hayo no influence at all. i This is not possible. Ton cannot live without having some sort of influence, any more than you can livd without breathing. One thing is just ns unavoidable as the other. Beware (bon what kind of influence it is yon Tiro constantly exerting. ; ■ An invitation to take a glass of wine, of to play a game of cards, many kindle the Ores of intemperance, and gambling, which will burn forever. i,. A jest given at the expense 1 pf religion, n light; trifling manner in the house of (Jed, or any of the numerous ways in which you may show your disregard for the scul of others, may be the means of ruining many for time and eternity. —Home Journal. O” A favorite tnagpib, which bad beer! used to receive its dainty bits from the mouth of its niistresS, the other day perched, as usu al, oh her shoulder, and inserted its beak be tween her lips, not, ns it proved, to receive, but to give or to hide, for as one good turn deserves another, the bird dropped rv large*, green, fat caterpillar into the lady’s mouth. ’ O' Dr. Adam Clark, who had ‘ aversion to pork, was called upon to “say grace at a dinner, where the principal dish was a roast pig. Ho is reported to have said : “ O Lord, if thou oanst.bless under the gospol what thod didst curse under the Law, bless this pig." : FasaioKADLB Provrrb;—Pride mutt hard a (water) (all. , ~ ; NO. 2.
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