PI ■ . 1 tipi '■“MM. •MyOL. 52 BjjICAN VOLUNTEER. "iMoUSUBD '■▼.« THUT.SDAY »» i, jolfliv B. BKATXOS TEEMS: cun’TioN. —Two Dollars if paid within 111 md Two Dollars and Fifty Cents, if not pa d tho year. These terms will ho rigidly ad oin y ovory instance. No subscription dia led until all arrearages are paid unless at ■■aT^sniiKNTS— Accompanied by the C ASit, and insertion. Those of a greater length in as Hand-bills, Posting-bills pSlet'. Blanlis, Labels, *O. **, e«o»t»4 with lieKaVicv and air the shortest, notice <1 t : 1 "' = |Wtal. ALL OLR ANGEL SIDE,” not of tbo hotter part in human kind — of light still Hickoroth -■&®a e’en tho darkest mindj suvago with his club of war* sago so mild and good linked in firm eternal bonds common brotherhood. not! oh, despair not, then* though this world so wide, nature is so demon like, there's an angol side. huge, foitgh stones from out tho mine, Insigh tly and unfair, e veins of purest metal hid sneath tho surface there, rocks so bare but to their heights >mo tiny moss-plant clings, round the po aka eo desolate Lie sea-bird ails and sings ; ** eve mo, too, that ruggid souls onoath their rudeness hide ih that ia beautiful and good— Vvo all our angel side. ill there’ is an inner depth far-off, secret way, are, through tho windows of the soul, sends His smiling ray, every liuulan heart there is faithful sounding chord, may bp struck unknown to us some sweet, loving word. ! |Aho wayward heart in vaia may try; i.wiSlta softer thoughts to hide, uncxpected«tono reveals hath an angol side (Spiaod, and low, and trodden down, SDarlc with tho shade of sin, [ciphering not those halo lights, Which God hath lit Within ; •ouping about in utmost night, Poor, prisdilod souls there aroj ho guess not what life’s mcaniug is, or of heaven afar. f'%J>h ! tbai some gentle hand of love Their stnmbling stops would guide, show thorn that, amidst it all, 7 *sb| lxa3 its angel sido. and moan, and dark enough, God knows some natures are, com P a33 * onat ®* comes near— , And shall wo stand afar? cruise of oil will not grow loss/ : If sharod with hearty hand, td»>; words of peace and looks oflovo, Few natures can withstand is the fnighty conqueror— Love is tho bounteous guide— with her beaming eye, can see Wo’vo all our angol side* [<>4,'■££*{*; ’ • • ■ """ " ,-y. ' Btoltaauo; b'43’ COURTING UNDER DIFFICULTIES. Blake was the onlydaughter of Ja -'■l'PSb Blake, the old miser of West Brook. 'Tf ISBho was more than commonly pretty, and r 'Spy frank, engaging manners enhanced the • dimarms of golden hair, pearly skin, and eyes ijfeo the blue skies of summer. At her fath '"'■''WB death she would be heiress to the nice sum of seventy thousand dollars, and ji/r;;sSiough men generally profess riot to be in flueuced by pecuniary matters in affairs of ’ •? «®ve, it is to be reasonably supposed that this wealth by no means lessepedthe 'l'ifiuraber of her adorers, ~ • 4 Among theari uiost ardent, and perhaps iiwjEriost sincere, was Will Dartmouth, with a sOTBoart larger than his purse, and very little «i|th aught or care for consequences. Fortunately, old Jacob never suspected the Impartiality of his daughter for Will; he would •Jl) ut her bn bread and water before he would ""IWiavo consented to the slightest degree of'in-. ''SSjimacy with Will Dartmouth. Jacob Blake was not in favor of marriage. PMThoso who knew his oiroumatances wore not fiSSeurpriscd at this for, to use a phrase more than elegant; Mrs. Bit ko was a lliftl'arter, with temper enough for two Tarter,-'. pSjp, Old Jacob had to • walk Spanish’ for the ''Puniest part, or suffer the consequences, which descended on his head in the shape S’wio'' any domestic utensil which happened to LVfJfbe lying around bandy. . . *.p-5p A maiden sister of Mr. Blake resided in family, whoso principal business seemed - 1 af|to bo to act a sort of coho to her brother and : , Vji|his wile; Whatever they thought, she , I jiii%thought, too. ■‘4Sij Shu regarded it as a primary sin for Katie t 0 associate .with the young men, and this ■ doctrine was pcrsovoringly drilled into her US niece, who, though she never dissented, had -W’tM her own ideas on the subject, SKif One day Mr. Bhite-and his wife went to ;3S Dedham, to attend a fair, and Miss Peggy 'J; being absent ut a friend’s, Katie was left alone. Will Dartmouth in some way learned the condition of affairs, and early in the af- Iternoon he cams over to keep Katie compa ny. As her parents were not expected homo until the next day. and Peggy not until late in- the evening, Will felt perfectly secure in' stopping awhile after supper; and lie and' all Katie were having a jolly time popping corn 'Mg in the old fashioned frying-pan, over the huge Wood fire, when there was the sound of voices vSj at the door. . . i'f§ 1 Good gracious 1’ cried Katie, turning "ft white with alarm, ‘ that is Aunt Peggy, oil Oh, Wijl, what -shall wo do ? She will scold f|,s| mo to death ; and father will be furious. Get under the lounge, quick I Ob, Will, tie, for niy sake 1” . Will could not understand the pileading in Katie’s eyes,', and lib deposited himself in ths [•-i$ ‘&£ignaty{ apofe Kutio put out. tlie.light, ami darting into an adjacent bedroom, in a moment waa ap parently asleep. Peggy’s voice was hoard speaking sottly in the entry. , . ‘Bo careful, Mr. Pike. There’s a loose board there. I 'don’t vtnu’t to disturb my niece. Softly, it may creak.’ ‘ Peggy, dear, where are you ? responded tho squealing voice of Esquire Pike, the wid ower of a year. ‘ X can’t tell which way you’ve gone. ' , . , ‘There Dairiell be easy. Good heavens 1 Daniel Pike. Well, I never 1’ and a report hurst ou tho air like uuoorking a champagne bottle. , 1 Oh; my 1’ cried Auat Peggy, ‘ what would brother Jacob say ? I declare, I haia’t been kissed by a man sense ‘ Let Jake inind" his own business 1 re torted the squire. 1 You and I can take care of ours without his help and thero followed d report similar to the first, only more ,of it. ‘ Do be quiet, Daniel, and let me got a light. Sot, right down there, afore tho fire and make yourself to home/ A light was soon procured, Peggy divested herselt of her wrappings, and blushing like a girl iu her teens sat down opposite tho Squire, - m . ‘ It's a fine &Ud Peggy, by way of opening tho conversation. • Very/ replied the Squire, drawing his chair close to hers, and laying his arm over the back. ' ‘Oh, good gracious I Daniel, don’t sot quite so nigh to mo, I —that is, I don’t con sider it strictly properous. Mercy 1 what was that? Both listened attentively. ‘lt was the wind rattling the window. T guess/said the Squire. ‘Don't yon go to getting so r.arvous. Peggy.' ‘ I thought it was Katie walking up. And if she should, I never should hear the last of it*' * llark 1 There is a noise—l ’ * Gracious airth 1 its bells. Its Jake and marm coming back I What shall I do?— We're done’ for! Oh, Squire, 'taint right for us to bo nothing to one tother ? Do help mo.! What shall I do?' ‘ Tell mo where to go, Peggy 1 Say the word. I’ll go anywhere, (or your sake, if it’s up the chimney 1’ • Under the lounge, quick 1 It’s wide, and will hold you well enough. Quick I don’t delay a minute 1’ i The Squire obeyed, but the space was al ready so well filled that it was with difficul ty he cohid squeeze himself into so small a compass. Aud just ns he had succeeded, Mr. Ulnko and his wife entered the room, floundering along in the dark, for Peggy had deemed it host to extinguish the light. Jake made for the fire which still glowed red with cOxls, stumbled over a cricket, and fell headlong against Peggy, who was stand ing bolt upright, trying to collect her scat tered senses. ‘The deuce;’ cried-Jake. ‘Look out, there, old woman, or you’ll bo down overme. It’s dark as a pocket here, and I’ve (ell over the rockincheer, or the churn, I can't tell which. Hullo I what’s that ?’reaching out his hand to feel his situation, and coming in, contact with the boarded face of Squire. ‘By George! it’s got whiskers ! Peg! Peg! where are you? and where’s Kate? and wlu.t’s this ?’ The Squire did not relish the assault made on his hirsute, appendages, and by way of retaliation ho gave a series of .vigorous kicks, which hit Will Dartmouth in the region of the stomach, and stirred hie bile. ‘Look here, old chap!’ exclaimed he; * I’m perfectly willing to share my quarters with you, seein as we're both in for it; but you’d better not undertake to play that again.* I ‘ Hearings!’ ejaculated Peggy; ‘whose voice is that ?’ T * Who in the deuce is here? that s what 1 want to know!’ cried Jake struggling for an upright position. * Hullo 1 who’s fell down over my legs ?’ . , , , , , , * I'll let you know who s down, ana. who s up 1’ said the voice of Mrs. Blake and the old lady scrambled up, only to go instantly down again over a chair. ‘ Jake where ore you ? Git up, this instant, and git a light, I’ll shako your braath out, when I gat my leet agin.’ Juke started to obey, and just then Tige, the watch dog, who, hearing the uproar, had managed to break loose from his chain, lush ed upou tho scene, and set up his best pow- The Squire had a mortal horror of dogs, and neither fear nor love was strong enough to keep him quiescent nojv* Ho sprang to his feet with ayell; Will followed. Katie, full of alarm for her lover, hopped out of bed, and appeared with a flaming tallow dip. Peggy flung her afnis around the Squire’s neck, with a cry of terror, and Jake was silent with amazement. Mrs, Bloke was the only one who possessed her wits. She seized the corn pepper, and laid about her with vigor. , Her aim was not always correct, and, in consequence, she smashed the looking-glass into a thousand fragments, and knocked down the clock from itaslielf and demolished two howls and a pitcher that were quietly re posing on the mantel. The Squire broke' from Peggy’s embrace, and dashed out of the window. Will follow ed him, and Mrs. Blake would have pursued, bv the same outlet, hut slio was a little toQ; largo to got through with ease. A dreaded council was holden ; Juke stormed, Mrs. Bloke threatened ; and at last both Peggy and Katie confessed. Aud Jake and liis wife were so rejoiced at the prospect of getting rid of Peggy, that they forgave their .daughter, and took Will Dartmouth homo at the end of the year. And in duo time, Peggy and the Squire were made one flesh. A Point of Order.— One of the members of the Lower House of the Legislature of Now York, rejoiced in the name of Bloss. He had the honor of representing the coun ty of Monroe, and if his sagacity as a legis lator did not win for him the respect of his associates, his eccentricities often ministered to their entertainment. One day, in the midst of a windy harrangue that had become inloleinble for its length and emptiness, a ‘ gassy’ member from the metropolis stopped, to take a drink of water. Bloss sprang to his feet and cried: ‘Mr. Speaker. I call the gentleman from Now York to order/ The whole assembly was startled and still ed ; the member from Now York _ stood aghast, with the glass in his hand, while the Sprocket said: * The gentleman from Monroe will please state his point of order.’ To which Mr. Bloss, with great gravity replied: •I'submit, sir, that it is not in-order for a windmill to go by water/ It was a shot beyond wind and water ; the verbose orator was confounded, and puthim gplf opd glaee down together; “OUR COUNTRY—MAY IT ALWAYS BE RIGHT—BUT EIGHT OR WRONG OUR COUNTRY, The Story of the Jasmine. There is not a plant or flower, says a grace ful writer upon flowers in the QaUfbniidiii but has a history, .and whqa this* known it becomes doubly interesting. For instance, the jasmine. Oowpersayst ** Tho jasmine throwing wide her elegant sweets, Tho teep dark green of Whose varhished loaf Makes more conspicuous, and illumines mor6 Tho bright profusion of her scatter’d The jasmine seems as though it had been created to express tho quality of amiability. When first introduced into Franco by soirio- Spaimh navigators about tho year 1500, it was greatly admired for the lightness of its brandies, and tho delicate lustre of its star like flowers. It was deemed necessary to place a plant so elegant ans apparently ten tender in .the hot-house ;~andn it was tried in tho orangery, .whore it grew marvelously well, and at length it was exposed in the open ground, where it now grows as freely as in its native soil. . , The flexible branolios of this odoriferous shrub may bo trained according to our plea sure ; it will climb and Weave itself around our trellised ardies and cover dead walls with an evergreen tapestry. It can be trained in any form, and it lavishes upon us an abund ant harvest of flowers of the most delightful perfume. Then how aoienoj when in your favorite room, Gales from your jasmines sooth tho evening bloom. This beautiful plant grew in Hampton Court garden at the end of the seventeenth century, but being lost there was known only in Europe, in the garden of the Grsnd Duke of Tuscany, at Pisa, From a jealous and selfish anxiety that ho should continue to bo. the sole possessor of a plant so charming and so rare, he strictly charged his gardener not to give a single sprig or even a flower to any person. The gardener might have been faith ful if he had not loved ; but being attached to a fair, though portionless.* damsel, be pre sented her with.', a borjuet on her'birthday, and, in order to make it more acceptable, or namented it with a sprig of jasmine. The young maiden, to preserve the fresh ness of tliis pretty stranger, placed it in the earth, whore it remained green until the re turn of Spring, when it budded forth and was covered with flowers. She had profited by her lover’s lesson,, and now cultivated her highly prized jasmine with care, for which she was amply repaid by its rapid growth.— The poverty of the lovers had been a bar to their union. Now, however, by the sale ot cuttings from the plant which love had given her, she amassed a little fortune, which she bestowed witli her hand upon the gardener of her heart. The young girls of Tuscany, in remember ance of this adventure, always deck them selves on their wedding-day with a boquet of jasmine, and they have a proverb that “ She who is worthy to wear a nosegay of jasmines is as good as a fortune to her husband.’’ — Ought wo not, then, to cultivate more gener ally vtbat love first scattered abroad? For Cotton observes, how numerous are the pur poses, to which it may bo applied: “ How jasmines spreads the silver flower, To dock the wall or weave the bower.” Carrington, one of nature’s pools, makes it expressive of sympathy— o The jasmine droops above the honored dead.” Artemuo Ward's Account of nis Court suu’. —“’Twas a carm still night in Joon.— All natur was husht and nary zeffor disturb ed the serpen silens. I sot with Betsy JHno on the fonse of her father’s pastur. We’d been romping throw the woods, knllin’ flow era and driving the woodchuck from his Na tive Lair (so to speak) with long sticks.— Wall we sot. thar on the fense, a swingin’ our foot two and fro, blushin’ as red as the Baldinsville skool house when it was first painted, and lookin’ very simple I make no doubt. My loft arm was ockepied in ballan sin’ myself on the fonse, while.my rite was wounded lovinly round her waste. I cleared my throat and tremblinly aed, ‘Betsy, your’o a gazelle,’ I though t that air was putty fine. It evidently didn’t fetch her, for she up and said, • Your’o a sheep !' Sez I, ‘ Betsy, I think very muchly of you.' ‘ I don’t b’leovo a word you say —so there now, cum 1’ with which observation she hitched away from me. ’ ‘ I wish there was winders to ray solo,’ sed I, ‘so that you could see some of my feelins. Thera’s fire enuff in hero,’ sod I. striking my buzzom with my fist, ‘ to bile all the corn beef and turnips in the naberhood.’ She bowed her head down and oommenst chawin the strings of her sun bonnet. ‘ Ah’ could you know the sleeplis nites I worry throw on your account, how vittles hasseized. to be an attraction to me, and how my limbs hasshrunk up, you wouldn’t dowt me. Gaso on this waatin form and these ’ere sunkon cheeks ’ I should have’ cbntinnered on in this strane probly for some time, but I un fortnitly lost my ballunse and fell over into the pastur kor smash, tearing my close and sevoerly damagin myself ginorally. Betsy Jane sprang to my assistance in double quick time and dragged me 4th. Then drawin herself up to her full bite, she sed—‘l won’t listen to your nonoents no longer. Jos say rite strate out what you’re drivin at. If you moan gettiu hitched) I’m in 1’ I considered that air enuff for all practical purposes, and proceeded immejitly to the parson’s and was made 1 that very' night. Aff. Authentic Anecdote. —Talleyrand was once in the company of Madame, de Stos) nod anoll.cr eminent French lady, whoso name wo do not remember. ‘You say charmin'; tilings to.both of us.’ said Madame de'Stoel to him ; which do you like best?’ The willy statesman artfully replied that he was delighted with hath. ‘ Ah I but you prefer one of us,’ continued Madame do Steel; ‘ suppose wo wore both drowning in the Seine to-night, which of us would you help iirst ?’ 1 1 would extend ray right hand to Madam de Sue), and ray left hand to madamo yon der.* • Yes; but suppose only one of us could be saved, which would yon attempt to res cue?’ . Tatlovrand’s diplomacy whs pushed to its severest test, but not a whit discomposed, ho turned to Madame do Stall, and replied— .‘Madam, you who know most things doubtless know how to swim.’ Two Sharps. —An old man picked up a half dollar in the street. • Old man, that’s mine,’ said a keen looking rascal, ‘ so hand it over.’ ‘Did thine have a hole in.it?’ asked the old man. • Yes,’ replied the other smartly. ‘Then it is not thine,’ mildly re plied the old man; ‘ thod must learn to bo a little sharper next time, ray boy.’ O’ ‘ Ike,’ said Mrs. Partington, ‘ how do they find out the difference between the earth and the sun ?’ ‘ Oh,’ said the young hope ful, ‘they calculate a quarter of the distance, »d then multiply by four.’ CARLISLE, PA., THURSDAY, AUGUST 10, 1865. In the quarries should you toil, Make your mark ; 1 Do you delve upon tbo soil?/ Make your mark ; j In whatever path you go, I In whatever place you stand Moving swift or moving sloy,° Wita a firm and honest hand > . -Make your mark. ! Should opponents hedge your way, Make your mark : Work by night or work by day, Make your mark : Struggle manfully and well, Lot no obslaclcs^oppqso, None right shielded over foil By tho weapons of his foes—■ Jluko your mark. though Jb<Jrn a peasant’s sou, :uurk; Good by poor men cau'fio done— Make your mark; Peasant’s garbs nujy warm tbocold; Peasabt’s words may culm a fear; Better far than hoar ling gold Is the drying.of a tear, Make your mark. Life is fleeting as a cfitfdr, Make your murk ;. Marks of some kind must be made, Make your mark— Make it wbilo tba arm is strong, In tlio golden hour# of youth ; Kevor, never make it wrong ; Make it with the stamp of truth— Make your mark. A STuRV OF ST. JIAKK’S EVE. WHICH HATH A MOHAL IN IT. St Mark's Day in a festival which has been observed on the 25th of April, in Catholic countries, from time immemorial. ' The su perstition alluded to in the following story •was formerly .pretty generally believed, and vigils at the church-porch at midnight were common. *1 hope it’ll choke thee I' said. Master Giles, the -yeoman ; and. as ho said it, ho ban ged his big red list on-the old oak table". ‘1 do say I hope it’ll duke thud’ The dame made no reply. She - was chok ing with passion and a fowl’s liver, which was the cause of the dispute. Much has been said and sung concerning the advantage ol congenial tastes amongst married people ; butUie quarrels of this IveutUb couple arose from too great coincidence in their tastes.— They were both.iond of a little delicacy in question, but the dame had managed to se cure the morsel to herself. This was suffi cient to cause a storm of high words, which, properly understood signifies very low lan guage. Their meal times seldom passed over with out some contention of this sort. As sure as the knives and forks clashed, so did they ; being in fact equally greedy and disagreedy ; and when they did pick a quarrel, they.pick ed it to the bone. It was reported that, on pome occasions, they had not even contented themselves with hard speeches, but had come to seuiHing sjio taking to boxing and she to pinching, through in a far less amicable manner than *is practiced by the taker Of anulF. On the present difference, however, they were satis fied with 4 wishing each other dead with all their hearts;’ and there seemed little doubt of the sincerity of their aspiration, on look ing at their malignant faces ; for they made a horrible picture in this frame of mind. Now it happened that this quarrel took place on the'morning of St. Mark; a saint who was. supposed on that festival to favor hia votaries with a peep into the hook of fate. -For it was the popular belief, in those days, that, it a person should keep watch at mid night beside the church, the apparitions of all those who were to bo taken by death be- fore the next anniversary would be soon en tering the porch. The yeoman, like his neighbors, believed most devoutly in this su perstition; and in the very moment that ho breathed the unseemly aspirations afmesaid, it occurred to him that the eve, was at bund, when by observing the rite of Sfc. Mark, he might know to a certainty whether this un-. Christian wish was tube done of those that boar fruit. Accordingly, a"little before mid night, he stole quietly out of the house, and set forth on his way to the. church. In the moan time, the dame called to mind the same ceremonial; and having ihe like motive lor curiosity with her husband, - she also put on her cloak and calash, and set out, though by a different path, on the same, er rand. The night of the Saint was as dark and chill as the mysteries he'wus supposed to re veal ; the moon throwing but a.short occa sional glance, as sullen masses of cloud wore driven from her face. Thus it fell out that our two adventurers