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■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.