———.ll— IM* l' I » «- „ . -- ... ~ ' ' j!|-, /, ’ S . i *w r ■■l 'in -I am '■om £®S.. VOL. 52. American _yolunteer. PUBLISHED EVERY THURSDAY MORNIHO BY JOUN U. BRATTOM. If TERMS: Subscription.— Two Dollars if paid, within th . «g. tt rr and Two Dollars and Fifty Cents, if not paid the year. These terms will bo rigidly ad- to in every instance. No subscription dis r ’.fgantinued Unt u a ll arrearages aro paid unless at option of the Editor. r Advertisements — Accompanied by the cash, and exceeding ono square, will bo inserted three $3t(»08 for $2.00, and twenty-five cents for each- insertion. Those of a greater length in 'flfjoD-PniNTiKa— Such as Hand-bills* Postlng-bUls Blanks, Labels, Ac. Ao.> executed with [curacy and at the shortest notice. Sp ; . fortital. I TAKE THE PAPERS. BT N. P. WILLIS.' Why don’t you take tho papers ? They're tho life of my delight; Except about election time/ And then I road for spite* Subscribe, you cannot lose a cent— Why should you bo afraid ; For cash thus-paid is money lent On interest, four fold paid^ Go take the papers, to-day nor pay delay. And my word for it is inferred, You'll live till you are gray. An old newspaper of mine, While dying from a cough, Desired to hoar the latest nows, While ho was dying off. 1 . /$3 ••-•Vi X took tho paper, and I road Offcflomo new Pill's in force, He bought a box—and is ho doad? No—hearty as a horse. I know a printer’s debtor once, Rakod with a scorching fever, Who swore to pay her debt next day,. If her distress would leave her. Next morning she was at. her work, Divested of h w pain, But did forgot to pay bor debt, Till taken down again. “Hero, Jessie, take these silver wheels, And pay the printer now I” Bhe'slopt and slept, and then awoke, With health upon her brow. I know two men, as much alike, As o’er you saw two stumps; And no phrenologist could find A difference in their bumps. ; Ono takos tho papers, and hia lifo Is happier than a king's ; His children all can road and write -' fS And talk of men and things. Wr I.)| The other took no paper, and ”!£i| While strolling through the wood, A tree fell down and broke bis crown, And killed him, u very good," Had ho been reading of the nows, ;■At homo like neighbor Jim, I’ll hot a cent that accident - Would not haro happened him, . Why don't you take the papers ? ,' /VXi Nor Irom the printer sneak, Because you borrow of his boy •iA paper every wcok.■ :’ x i For he who takes the papers. And pays his bills when due; ‘Wf Can. Uyo in peace with God and man, And with the printer too. m Sii«wllirnnni«. UNDER THE CHARCOAL, .j|ln New York you mny live next door to pother or five-and-twenty years and never , Mow his name. In Paris your own brother Mfilit ocoujy rooms under the same roof Aflyou might never meet each other, might mo and marry and die there and never -guess the neighborhood of a kinsman. For ’;poao who dosiro it, it is the loneliest place AW the world.' iNo one. unless it was the porter of the 1 many-storied house in the Hue De , ew that Monsieur. Paul Dupont occupied irowcnieof that dwelling, or that he was artidf. it was a matter of perfect indiffer le to all but his few artist friends. For i matter of that, poor, folks “are of little iseqUenca ahyWhere, whether they paint, 8 sing, or not, nr scribl-10. When they be me rich, it is another thing, and folks te notice of thorn, and they should put gpmir names in the directory and let the know when they are at home. But a wlW* man , ot woman—bah 1 Paris, as a tb ‘ n S> let Monsieur Dupont paint , i .TOtne, and the Emperor had never visited .ajsstudio yet. It was an odd place that ait A litter of portfolios and cauvass ■ !Ln * caß ts and tassels and piotures, in irames_ and out them ; where segars and > * aUn ? 3 ab °ut,- and empty wine 0S ‘ wb ‘ eb ba( A contained very innocent iS’mi 890 f ® ren °l» wines, graced the .corners ; there was a north light and canvass in lower part of the window, and a pot for making of chocolate, and any number of £%J§ 0 °“ ao3t °'d French books, and some mod one3 by Sue and George Sand and Du where there wore also a violin, a flute tilt a .S u *tar, a sword pud a couple of pistols Sslmimotimes fallen down and sometimes in use, 11*611 the pistols, for there was a painted oir |||S ro * e with a spot in the oeutre over the man at which Monsieur Paul often took aim |®r practice, without bringing in a neighbor pW discomposing the mind of tho landlord. I*™ ara so many suicides in Paris that na.man hears tho report of a pistol he ;; j3 n 7 thinks, ‘ It is my neighbor blowing his l rain s out,’ and does not interfere with what ' Idj 038 n't’concern him. I; ,^ nro °fing this, a la Asmodeus, to take a ■P oe P>.y°u might have seen one bright May A nor mng Motisieur Paul Dupont standing de- S-i| parmgly before a picture—tho sort of pio- M m ‘ e J ni gbt htivo expected of a' French- ; nn? ''llbrce-and-twonty—airy, graceful arid 1 n- o' ?