were quite unconscious of being in company, till a sudden glimpse of moonlight showed them to ench other, on ly a few yards apart. Both, through a nat ural punie, became pale as ghosts ; and both madeeagerly toward the church porch. Much as they had wished fur this vision, they could not help quaking and stopping on the spot, as if turned to stones; and in this position the dark again threw a sudden curtain over them, and they disappeared from each oth er. The two came to one conclusion ; each con- ceived that St. Mark had marked-tbo other to himself. With this comfortable knowledge, the widow and widower elect hied homo again hy the roads they came, and as their custom was to sit apart after a quarrel, they repaired to separate chambers, each ignorant of the other’s excursion. By and .hy, being called to supper, instead of sulking as aforetime, they came down to gether, each being secretly in the best hu mor, though naturally,suspected of the worst. Amongst other things on tiro table there was a calf’s sweetbread, being one of those very dainties that had often set them together hy the oars. The dame looked and longed, hut she refrained from its appropriation, think ing within herself, that she could give up sweetbreads for one year ; and the fanner made a similar reflection. After pushing the dish to and fro several times, hy a oomaion impulse they divided the treat; and then, having supped,' they retired amicably to rest, whereas until then they hud seldom gone to bod without falling out. The truth was, each looked upon the other as being already in the churchyard. On the morrow, which happened to bo the dame’s birthday, the farmer was the first to wake, and knowing what he knew, and baying. MAKE TOUU MARK. —JJtisonic J/arjazinc. lIV THOMAS UOUD. besides, but just roused himself out of a dream strictly confirmatory of tho late Vigil, he did not scruple to salute his wife, and wish her many happy returns of tho day, Tho wife, who knew a* much as he , very readily wished him tho same, having, in .truth, hut just rubbed out of her eyes tho pattern of a widow’s bonnet that had been submitted to her in her sleep. She took good care, how ever, at dinner, to givo tho fowl’s liver to tho doomed man, considering that when ho was dead and gone she could have them, if she pleased, seven days iq tho week ; and tho farmer, on his part, took care to help her to many titbits. Their feeling towards each other was that of an impatient host with re gard to an unwelcome guest, showing scarce ly a bare civility while in expectation of his stay, hub overloading him with hospitality when made certain of his departure.. .. - In this manner they went on some six months, without any addition of love between them, and as much selfishness as ever, yet living in a subservience to the comforts of ©ach other, sometimes not to bo found even amongst couples of sincerer affections. There wore as many causes for quarrel as ever, but ©very day it became less worth while to quar rel; so letting bygones be bygones, they were indifferent to the present, and thought only of the future, considering each other, (to use a common phrase) ‘ as good as dead.’ Ton months wore away, and the farmer’s birth-duy arrived in its turn. The dame, who had passed an uncomfortable night, haying dreamed, in truth, that she did not much like herself in mourning, saluted him, as soon as the day dawned, and, with a sigh, wished him many years to come. The farm er repaid her in kind, the sigh, included ; his own vision having been of the painful sort, fop he dreamed of having the headache from wearing a black hatband, and the mal ady still clung to him when awake. The whole morning was spent in silent medita tion and melancholy on both sides, and when dinner came, although the most favorite dishes were on the table, they could not cat. The farmer, renting his elbows upon the .hoard, with his face between his hands, gaz ing wistfully nt his wife. The dame, lean ing hack in her high arm chair, regarded the yeoman quite as ruefully. Their minds, trav eling in the same direction, and at an equal rate, arrived together at the same reflection, hut the farmer was the first to give it utter ance : ‘Theo’d bo missed, dame, if thco wore to die !’ The dame started. Although she had noth ing but death at that moment before her eyes, she was far from dreaming of her own exit. Recovering, , however from the shock, her thoughts flowed in their old channel, and she rejoined in the same spirit: I wish, master, thee may live as long as The farmer in-his own mind, wished to live rather longer, for, at the utmost hejson siilerod that his wife’s bill of mortality had but two month’s to run; the calculation made him sorrowful ; during the last few months she had consulted his appetite, bent to his humor, and ©reformed her own incli nations to his, in a manner that could never he supplied. llin wife, from being at first useful to him had become agreeable, and at last dear, and as ho contemplated her approaching fate, 1m could not help thinking audibly, ‘ that ho should be a lonesome man when she was 'gone.’ The dame, this time, hoard the sur vivorship foreboded without starting, hot she marvelled much at what she thought the in fatuation of a doomed main. So perfect was "tier faith in the infallibility of St. Mark, that she had even seen thesymptomsof mor tal disease, as palpable as plague spots, on the devoted yeoman. Giving his body up, therefore, for’lost, a strong sense of duty per suaded her that it was imperative upon her, ae a Christian, to warn the uususpccing farmer of bis dissolution. Accordingly, with u solemnity adapted to the subject, a tender ness of recent growth, and a memento movi face, she broached the matter m the follow ing question : ‘ Master, how bco’st thee V ‘ As hearty as a buck, dame, and I wish thee - the like !’ A dead silence ensued ; the farmer was ns unprepared as-over. There is a great fancy for breaking the truth by dropping it gently, an experiment that was never answered any more than with iron-stone china. The dame felt this ; and, thinking it better to throw the nows at her husband at once, she told him, in as many words, that ho was a dead man. It was now the yeomat/s turn to ho stag gered-* By a pmallel course of reasoning, he had wrought himself up to a similar disclos ure, ar.d the dame’s death warrant was just ready upon his tongue, when be met with his own dispatch, signed, scaled, and deliv-. ered. Conscience instantly pointed out the oracle from which she had derived the omen. ‘Thee hast watched, dame, at the porch, then V * Ay, master,* 4 And thee didst see me, spirituously ? ‘ In the brown wrap, with the boot hose. Thee were coming to the church, by Fair thorn Gap ; in the while I were coming by the Holly Hedge.’ , t For a minute the farmer paused, nut the next he burst into a fit of uncontrolable.luugh ter ; peal after peal, each louder than the last. The poor woman had but one explana tion for this phen nuonon. She thought it a delirium ; a lightening before death ; and was beginning to ring her hands, and lament, when she was checked by the merry yeo man : ‘ Dame, thee boe’st a fool. It was I myself thee seed at the church porch. 1 seed thee, ton ; with a notice to quit upon thy face, but, thanks to God, thee heu’st a living, and that is more than I cared to say of thee, this day ten-month 1’ The dame made no answer. Her heart was too full to speak, but, throwing her arms round her husband, sue showed that she shared in bis sentiment. And from that hour, by rirnctising a careful abstinence from of fense, or n temperate .sufferance of its appear ance, they became the most united couple in the county. But it must ho said that their comfort was not complete till they had seen each other, in safety, over the perilous anni versary of St. Mark’s Eve. A Nobi.e Wort an. —A scene recently took place at a Paris wedding, in the refin ing influonoi! of lovo and FreflHi politeness combined to make a very charming picture. The bridegroom, nn honest and industrious locksmith, was uneducated and when culled on to join the register, marked a cross. _ iho bride on-the contrary, although belonging to a poor family, had received an excellent odn cation. Nevertheless, when the pen was passed to her, she signed a cross. The brides maid, a former schoolfellow of the bride, ha ving expressed her astonishment, the young wife replied : “ Would you have mo humili ate my husband ? To-morrow I will com mence teaching him to read and write,” THE OLD CIDER MILL AND THE THIEF. Tho following is an extract from “ Country Margins,” a scries of articles which appear from time to time in tho “ Albany State Ho gister.” However, lot us pause over it, and take it down slowly, as tho boys,do the pippins in tho orchard. There are memories that come clustering about these “ bays,” these “ pippins/' and the “ orchard.” Du you remember the old Cider Mill, friend Margins, ami the old horse, as he travelled round and round, moving with a slow and dignified tread, " hitched,” to the long lever that turned the wooden mill that crushed the apples into pummicc? Uo you remember the great “ cheese” in its bandage of straw beneath the press, and how, when the great screws-were turned in the massive, gallows-shaped frame, the rich juice of the apples came gushing out and running.into the groat tub placed to receive it? Do you remember how, with.a straw, the urchins, as theveame along on their way from-school, filled themselves with sweet cider from the bung of the barrel ? Do you remember how, in the long winter nights yon sat around the fire-place wherein logs were blazing, and how the pitcher of cider and the platter ot dough nuts were placed on the old cherry table that sat out in the middle of the kitchen, and how you helped yourself to the" cider and the doughnuts, find how happy each one was, as ho sat with his pewter mug of cider in one hand and doughnut in tlio other, before that old-fashioned kitchen fire-place? Those were pleasant times. But they are memories now. And' then the apple-parings, or ” bees,” as they were called, when the young men and maidens came together to pare apples, and talk and laugh and play old-fashioned plays, and say soft things to one another, and cat pumpkin pics, and bo happy after the fash ion of the country people- when you and I wore young. Primitive times those wore, iViond Margins. ami our proud daughters anil city dames would turn up their noses hugely, were they to be present at an old-fashionod apple-bee, such as they used to have out in old Steuben, when the country was new and tha.fashions were primitive. We remember, when we were young, there was a favorite tree in our lather's orchard, which boro choice winter apples. It was called the big tree, because it was the largest •in the orchard. The fruit of this tree was al ways left until the last, and was gathered with great care. There was a wortlifpss fel low living in the neighborhood, who Ofio year coveted a portion ot the fruit the *’ big tree,” and was not deterred from its