• A lOTOr at the feet of hie belov’ed; -A no °ki beside a fountain; a ifo [ 6 . *hh*w ' 8 10tailoa ! a duenna asleep uh || r tab tfeos on a garden bbneii.' A picture destined to bo colled 1 La,Declaration. 7 Tho youth was handsome, and the duenna brown and corpulent, 'the maiden, ns yet but a ghost-like sketch. There was the difficulty ; Paul could find no model for his beauty. True there were plenty to bo hired for so many sous an hour, but ho wanted an inno cent face, and much staring at in artists’ studios had banished tlie blush from ißost of tho faces young and pretty enough for his purpose. _ Monsieur Paul had always found it impossible not to imitate the expression of 1 his models, and it would not do for the hero -1 ino of •La Declaration’ to look brazen. At last he flung down his brushes, kicked over a stool, put on his hat, with its pendent tas sols, and his velvet paletot, and went down stairs and out into the Rue De Capuch em it was a quiet street enough. Tho, houses looked half asleep. The only sound was the distant rumbling of yehieles in some wide thoroughfare and the hideous yells,of .a fieh woman, with a basket on her head,- crying her stock for, sale. Monsieur Paul snun teredon, with his hands deep in the packets of his paletot, and looking in tho air, forgot to watoh his feet. They struck suddenly against something, and somebody uttered a skriek and cried: ‘Ah! he has destroyed them,' Looking down, Monsieur Paul saw a . girl and an overturned basket of violets. Ha hud run against a flower girl and thrown down her merchandise unaware. An Englishman would have uttered naugh ty words and asked her why she couldn’t keep out of the wqy. You who read this can tell me bist what an American would have done. The Frenchman stooped down and commenced to pick up tho blossoms with a little • Pardon/ At that the head was lifted, and under a golden fleece of hair Paul Dupont saw tho face ho wanted. A.n innocent face—a beau tiful face—the face of a perfect blonde. Per haps she was seventeen, but certainly no ol der. Earliest girlhood lingered yet in her blue eyes. Paul forgot tho flowers. ‘ Will you set for me ?’ hesaid abruptly. Then remembering that she might not Understand him, ho went on :‘lam an artist. I desire to find a mod el for a figure I am painting. If you will oblige me, I will pay you well/ The girl shook her head slowly, hesitated and then said, in a low voice, in tho English language :‘I do not understand. I am an American/ Paul .collected hig thoughts. He had a smattering of English, and he said, 4 I shall speak to you in i’Anglaise. You compre hend V . * Yes/ said the girl simply, and she listen ed as he spoke, and explained in broken English, musical and'pretty enough, what ho meant and wanted. She understood and mused a moment, when she looked up into his eyes, and the glance said, 4 Can I trust you?' He answered the look, for there was no words, 4 1 shall be good to you. There is no need to fear.' And his kind young ©yes looked frankly into hers, and she arose and followed ‘him, with her violets on her arm, up those long' to the atelier, with its northlight and its heterogeneous belongings, where thronged on the dais, she looked lovelier than ever, as ho taught her how to turn her head and place herself, and painted her shadnvy outline on the canvas. That first sitting was not the last. She came again and again.— At length Monsieur Paul discovered why she was so glad to earn the coin ho gave her, Hermother slowly of consumption. She was an American. A year before site had come to Paris, led by the hope of recov ering some property which had belonged to her dead father, who was a native of France. That hope was futile ; and by the time they knew it to be so, the mother had fallen Ilf, and now their money, was all gone, and they could not return to their native land, as she was dying. 4 So what could Ido V said the girl; * I could not see her starve. Though my father was a Frenchman, I do not un- derstand the language. I need Jo nothing but offer these flowers, and I have earned bread and a little wine and eoup for my mother. When she is gone I shall care'no longer, but lie down and die.' ‘ It is sad for you,’ said the voung French man ; ‘ but tho young and beautiful should live, not die.’ ‘ Should live and love 1 he thought, al though he did not Bay so. Monsieur Paul Dupont was poor himself, but after this many dainty and many a bottle of wine found its way to the unknown woman dying in a for eign land. From that day she did not suffer from want. - • And that picture was long painting.- It seemed as though the golden hair and blue eyes_ would never be done. Paul Dupont was in no haste whatever; for, let tlie secret creep out, this friendless American girl, sel ling her flowers in the streets of'Paris, hap py to earn the. francs he gave her for tlio copying of that sweet face, had won the young, artist’s heart. He hardly know it himself, until one day she entered his. rpom trembling and weeping, and sobbed forth, ‘■My mother is dead.’ Then tho truth flash ed upon him, and he bent over her and took her hand, and said in French— * But thou hast a friend yet left, beloved.’ That day ha looked upon the dead face of tho flower girl’s mother and did what a son might have done. The foreign lady lays in a quiet grave, with a little cross above her head, and there were two mourners, her daughter and Paul Dupont. It was beside that grave he said to her tender words of comfort—here, also, he whispered— ‘ Thou oanst sell flowers no longer—Thou dost not hate me. Let iny heart shelter thee—be my wife.’ And in this brief time she had learned to understand his native tongue. Lonely; and loving him as he did her, there was but one answer to be given. • That night an old priest married them, and Paul took his wife home to his atelier. A sweet task, it seem- ed, to dry her tears, to comfort her; very sweet to toaoh her, his native tongue. Ilia English and her French were on a par; but lovers can understand each other without language of any kind. The prettiest pair I ever saw were deaf arid dumb, and held con-; verse with their eyes. For a few days that atelier was a paradise, and theri—sadness and misfortune poured in upon their bridal path. It was then in the dead hour of tho night. They started wide awake together, with a noise and glare, about them. The building was on fire. People were screaming, wood cracking, flames licking up door-posts and window frames with its rod tongue. Fifteen minutes more, would have tho end of them. As it was, Paul - had barely time to wFau his darling in a coverlid and fly down the blazing stairs with" her for life/ She was nrit hurt, but he was singed about the face arid hands, and badly burnt iri-bis arms. Ho Ift hardly kriow it until the next day, when the debris of the furniture was rescued from the ruins, and they had found another lodg ing. Then the pain became more severe.— That he didn’t mind, while she nitied and nursed him ; but ns days passed on, and he grew rather worse and better, the fear that he might not be able to paint, before their purse, which the wife had about her, was empty, grow stronger. The surgeon looked* £ravo over the burn, and would give no opin ion, Estelle—that was the name Paul had given her, and she accepted, because her En fjish name, Ruth, was a mysterious impossi ility to his French tongue—did all she could. She spent the sous frugally with an old man who'sold cheap articles of food on one side of his shop, while on the other wore stored cld books, waste paper and rags. Paul know him well. Many of those old books had been found amidst liisrefuse and bought for a few sous. He sympathized with and prescribed for. the artist.. All in.vain. The little money vanished until they were penniless. _ The first day of ab.ilute wont Paul kissed hie wife with many words of love, and went out to see the surgeon. He came book with a white face and sat down, saying nothing. Estelle trembled. She crept up to hfm and kissed his forehead. Then he burst into tears and sobbed in her bosom. The surgeon had told him his arm must come off or ho must die. A terrible fate for on artist and a young man of twenty-three. ‘ I must die,’ he said; ‘ there is no choice.’ . ‘ I will work for you/ she sobbed, ‘ only live for me.’ ‘ Thy little hands are both not so much as one of mine,’ said Paul. ‘We cannot live, but we can die together.’ She_ spoke her native language and he his, in their excitement. Then they were silent. She knew what he meant. Forgive him, reader-; he was French, and a Frenchman’s first idea in trouble is charcoal. That was it—charcoal and an air-tight room. She had ,no wish to die, but her husband was her world, and she could not exist without him. After a while, sittinjftogether sorrovful and hungry in that gloomy, room, she was quite of his way of thinking. She only said i— -4 Wait until to-night;’ he answered, 4 As you will, chare amis. So they waited, and at dusk began their preparations. They made their windows and their chimney air-tight, and sat a furnace in the middle of the room. Then Paul said : ‘ I will bring you the charcoal. My friend, tho shopkeeper, will wait some time for his money; but no matter, ho will not begrudge if f He took a basket, and went out through the darkness to the little shop. To the in quiries of its owner, he replied that 4 he was better—would soon be well/ As ho said this his eye rested on the charcoal and he smiled. The grocer was unconscious. He bent over the black fuel measuring it out.— * Your basket has a hole in it/ he said; 4 the coal will escape and soil madame’s neat floor, \Vait, I will repair it/ Searching among the rubbish he found a piece of crumpled parch ment and laid it in the basket. ‘ltis a por tion of the contents of the garret of Monsieur Noir, deceased/.ho said; 4 1 purchased it with a chaos of books and papers to wrap up my merchandize. See it suffices. Bon soir t monsieur/ And Paul Dupont departed. He went home intent on what seemed to him a very praiseworthy thing. He embrac ed Estelle, fastened the door and lit a candle, 4 that wo may look upon each other, chore amie* he sighed, and then loft to her.tho task of kindling those fatal coals. To this end a stretcher had been broken to pieces, matches lay ready, only paper was wanting, 4 There is some in the basket/ said Paul j and Estelle drew forth—not exactly papef, hut parchment; an old deed j something in French. As Estelle’s eyes rested on it she saw her own name thrice repeated. In a moment she cried to Paul, 4 Where did this come from/’ and Paul, instead of doing as one of our own countrymen would have done, and bidding her not to chatter of unimport ant matters at such a crisis, said as politely as though there was no charcoal on the ta pis, 4 1 have been told from the garret of Mons. Noir, deceased * ‘Paul Paul—Monsieur Noir was my grandfather. Do vou forgot that ia niy name ? Head this, dear Paul.’ And so he read it. It was a will bequeath ing - certain property well worth the having, to Monsieur Jean Noir—a native of’Amerioa and grand daughter ot the testator, &o„ &o. This was the property which had brought M'e. Noir to Paris—the will which had been supposed to bo in existence, but which had been vainly searched for, for the very good reason that sundry grasping servants had un wittingly sold it with the other papers, and books, and household refuse to dealers in such articles for a few sous. The grasping servants could not read. Neither could the polite shopkeeper of the Rue De , and but for that charcoal it is probable the document would have remained lost forever. Monsieur Paul Dupont and his wife did light the furnace until they had unstopped the windows. Then it was to make choco late. Mrs. Ruth bad proofs of her identity, and insisted on her unpronouncable name until they were esfhblished. After which sho ac cepted the name Estelle again with joy. They were rich now, and despite the sur geon’s verdict, I doubt if Paul lost his arm, for some time since Parisian periodicals were lauding q picture he had painted. Was it a portrait of Eugenio, or of her Napoleon?— And wo read a list of wondrous titled perso nages, who have visited the atelier of Mon sieur Paul Dupont. JSS“Wa heard a good retort in the oars tho other day, from a tipsy Scotch laborer, who had carried in his hand a bottle of ‘ fire wat er,’ with which to keep himself warm and mois . A fellow traveller wishing to poke a little fun at him, asked him what he had got in his bottle. ‘ Small beer,’ was tho reply. ‘Well,’ said the other ‘if it’s small beer. I’ll share it with yon.’ ‘ No,’ answered Sawney, ‘it’s too small for two 1’ ■ Tho laugh was on the man iu tho good clothes, who retired to his seat ‘ echorohed, but not killed.’ Scarce Articles. —A parson who practi ces all he professes; A beauty who never feels proud when elio dresses; • ' A lawyer whose honesty pleads for bis cli ent; A braggart whose courage is always defi ant; A sensible dandy, an actual friend ; Philosophy publishing ‘ money to-lend ;’ A skillful physician regardless of self; - A staunch politicise forgetful of pelf; A sour old bachelor neatly arrayed ;" And last,'though not rarest, a cheerful old maid. [ Xy* Forty suits agalrist detective Baker for releasing parties from arrest on. payment of large bribes, ate about to ha commenced'in' New Yor' " OUR COUNTRY-MAY IT ALWAYS BE RIGB'!—EDI RIGHT OR WRONG OUR COUNTRY.” CARLISLE, PA., THURSDAY, JULY 27, 1865. And they swept us off a hundred men or'tnoro. But boloro wo reached their linos. They wore beaten back dismayed, And wo board tho cry of vioj'ryo'or aud o’er. Chorus*—Tramp, tramp, £ramp, Ao. So within tho prison ce|. Wo aro waiting for tho[iny That shall oomo to open wide tho Iron door, And tho hollow oyo grows bright, And tho poor heart almost gay, As wo think of seeing home and friends once more. . Chorus— Tramp, tramp, ramp, Ac. * Very well, Mr. Jonkj, you know toy opin ion of secret societies/ * Perfectly, my dear, perfectly/ said our friend, thrusting his hands into his pockets with all the energy he could sustain. * And you will join V * Don't you think.it best?' ’* No sir, once for all, I do not/ ‘ Consider my dear, if you should be left a widow, wiih nothing to support —* * Now