acquisi tion by the divine commandment, ** ihou slia.lt not steal ” A quantity of the apples disappeared one night, and the tracks of who ever stole them had a strong resemblance to those made by the heedless boots of our dis- honest neighbor. There ■wore two insepara ble friends on the old homestead in those curly days ; the one a “colored gentleman,” by the name of Shadraeh, who came to our father’s oossession in payment for a debt, and who ran away regularly two or three times a year, and then as regularly ran back again, just as his master began to indulge the hope ‘that he had got rid of him for good. The other was a great dog, half mastiff and half bull. a noble presence nnd fearless courage. “ Drive,” and “ Shadraeh” were inseparable. Thc3 r worked and played together, slept to gether in the same loft, and Shadraeh never ate a meal while the dug lived, at at homo, without sharing it with his canine friend, lie would talk with “Drive for hours, when they were alone, and although ho didn't say much himself, yet “ Shadraeh” said a good many things, and laid down and argued out a great many queer propositions, against which ** Drive” uttered not a word of dissent. One chilly night in October, Shadraeh and Drive had been out alorfg the cornfields on nn unsuccessful coon hun£ Qn their return, the dog dashed off through the orchard, and In a minute or two commenced barking, and Shad rach, of course, supposed he had traed a coon on ono of the fruit trees. 'Now, Shadraeh bad an abiding faith in spiritual manifestations, and stood in mortal fear of the gentleman in black, and all manner of spooks in general.- Upon arriving at the “ big tree,” by the foot cf which Drive sat. and looking up among 'the branches, lio saw there in the darkness a threat black' object, with somethin" which seemed like a winding sheet in its hand.- - Shadracb’a hair began to uncurl ns ho looked, and hallooing “seek him” to Drive, broke like a quarter nag for the house, lie bolted breathlessly into the kitchen, exclaiming,^ “ Massa, massa ! Drive got do dcbblo in de big apple tree !” “ What is that, you woolly-pated rhinocer os ?” replied his master. “ Drive got the djbble treed on the big ap ple tree,” repeated the negro. A torch was lighted, nnd upon going into the orchard there sat our thievish neighbor among the brandies, with a hag half tilled with the coveted fruit. Our father said not a word to him, buf after giving Shadrach certain directions, returned quietly to the house. Old Shadrach laid hU jacket down at the roots of the apple tree, and ordering . Drive to watch it, said to the occupant ot the tree : “Look hca, you brack tief, yon come down and Drive eat you head off sartain. Ugly dog, data Dat a white tief up like n coon, sure, lloosc up dare like turkey. Yah! yah !” Shadrach wont to his loft and laid himself quietly away. When the day broke there was the thief in the tree, and there was Drive watching him. When the sun arose they were there. The negro gave Drive his break fast and left him his jacket and the man iu the tree to watch. Our father and' the boys. of whom wo wore ono, went to husking coni in the orchard. Ton o’clock came, and there was tho dog at the roots and the man perched among the branches of tho “ big npplo tree.” The horn sounded for dinner, and when we returned the two wore there still. Tho thief called beseechingly to our father to allow him to come down. “Well,” was ilio reply, come down V* “This infernal dog will eat mo up if I do,” said the thief. “ Very likely,” was tho calm rejoinder, and wo went on husking the coru. Once or twice tho occupant of tho apple tree, after coaxing and flattering tho dug, attempted to descend, but Drive’s ivory warned him of his peril, and ho wont back to his perch. There never was another human being in such oos taoiea all the day as was that negro. Yah 1 yah! he would break out in uncontrollable oaehination, and then roll-and halloo, and yah 1 yah 1 among tho cornstalks until you could hear him a mile. Tho. sun'went down behind the bills, and there was stili tho thief and tho dog. Wo all went in to supper, and in tho twilight of the evening, in pity to the famished and frightened culprit, the dog was withdrawn, and he was permitted to elink away home. Be stole apples again, or anything else from our father, whilo “ Drive” and old ” Shadrach” remained, oq the farm. The'Highwayman's Horse. —Betwen tho years 1750 and 1700, a Scottish lawyer of eminence made a journey to London. Al that period such journeys wore usually nor formed on horseback, and the traveller might either ride post, or if willing to travel econo mically, bo bought a horse and sold him at the end of the journey. Tho gentleman above alluded to, who was a good judge.of horses, as well as an excellent horseman,’had. chosen tho latter mode of travelling, and had sold tho steed on which he rode from Scot land as soon as he.arrived in London. With a view to his return, he went to Smithfield to purchase a horse. At dusk a handsome ono was o fie red to. him at so cheap a rate, that ho was led to suspect that the animal was un : sound, bus as ho could discover no blemish, he became tho purchaser. Nest morning ho set out on his journey.-r* His horso had excellent paces, and tho first few miles, while.the road was well frequent ed, our traveller spent in congratulating him self on liis good fortune in having made so good a bargain. On Finchley Common, ami at a place whore tho road ran down a slight, descent, and up a similar ascent, tho travel ler mob a- clergyman driving a ono-horso chaise. There was nobody in sight, and the horse, by his manoeuvre, plainly intimated what had been tho profession of his former owner. Instead of passing the chaise, ho ran close up to it, and stopped it, having no doubt that its rider would embrace so fair an op portunity of exercising his vocation. Tho clergyman never doubted the identity of tho equestrian, produced his purse unasked and assured the astonished lawyer that it was quite unnecessary to draw Ins pistol, as ho did not intend to offer any resistance. Tho traveller rallicd k his steed, and with many apologies to the gentleman he hud so inno cently and unwittingly affrighted, pursued his journey. The horse next made tho same suspicious approach to a coach, from the window of which was levelled a blunderbuss, with do* nunciations of death and destruction to tho' rider, though sackless, as ho used to express it, of all offence in word or deed. In short, after his fife had been once or twice endan gered by tho suspicious to which the singu lar conduct of his horse gave rise, and having his liberty as often threatened by peace offi cers* who were disposed to apprehend him as a notorious robber and highwayman who had formerly ridden him, he found himself oblig ed to part with the inauspicious animal foe a mere trifle, and to purchase, at a dear rate, ono loss showy and of inferior action, but of bettor moral habits. The “ Merry Times” of Cu\rles the Se cond. — Sir Henry Vane, who had furnished the evidence against. Straffohl, and was ono of the most staunch of the Republicans, was also tried, found guilty and ordered for exe cution,' “When he came upon the scaffold on Tower Hall, after conducting his own de fence with great power, his notes of what ho had meant to say to the people wcio torn away from him, and the drums and trumpets were ordered to sound lustily and drown Uia voice ; for, the people hud been bo much im pressed by what the Regicides had calmly said with their last breath, that it was tho custom now to have the drums and trumpets always under the scaffold, ready to strike up. Vano said no more than tins : “Itis a bad oauso which cannot boar tho words of a dy ing man,” and bravely died. These merry scones were succeeded by an other, perhaps even merrier. On tho anni versary of tho late King's death, tho bodies of Oliver Cromwell, Ireton, and Bradshaw, wore torn out of their graves in Westminster Abbey, dragged to Tyburn, hanged there on a gallows all day long, and then beheaded.— Imagine the head of Oliver Cromwell set up on a pole to bo stared at by a brutal crowd, not one of whom would have dared to look tho living Oliver in tho face for half a moment I Think, after you have road this reign, what: England was under Oliver Cromwell, who was torn out of his grave, and under this merry monarch who sold it, like a merry Ju -1 das. over and over again. 1 Of course, tho remains of Oliver’s wife and daughter were not to bo spared either, though they hail been most excellent women. The base clergy of that time gave up their bodies, which were buried in the Abbey, and—to tho eternal disgrace of England they wero thrown into a pit, together with the moulder ing hones of Pym and of tho brave and bold old Admiral Biako.-~DtcA*c/T5 “ Child's liis~ tori/ of England” How Gold Lace is Manufactured.— Gold lace is not gold lace. It does not deserve this title ; for the gold is applied as a surface to silver. It is not even silver lace, for the sil ver is applied to a foundation of silk. There fore, when wo are admiring the glittering splendor of gold lace, we should, if “ honor bo given where honor is due,” remember that it is a silk lace, with a silver-gilt coating.—* The silken threads for making this material are wound round with gold wire so thickly, as to conceal the silk;- and the making of this gold wire is one of the most singular mecha nical operations imaginable. Iu the first place, the refiner prepares a solid rod of sil ver about an inch iu thicknosd. lie heats this rod ; applies upon the surface a coating of gold leaf, burnishes this down, and so on, until the gold is about one hundreth part the thickness of silver. Then the rod ia subject ed to a train of processes, which brings ib down to the siate of fine wire ; it is passed through holes in a steel plate, lessening *stop by step in diameter. The gold never deserts the silver, but adheres closely to it, and shares in all its mutations; it was one hun dreth part the thickness of the silver at the beginning, and it maintains the sumo ratio to the end. OT7* ‘Boys/ said Uncle Petor, as ho exam ined the points of the beast, * I don't see hut one reason xrhy that mure can’t trot her mil© in throe minutes/ They gathered around to hoar his oracular opinion ; and one inquired ‘ what is it?' 4 Why/ ho replied, * the dis tance is too great for so short a time / “ why don’t you CC7* An old gentleman accused bis servant of having stolen his stick. The man protes ted his perfect innocence. * Why/ rejoined his master, 4 the stick could never have walk ed off with itself/ 4 Certainly not, air ; un less it was a walking stick/ 517* A Danish writer speaks of a but so rpisorablo that it did nob know which way to fail, and so kept standing. This is like tho man that had such a complication of diseases that he did not know what to die of, and so lived on. jffijg* It is quite evident to the humblest in tellect that' the favorite singer of Petrclla would bo Grisi. NO, 8.
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers