JrVOL. 52. m: IPRICAK _VOLUNTEEII.- ■“ A % : EVERY THURSDAY MORNIHQ JOHN B- BRATTON. *%% TEUMS: .. . , Stwicnn-Tio^.—Two Dollars if, paid within the wMsltind Two' rfbllarS .apd .Fifty Cents, if apt pn'd the year. Those terms will bo rigidly ad in every instance. No pubscnptioh dis edflESned until all ivrrcpragcs are paid unless at ‘tWsPton of the . . ■ w . /vifiV^hTiSEMENTS —Accompanied by tqo cash, ana one square, will,bo- inserted three tiaiStiMr $2.00, and twenty-five cents lor each addlUcipal insertion. Tlioao of a greater length m P '^||iNTisa—Such ns if&tfillls, Blanks, Labels, &p. &c. t orccoiitod with at the shortest notice. 4 ,^_. IS. BOTLEB. • J3TTOIiNB YAT LiftW, .W o. OAIILIST.E, PA. WITH Wa. J. Shearer, Esij. Cgfett- 14, 1805—ly. jno c. graham; , at law; formerly occupied by Judge Giabam, street, Carlisle. [sept. 7, 'Si? W. F. SAUL Eli, TTORNE Y AT LAIV, “-Well CARLISLE, Pa. in Volunteer Building Scuth Hanover ;;i||||||i 7,1861 —ly. ~ .i/Sf J. M. WRAKWB¥, Jlltiobnjji at law, i'f ICE on South Hanover street, in thfe .’room formerly occupied by A. IS. Sbnrpo. Bf'27, 1862—Dm. ___ II . NE W SII AM, ATTORNEY at LA IV. with Wm. 11. Miller, Esq., south corner of Hanover and I’omfret streets. '■'iSlatUale, Deo. 22, 1862—tf djttAS. E. MAGEA.UC!(IEIMj ? T 0 K N E Y-AT-LA W. «IGE in Xnboff’s building, just opposite i Market House., March 13, 1802—ly. — ' Sw. FOULIC, Attorney at Law. ODico with James R. Smith, Esq., RUcon. a 11 business ontrus 1 cd to him will ded to. E ° b ~ °~ 186 - - M. c * HERMAN. |'f«TTOU,REY AT lAJT . in llhoem’s Hall Building, in rffio roar of the Court House, next door to ttie ' [.p-ob-4.»£1—19«— -;1» JAMI3S A. DUNBAR, TTOENE'Y AT LAW. ' ■ CARLISLE, PA. ;next door to the American Printing office west of Hannon's hotel. : 14. 1804—ly _■ fTe BEL.TZUOOVER, ATTORN K V AND COUNSELLOR AT LAW CARLISLE, PISNN'A. on South Hanover street, oppo ,; .ho Patent Ob* 1 ■'-fcl&niftfito socurmg Putout Rights. 1864-lv , 13. SBAVIjBY, ; AT LAW. ! feAULISLE, PA. «tISNt)S to Eccurinp; itnd collecting BMh.r', Pay, Bonllliti,, <t;e. l■. a«.;‘,o£[lio oa South Hanover street opiwsitt Fob^te. | ; ■:■ : ceo. s. SKlTiiciii^ I^SiSis’T. ■-'fym’fa’Baltmore Colieije of Denial Silrgtry Sv tho residence-of,bis mqtbot, Euat touth ;■ doors,bplow Bedford. Doc. 22.1652. V:,2S i . DU. & .c. Loomss, d'eb- from South Ilnnovor street to We*l ’femiwtfitroot,' opposite thVFeraalp High Bej»J o >i [April 28, 186-1. : ; !gPPion Examining Surgeon ■ J r 'i’?Wffi 9r Ccr.lialc and Adjacent Country.) a'trf. q. KINKLE, Office, (upstairs) In off's Building, South East Corner of I..arkc [Kov. 2, 65-ta (Qldlhing! —Sep; 1865. just repfiived n.larwe irfa elegant assortment of superfine an J n m, Quality of French and Gorman Cloths, Black 'amFdranoy-Cassimcrfi'and Vestings, a general aa imfeo4i/of Untop Oastifnofcs, Sdtlpp.ts, Joans, &0.. iliiotwiloh I will pianufacturotu. order in rionstvlo. at moderate .prices, or sell by tho.yard. irSavoVseourod thesorvloosof Thom/soa S. Koigh tdr' OnO ofonr most fashionable and popular Tail ors, who will always bo found in the store to out ' - --itond the manufacturing department, ,y invites his old patrons and the pub im a .call. }s"ortin(jnt of Y MADE CLOTHING, manufacture for men anti boys, at pri tbo times, will always bo found on our will let no man undersoil me. Also, its, Bools and Shoes- »f prime Kip', Water Proof, CaU and 3, Ac., fo/m’ori ana'boy* is largo te, t’dgetW ■with a full assortment 6F id children’s fine and every day wear, i you will find soiling at' the very low (ssiblc. Como see, and be satisfied. ‘ TRAVELING' BAiGS, &c., it prices. . il to give me a call, as I will always 100 you and feel confident that I can .with a« good, well 1 landt? and desirable loots, Shoos,' Hats, <to., as can bo found ;ot and I think at lower prices".. mover street,between Shroiner’s Hole! •t’a corner, Carlisle. . . J. W. SMILEY. 865—3 m ,oob phoTOGiiAPn is. wortit on poor onos. Who will give a poor a friend ? All Photographs made at Gallery ure warranted ip give satisfao [Oct 19, 'Go-tf. TRUNKS! TRUNKS!! !ES, Trunks, Cavpct Urate- Ac. French Bole leather Trunks, La ling Trunks of large sizes, brass bound makes, in largo variety at ISAAC LINItfGSTON’B, No nth Hanover Street, '63., 11l TnTnnnllv attGrulGO to. , v , M y *’ ■ ' r Sweet Minnie May and I one eve t Across the meadow strayed, Then wandorod down the lane To whore the streamlet played. Wo .passed bqpeatii ijib Linden's shade, Within a flowery dell— , f asked a kiss, she sighing said, if you’ll never tell." Ah I do you think, sweet Minnie May, That I could traitor bo ? Onp,ki3S and I will {Hedge for aye My secrecy to tbco. k Her fringed Ups veiled modestly, The mirrors of her soul, To nook and brow all suddenly To tell tale blushes stole. • xor round wtu, an. ly *. .i» Ah ! then the Height of blisa— Hoj* rosy lips were pressed to mine In one a*oot lingering kiss; u Epest'wosp'tso" it aounded thro* tko lane, . *Twaa wafted by the breeze, Until repented o'er again By echo 'midst And trees. Enchanting girl! tliy form so fair In playful dreams around mo dances; TU4y smile eo bright, so free from care, dimpled check, jot black hair, fly heart entrances. But, oh 1 those eyes, those eyes, With joy and innocence still gleaming; The winged light scarce swifter flies Than do the glances from those eyes; With pleasure beaming I‘d woo thee, malice, ttcr.o it not ~ ‘ That wooing thee might prove bewilderm.* I’d woo thee,' maiden, wore it not For this one thing —a toi/e Pvs got, And six BiHctll children. The House in the Notch. ” HARRY CHRISTOPHER’S StORT. —There-were~two_liUle— amongst the mountains yonder, thirty years ago ; queer little places—rough stone at the bottom and shingles at the top. They had hut two rooms ,apiece, if you didn’t count the gar ret ; and windows you'd laugh at, though they wore bright as any crystal. Our folks lived in one and the Allkirks in the other. There were four boya of us, and mammy. Father had been lost at sea a good while be fore, and mammy had moved there far away from the salt water, bt“oause she reckoned the sight and smell of it put sailoring into lads heads, and one drowned man is enough for one woman to cry over. Roger Allkirk was ju«t going out there with his wife, and says he— Widow Christopher, come along with us, and I’ll lend you a helping hand for a year or two, and your boys are big and strung enough to do a sight of farming.— Well, they went. I can just remember the journey, . And there we lived together—stuck fast, as it might be, —for the land was not profitable, and no one would buy it again, and'money-wasn't plenty enough to throw away; There was a village down lower, but folks ; didn’t cdre for the notch, though it was just the prettiest wildest bit of a place you ever saw. And if there were such things us fairies they’d have lived there certain sure. The next thing to a fairy did live there,— That was Jfesaie Allkirk. She was born the year after we went out, and he£ iftothfir Dev er had another chilli- tfou can’t (urn heouty into words and put it down on paper ; but she a-aa joatjho brightest lasqieihe sun ever shone on. Somehbfc, with her blue eyes and golden hair—not red but pale brown—she looked like a ,bit .of sunshine berreH. ..We set store by her—we boys. She was a sister to us,' and the greatest pot. We were never tired of playing with, her, o£nd ws let her have hel own why; for sherwas a girl, you see, aud it’s natural for boys to make much of girls whet they’re the youngest. . As for Mrs.' Alldir£,„who was a fretful wo man,’ fb'p only happiness she had was that girl; the only wish she secerned to have, that she should marry add prosper bettor thiin she had herself. . / . . ~. .. , “ Not that I blame Allkirk,” she’d say; “ but I never thought of this life when I was 11 iVnil site had worked lief £ngefs tq fife bone, poor soul, and yet they’d laid by noth ing. Wb‘wdre no better. And so nS they grew older my brothers went one by one away from the notch. First Slim' bethought himself of traveling to seek his fortune, and mother cried her heart out at the parting. Arid then John wont strait to the sea. And, oh, it seemed ns if mammy would die then, for John was her pet. And wo were lonesome enough even if Mrs. Allkirk hadn’t insisted bn sending Jessie to boarding school for one year—to learn more than she could at Mise Fatty’s in the village. But when she wont I think the notch grow darker, and there was no need of that. Will and I worth'd riribiy together at a bit of land, ri'nd took such things as we had to sell to market—a weavy day's Journey—and tried to keep mother's' spirits up by keeping her in good green tea and white sugar, and never let out how hopeless wo were until we were alone out o’ doors.' Tbeu'we talked it out, — I‘was young yet—only twenty ; but Will was ten years older—the oldest ol ns all. It was d 1 dolefdl year, for crops Were' bad arid work , hard, and the first thing that cheered us up was Jessie’s coming home. That was at Christmas tiirio. V?e had our dinner together, as wo always bad on that day, and missed the boys mure than we could tell; but for all that I could think'of nothing but how pretty Jessie was. A year had made such’a difference in her, — She wont away a ohi.d and bame back a wo man. , , , . Sho had put her hair up and wore long drosses, and bad a quiet, prown-upway with her. And her ideas seemed different, and we couldn’t think of romping as we had used with her. If I felt this Will felt it more. “ She’s beautiful,” ho said, when we wore alone together; “ she makes me think of a queen. I’m afraid of her, and keep wonder ing what she’ll think of mo—to big and red- "MroTCJcmmtwiwwp«»v*T's--n**«*-ov t «•• poetical. KISSING. nook ontwlnod, id wbitb ai rin m; A SLIGHT DRAWBACK; 3Sl«telldntnna. Bt M AltT KYLE DALLAfI. handed and rough. She's fit to keep compa ny with fine folks.' 1 , “ D'ye think she’s set up a bit 7” says I. •• No,” said ho ; “ I think nature has sot her up and she don’t know it. She’ll never take airs.” And she didn’t. She helped her mother at the house work, and churning and milking, and was sister-like with us. Only, mind you, I mustn’t kiss her ns I used, for 1 tried it once and she drew hack, quite flushed, and said: VWo nfe grown persons now, Hal, and that is children’s play.” -And I didn’t try it igaitl. As for ’Will, I think he would have been shocked if I had told him I’d offered to touch her bhcek with .Ho never had. . . . And sow that she was crown and so very handaqmej Mrs. Alik,irk talked more thdu tver about her making a good match. “ A' rich iijnn/' she’d say ; “ I’ll never say yes fur my heanty .tp, any hut a rich man.” And at that t hear.d JVill sigh a great hea yy froni the bottom of his hfaffc. Will wasn’t a handsome follow, but I was; and ten yearo more of trouble lind, marked themselves on his face like the notched in a tally. He seemed somehow quite a middle aged man to me, and I never thqug|it ,oF ,hi? sighing for anything but the poor laud or dull prospects. But of Mrs. Allkirk’s opened my eyes to my-own feelings. I was in love with Jessie. Juab as much in love as a man qould bo, or a boy, if yoh like thqf better. — Her dear little face seemed an angel’s, and her voice came into roy dreams by night, I cppldn’t thjbk of ppj; life worth living without her. tfo o.ne day I said to myself— I’ll be a rich man and win Jessie for my wife.” And though no one heard me, it was an oath takenju/h? sight of Heaven., . .. The next week I told Jessie that I loved her and asked her to he my wife* “Nut wow,” said I; “some dny when I am mqro worthy of you t . I mean to be rich_ —very rich, and you shall have silk gowno and jewels, and live in a great house, and mammy shall be with us. Mind you, I wouldn’ttry to mate poverty with poverty, and keep youJn the Notch working like a farmhand. Only. say ‘ yea/if^you like me, enough and that will help me on.” She looked at mo, a little frightened. Itj seems strange to me,” she said. .“I Tike you better than any one, else, but I’ve never thought of. feeing rhtirried.” “ Oirls never do,” paid t ; “ but if you love me a little jt will all be right, and if you don’t I’ll just t lio down and die, for there’s no use living ; or I’ll wander away and.never let any one hear of rao again, if you don’t care for>mb.” Then sire oried : “ Oh, Hal, Ido like. you I”.. .. ; . And let mo kiss her-; and it was all set tled ; aad I fold.her my plans. The Calfor nia gold fever was at its height and I was r ing there to dig] “ And," says I, “ don't tell, any one j only koe,p. true fo,me 5 end whether it's one year or ten, be sure I’ll come back at last; and cothe back rich enough to make your mother willing to say ‘yes' to mo. She cried a little about my going away, but wria hopeful too, and 00 made «iip her mind that I’d be back in 4 no.,time. She was not avaricioda, but phe had seen, better tilings ,and better phices, and the house at the Notch seemed comfortless, no doubt. So she wtis the more willing. _ ,, t . ... .. 1 broke the newti o?rhy.going to my moth er that night, and hid tlje scene I dreaded over. Will was in the room. lie stood- loo king down .into the tiro and said nothing.— At last, when I’d quite done, he spoke: “ The farm’s a poor place. There isn't room for more than one of us here ; but it isn’t you that ought to go, but I. I'm the one too many.” When lie said those last words I saw a sad look come into his face, and f pitied him. ‘‘ Let’s go together, Will,” said I. “ No,” said he ; ” one must stay with mo ther. You are her favorite, and everybody’s. It ought to bs you.” I mado no answer and wo never spoke an other ward until mother hud gone into the. Inner room to bed. Then Will arose and came towards mo, and put both hands on my shoulders. “ Hal,” said he, “ I'm your brother, and a great deal older than you- Listen to me; stay hero—let mo go. If I make money I’ll send you enough to buy a better place. Come —you are mammy’s pet, and Jessie’ri sweet heart. ,{ know all about it. I saw you with your firm about her waist, (ind she’s not the girf to! Ipt you put it there if you had not been, something to her.”,, ~ •• Vi'ell,” riaid I. “ I meant to tjll,.ng.6ne— hut ifi's so. .She lias Said.she’ll have mo, and that’s why I’m going. ( I want to give her a' good home, and keep her froiri Ipifjiship," Will looked at me, with sriohi a face 1 ‘‘Stay in the Notch for Jessie’s sake,” said he. ‘•Nonsense,” said I. “It’s for her I’m go ing.”-, ; “ You don’t know what you are about,” said he. “ Come, HnK stay-here. I’ll help you if I make out. Only don’t leave Jessie, if you' wan t her.” , ‘‘l’m not afraid,” said I. ‘‘There’s no handsome young fellows,to cut mo out in the Notch, nor In the.village.” ‘‘You’re right there,” said ho, “Yeti say sta".” lie kept on until I grew nngry and quar reled with him—and then stopped. “W hat ever happens is your own fault,” ho said, and climbed upstairs to the garret where wo slept, without another word. ( lie did not speak of it again until the day wo parted. But then after saying good bye to all and coaxing mammy, and having a lock of Jessie’s hair in my bosom, and her k\ss on my lips, he rode a bit to see me off. lie begun again— “ Take vour last chance,” said he, “ and mind you’ll be glad of it to your dying day Stay with your eweet heart, and give mo your outfit. I’ll go i'fi'atead.” “You’re very kind,” said I, with a sneer, “t cm - ,” says ho, “kinder than you think.” “Well,” said I, “don’t let’s part in anger. You’ve been a good brother to me, and I’ll not forget you. God bless you, take care of mammy,” and ! put out my hand. He grasp ed it. “God bless you, Hal,” said he, and wo parted. And I rode away from' the Notch, and ho back towards it. Life in the diggings is a rough one, and rough it seemed to roe, but 1 was full of hope, and young and hearty. I’ worked away, expecting every day to get a nugget that would make my fortune, and just finding dust enough to earn my daily food and lodging. It took a -little of the hope from me, but old minora told me my streak of look hadn’t come, and I topic heart again.— But for weeks and weeks I hadn’t anything to send to mammy, nor one cent of the for tune I was to make, in my money-belt. Tho climate tried me too, ahd’ I Was ill at' odd >1 CARLISLE, PA.; TIIURSDAf; NO^EMB times, and more than once half wished my self back in the Notch. . But not quite, for there was activity ami interest in w the life I led, and hope of success Ijko that a gambler feeds on. I pitied poor Will working on bis arid bit of farm land. • . . But oh how t missed Jessie, I’d have„giy.- en the word jiist to hear her sweet voice speak one word. , Evenings, when the great round yellow moon Rhone down upon the diggings, I used to think how it shimmered in the Notch, and weep. All her letters I kept in my bosoni, and wrote to her as often as I could. And still week after week, month after month I wandered about, trying ray luck here and there, and always failing, until I grew quite wretched. I wrote less then, put ting it off until I should have good news.— Aud though mother wrote often, Jessie did not, only answers regularly to mine. She was shy, I think, and had her own ideas of what a girl should do. So three years passed, and I was farther from all Hope than ever, and then the worst thing happened to mej the thing that put an end for a long time to 4 everytbing. I fell iri tq the hands of the Indians. I was out by myself in a lonesome sort of a place, and lit a fire and cooked a bird I'd shot, and brought them on me. Often I wipHsd tHev h,ad scalp ed me, and made, amend of it. But why, I couldn’t guess,, they let me live. 1c was a kind of slayela life. Close watched all the time, and plenty of hard work to do. But the worst was beings so sljut off from those at the Notch. . f used., to call out Jessie's name so, that th.e Indians stared at me, and talked together I’m sure of my q*uee: ways, and get to crying “ mammy” like a baby. I think perhaps they thought ril.e crazy. I can't tell how long I stayed with them ; it was years, I know ; for summers came apd went, and winters followed, over and ovei* again. At last, quite mad and reck less, J pan away, and having learned their cunning* tricks got clear off, and amongst civilized people again. I was half naked, and had a long, wild hoard, .and was brown with sun and wind. Rjammy wouldn’t have known me. And yrhsn Itlookgd at,the date of, sho first news paper l.camrt across, I found it was eight years since I left home. Somehow .1 didn't think I ever should go home again. Life seemed over to me, I just wandered out to the diggings, and there I had- my old luck until I came across a man named Barker. He was dying fast, and I did what I could for him ; ami little as it wp.B he was very grateful. The last words he said to me were these: . “WaJ, Christopher, you have been good to me.' son couldn't have been better. Jest see th.e wolves don’t get a chance to eat me ; and God bless you. When I’m gone. p;o in the back' of jny hue, and dig a hole where the old jug is let in ; Under that you’ll find sumo thing in a bit of i moant TollnFve" it with you. Util ; .but now I’m going, it’s all yours, fair dnd free. And it will make you rich at home; and you can marry your gal and bo hapyy.” For you see I’d told him my story. t didn’t think much of his words. They might bo worth nothing,’ for he was fever ish and flighty. But alter he was buried I remembered them and dug up the old jug; under that the earth whs packed hard. 1 broke it, and took out, as be bed said, a bit of sailcloth. - g»- j JTlien in the moonlight I unwrapped it. It wps .full of , gold. He was. right, that gift made me rich. I hid it about me, and ran away, afraid-.to tfust any one. ,-l wpnt to San Francisco, and there chang ed the gold for money, I was washed and clad, and hud my beard and hair primmed, ani} started in the next steamer. . I couldn’t tbi.Qk and dared not, that 1 should hud any one at home dead or changed, though it was eight years and a hull since I had loft them, I was very hopeful, never so much so in my tile. . ' ... At last, after the weary voyage and jour ney, I came within a mHe of that little notch in the White mountattnisparopnd me lay the little village grown into a town* with k great factory at one end. . « I stood and looked at that with wonder, staring at the name at the office door—\V 11- liam Christopher. At last I called a lad to me. . ■ . » “ Whose factory is that?” said f. j x " Mr. Christopher's,” said he. “ Mr. Wil liam owns it and Mr. John ip a partner:” “Ah,” said I, ‘/..they are living then— thank Ood--and their mother?” “ She’s old, but she’s spry,” said the boy, I thanked God .again. , * ** And do you know another family named Allkirk who live in the Notch ?” „ “They ainta family now,” said the boy; “ths old folks are dead and Miss Jessie lives with .tfie Christophers.” “ In the ,Notch ?” ** Yes, sir.” ■. , Tj dicj nut atop for another word. .Jessie lived snd was still Jessie Allkirk. My mo ther >vas well, and ,my brothers prosperous ; and 1 had come home rich to make them glad,’ wed Jessie and never, never leave home mure.j It wps more happiness than I deserv ed. I almost ran toward the Notch. 1 hail ed its shadows gleefully. There stood on the spot where the littla cabins had been, a lovely cottage with a flow er garden about it—a place ‘so full of beauty, that it was better than any palace. But the place was quite deserted—not a soul about. 1 fancied them all gone for a walk or visit, and waited on the porch. £>jon, as I sat there, I heard a merry peal of bells from the little church, and at first could not think what it could bo; but so m I remembered that it was the custom of the place when any two wore married. “ TheVj shall ring so,”’l thought, “ when Jessie and I are made one.” Doubtless they had gone to that wedding. Why should I not go also and meet them at the church ? So 1 followed the bell music and reached the church at last. It was qbite full; but seeing a stranger, they made room for me.— No one knew mo, with my black beard and brown face, lot the boy who went away eight years before. And.l stood like one with nei ther kith nor kin there, looking on. , i( , I saw the neighbors I had known in the vil lage. The old minister with his white hair. I saw my mother standing in her pretty laca cap and black silk dress; and before the al tar my brother William and Jessie ; and ho hacl put a ring upon her finger, and had kiss ed her as I looked. My mind went back long years. I heard Will speaking ns he spoke .that night, and | know he had loved Jessie all along, and that His nubh purpose when he begged me to stay and to bid him go was to forget her for my sake. Yet though I could not blame them, for t|ioy thought me dead, I could not face them then.' I should but have marred their joy. Even my mother was not grieving lor me.— So I slunk away, and, sick and giddy, left the church and the pealing belle andtheg’ad R 23, 1865. bridal party, and wont lonely and alone from the old Notch. Tjjey .Were all there.—John and Sam and mother.uni Will and Jessie—prosperous and blest, and not needing me. So ever eipce I have lived a. solitary life, oad and sore of heart; and..even yet I dare not be Sure that,by the Christmas time I shall have strength to-go' back to the Notch and pray my mother's blessing, and see Jessie/ will’s wife, without betraying the bitter pangs I feel and must feel until my dying day ; for I shall never, love another woman, nor marry without love. The Mission of Odd*Fellowship. AN ADDRESS DELIVERED BV WILLIAM KENNEDY; Esqij At the Odd Fellows* Celebration, in Lees- burg, on Fridag , November 3 rd, 18G5. COUUE3PON.DENCE. Hall of Manor Lodge. 1 Leesburg, Nov. 3rd,-1865. f IVm. Kknnedv, Esq. : Dear Sir and brother'. —At a meeting of members of’the orier held in Manor Lodge Room, this even ing, it was unanimously “ Resolved , That a committee, consisting one from each of the lodges present, be ap pointed to request for publication the able and eloquent vindication of Odd Fellowship delivered before us to-day by brother Past Grand Kennedy; and that all the newspa pers in Cumberland county be hereby re quested to publish the same.", In accor dance .vrit!i this resolution the undersigned committee have the honor to request a popy of your address for publication in the papers of the couijty, believing that its publication will do much .to advance the interests of the cause in which you and all of us feci suoh a deep interest. ; : Yours in “ Friendship Love and Truth," A. Byers, Com doguinet Lidge, No. 173. W. A. Shuster, Cumberland Lodge, No. 90 J. S : Dougherty, Manor Lod«e, No. 560. J. XV’ngono.r Newburg L ulge, No. No. 502. S. Glass, Path Valley Lodge, No. 4T3, D. Raber, Harrisburg Lodge, No. 68, SinrPE.vsBUKQ, Nov. Bth, 1865. Messrs. Byers, Daugherty, Shdster and others—C nnmittec. , Brothers: —Your kind and flattering note, containing a request for.a cony of the ad dress delivered at the Leesburg celebraMon, for publication, was duly received. Ido feel the deepest interest in the cause of Odd Fel lowship, and it was this interest which prmnp.ted me to attempt a pubjic vindication of the order,' which should meet the frivo lous objectious urged against it by .its ene -niies;—l-herewitlr-place-the-address-at—your disposal, and will be more than gnitilicd if your expectations of the »ood to be accom plished by its publication bo oven partially realized. „ Yours Fraternally, . , AVIIjLIAM KENNEDY, Address. Officers and Brothers—Ladies and Gentlemen: —There , were no sights more welcome to the way-worn pilgrims who jour neyed towards Jerusalem than those reques tcred nooks by the way-side, with their wealth of grateful shade and their life giving waters, where temples had been erected in the minis of the 3od they worshipped. Here they devoted.a day to rest and repose, and to sweet and holy communion with their breth ren of the faith who were performing the same snored duty as themselves. In imita tion of their example, we to-day have turned aside from the rough highway of life, glad t»» escape the iude jostlinga of the world, and the cares and crosses of business, and to for get “Man’s inhumanity to man,” while we mingle in communion hero where these brethren of yours have built a living temple in the hearts of men, and dedicated it to “friendship, love arid truth.” As the hearts of those .'pilgrims were touched with live coals from off the altar, theft* spirits rejuven ated and their great avails new en ergy for the toilsome pilgrimage .before them psOjhiay. we leave ttys place to-day with new zeal burning in each breast, with re newed faith inhumanity, and with a firmer resojyo to.surmount all obstacles in.the way of our great work of, b.oncfit,ting and enno bling mankind.. I know you all feel that it is good to bo hero to-day. You realize that there are ,a thousand nameless ties, a thou sand kindred thoughts and kindling sympa thies, which oply those who leel them know and which bind your hearts and mine togeth er yvith a chain whose charmed links can never he broken. These ties nnd thoughts and sympathies serve to make this occasion preci-ms to us. beyond what others can feel or know. Bjlieve mo, then, it is with no or dinary emotions that I welcome you to this reunion of the “ brethren of the mystic tie.” You know and I know that the welcome of an Odd Fellow has none of the hollow hesirt euness uf the world about it. Recognizing the brotherhood of Man, it is the welcome of Brother to Brother, and partakes of n\\ the sweet tenderness of the homo circle. I welcome you here, then, to dny, not as dis tinguished visitors and guests* but simply as Brothers. There is one great truth written oh the hearts and in the faces of men everywhere, and that truth is that this life of ours, with all its hanpiness and its hopes, is a contin ued struggle. I see it written on the braw ny arms and bronzed faces before me. They tell of “ ceaseless toil and enile.ivor.” of days and nights of labor and sweat. They pro claim that the decree which in the beginning doomed man to labor as his lot, is still re morselessly enforced. Those same faces tell me th(\t man must ; suffer as welt as work.—>• They bear traces of sorrow and disappoint ment. They tell of Imurs'of anxious solici tude, or perchance of reputations clouded, of health impaired, of ruined fortunes.apd of prospects blighted, 1 venture the assertion that there is scarcely a heart in this vast as semblage which has not. at 50... e time in its history, been wrung with anguish until it seemed almpst ready to burst; there is scarce ly a.life here wjiica has.not had its night of clouds and thick darkness—a darkness which might almost be felt. We hear sounds of sorrow and lamentation all around us ; and then there are sorrows too sacred for the ear of the world, “ there are killing griefs which dare not speak.” Man must not only labor and suffer,., but “it is appointed unto all. men once to dir.” We spo the solemn truth written in the rapidly filling cemeteries, in the-habiliments of mourning vhch throng the street or fill the sanctuary ; and it comes sighing past us in the voices of the. breeze, from every corner of the world, as “ the voice of Rachel mourningfor herohildrou.” There is another truth in God’s Providence which it is well to consider here; that truth is that there is uo ill in life which in reality does not come to us with its hands full of bless ings. The use I make of this truth hero is to prove that this and suffering of life and certainty of death is a blessing, in that it teaches man that he needs help and sympathy. It forms the great bond of hu man brotherhood. . If it, were otherwise—if life .were not a scene of toil and suffering, there,.would bo no tie which could bo called common among men—no chord which when toughed, w.ould, vibrato in one sympathetic strain front heart to. heart—no grand stage upon .which men could meet, and forgetting minor differci\ces, remember only that they were men. Not only man’s, necessities, but bis inclinations also; impel him to seek the society of others. He feels that'without good company even the dainties of life Jose their relish. Vie do not like to bo left alone.*— Solitude has few char.ms for any of us. , Man is a gregarious animal, and companionship seems to be one of the laws of liis being. In confirmation of these truths, history tells us that, under the pressure of these common wants and inclinations, and recogniring this common brotherhood, nien in every age and country have associated theiuselyfes together for mutual counsel and relief.. It is the feel- ing of dependence, this, consciousness that man always needs help and advice, sympa thy and companionship from his follows, which lies at tho/oundation of such societies as purs. For while man, if loft to labor and suffer atone, is poor and weak and,miserable, it is nevertheless as true to-day as it was when the poet Montgomery wrote it, that: <f When friendship, love and truth abound. Among a band of brothers, The cup of joy goes galis arpund, . Each shares the cares of others; Sweet roses grace the thorny way Along'H’his vale of sorrow; The fl >wors that shod thoir loarca to day, Shall bloom again to-morrow.” Among these societies hone has excelled he beneficent influence of Odd Fellowship, in relieving sickness and sorrow, in giving assistance and counsel to the unfortunate, apd in preventing poverty and suffering.— When Demosthenes was asked what claim he had upon the confidence of the Athenians, stretching his hand out over the vast audi ence he was addressing, he replied; “Let Greece herself answer to whom, she owes her freedom ilnd with equal confidence can we say to. the world ; “ Let our deeds of benev olence 1 and-charity answer whether our or der ia worthy of public confidence.” 1 do not stand here to-day to plead the cause of Gdd-Followsbip. She is abundantly able to fflqad'her o-.vn cause. lam content to point to the single fact that our benefactions in this country amount to over one million dol lars annually, and that there are thousands of helpless widows ull oyer .this, broad land -deponrfeTrtritpon— our charity, and thousands" of orphans being educated in the schools and seminaries which wq have established hi dif ferent localities. Or I might point Jo the rapid increase of our order in this country, and ask you to give a reason for if}. A third of a century has scarcely elapsed einc.o the birth of American Odd Fellowship* and now nearly three hundred thousand Americans worship at its shrine. At the recent session of the Grand Lodge of the United States, rep resentatives wore gathered within' “ its mvs- ic circle” from the far oast where the morn ings rum risen out of the blue waters of. the Atlantic t) ilie distacb west “ whero rolls the Orogt n, and hears no sound save h,is own dashing*.” _ Surely this rapid inciovso of strength cannot lie the result of accident .or the consequppco of novelty., for accident and novelty would long since have expended their for.ee. In what other, way, then, can you account for it than by, admitting that men have learned, to appreciate its excellencies from the good it has done amongst them ? A corrupt tree does not hoar good fruit. To visit the sick, to bury the dead, to educate the orphan and to assist the widow; are the .imperative duties of our order, 1 ' With this important work to do, men feel and know that our association is necessary to human welfare and .happjneas. So long as man needs help and encouragement, so long as human nature is doomed to suffer, so long as \yant and crime have their victims, so long as their are hearts broken and shattered with grief which need to have their strings at , tuned tO'harm my again, so long will there .bo need'for such an institution as Old-Fel lowship. When these ills cease, and not till then, will it be wise to abandon our work.— When misfortune shall have no tear to dry, and sorrow no wound to heal, then, and not till then, will Odd-Fellowship have accom plished its mission. It must not be understood, from what has been said, that Odd-Fellowship ia merely a benefit iaty association. Its principles arc adapted to all the exigencies of. life, and are tj.fi broad as the living world. It has under taken the task* of elevating and ennobling human character, and its benefactions which are seen of men are simply the outcroppings of its inner life—the outward manifestations of its vital energies. Recognizing the man hood of man. we take him by the hand and' speak to him words of good cheer. We help him up out of the mire, if he chances to fall by the way, and tell him to ,be a man as his G<»d designed him to he. Woricnguizo it as true everywhere amongst men that “Tho drying «p a single tear bns more Ofbouost fame, than shedding seas of gore.” And wo constantly inculcate the lesson that “ho who saves a single fellow-being from suffering, ruin and death'-, and starts him on the road, which leads to happiness, wears a. brighter ohaplot than that which crowns tho bravest of war’s heroes.” Herein consists the real vital power of our order, above and beyond all selfish or mercenary considerations; and yet in this respect our influence is scarcely u-iblo to tfio world, fur the world looks for dolliaj.aud c nt* in eve rything. You must become an Odd Fellow and take your place in the-inner sancluiry, to know and feel what it is. Y«>u can readily seethe power of the rolling river and the seething ocean, and yet the m«sb that rises in the morning’s sun along your mountains, to fall again in the dews of night, covering the, oiirth"vith verdure ancf filling it with fruit age, is a greater power than either of thorn U works noiselessly and ceaselessly, and all nature feels its beneficent influence. So this silent, secret, electric influence of Odd Fel lowship pervades all classes and‘conditions of men.. It is progressive and likewise retro-' active, for no man is happier or bettor- than when he is doing good. The very effort to ennoble others is ennobling in itself, and like mercy ” it blesses him that gives as well as him lhat tak«s.” are soma pood people who think the name of our boo e v is -inpular and inappro priate. They desire to know in what respect we are odderJelloxcs than oilier fellows. To such 1 reply that the name is not of our own choice, nor is it of modern coinage. It comes to usvonorablo with antiquity and sanctified Ijy the glorious deed* of benevolence and phi lanthropy done under it. It is a g)od enough name for us, and wo would not change it if wo could. But a few centuries ago the name of Christian was a bye word and a reproach, and yet what faithful follower of the Cross would now exchange it, with all its holy memories, for the proudest title given among men. A little reflection will convince you, that our name may not be so inappropriate alter all, for to, be an Odd-Fello.w in spirit and in truth, you must be an honest man, and this requisite, if not an oddity, is at least a rarity in the world. But what is there in a name? Wo judge of a man by what he is and what be is doing for the race, ,and it makes no difference whether his name be Smith, or Jones, or Jeukius. We simply ask to bo judged by the same rule ; and will nev er emulate that snobbish spirit which teach es men to bo ashamed of the names their fath ers gave them. . ... There are name people in the world who have an irresistible impulse to pry into their neighbors’affairs, and we have consequently, incurred the scandal of these Paul Pryaond tea-drinking gossips, because ours is a secret organization Yet it can be safely asserted that we are only secret in regard to our per sonal affairs, us the family is secret, tt3 the church is secret, as every association among men' is secret. Wo are only secret in regard to matters about which no one outside of the order has any rigli ( t to know anything. Our Constitution and Uy-lawa, our times and pla ces of meeting,' our principles and objects, are known; uuyl read of all men. But our personal affairs are our own ond no one has a right to pry into them any more than ho has to go eaves dropping among bis neigh bors. Those who complain of our secrecy forget that secrecy is one of the immutable laws of society. What would, he suid.uf the attorney who would befrny the confidence of his client, or the physician who would tell what he sees and hears in the bouse of his prtient, or the clergyman who would divulge the penitential admissions of the coule-'sional, or the wife who would reveal the secret in - trusted to her by her husband ?' Would you, then, have us publish the poverty of ttujsa whoso distresses we relieve, and boast of our charities to tho world ? Gid Forbid I Rath er let us pursue the unostentatious course of tho true hurnanpirian,. and not constantly proclaim ourgool deeds in tho ears of men. Banker and men of business.have signs and tokens by which they kho>v whether the draft presented them is genuine ; and is it not equally just that we should have our signs and tokens that wo may know whether lie is a brother or a .hypocrite, whether be is a true soldier or. a spy in the ranks, whether he is a good nqte or a counterfeit ? Those who com plain of our sccrjsy, to bo consistent with themselves, should have no secrets of thoir own, and should keep none of those confided to them. They should novel* bestow secret "oharity, or breathe the secret prayer to the God who made them. For if secrosy is wrong, then all-these things are evils. /-There are also those who claim that we are too exclusive in our benefactions. It ia true that our field of labor is small cmdpared with tho'groat work to be done, but then you must remember that our moans are limited. Wore we to bestow qur. charities broadcast among the needy yr.c would soon impoverish our selves,cvqn hud wo all the wealth of the Cal ifornia's, and this would be an act of gross in justice.to those dependent upouua. As it is, wo do the best wo can, and more than any similar association in the country is doing.— - Our charity begins at homo, it is true, but it does not end there, as is the case with much of the charity of the present day. Like the good Samaritan our order does not pass by the unfortunate on the other side, but biuds up the wounds of the fallen stranger, pour ing in oil and wine. It would bo unjust to the healthy, to take those who would bo a constant burthen without contributing their 8 quota to the i treasury. Did wo not guard against this, Odd Fellowship would soon bo c uno a m-'lley collection of cripples and in valids. It is no more than just, that when a contributing brother dies, his wife and little o.ues should receive relief in preference to strangers. Thus fur, ami, no farther, are wo exclusive.. Wo do not interfere with the out side benefactions of our members, except to encourage them ; and it would he safe to say that those who are members ol our order are always among the most of the com munity i,n every outside work of charily, not withstanding their contributions to the treas ury of their lodges ; and that those who cen sure us for not bestowing our bounty on ev* crvhody, are the jorv ones who rhemsoives cive to nobody. 1-bcg leave to suggest to these Liter that be&ra. they have a right to grumble at others for doing so little, they should do something themselves, be it ovdr so trilling. But admit, for a rr.onjent, that those are grievous faults ; yet it would be far from wise oa this account to abandon our,, organisation, for all human efforts are imperfect, and it iq scarcely within the bounds of probability thab another s* cioty could be moulded from the ruins of Odd-Fellowship, combining all ita virtues and none of ; its ..errors. You hare doubtless, hoard of the ancient wamorwho had a shield,, of gold presented him by the Gods. It wno pcrfcct in symmetry and match less in the beauty of its ornament. Thera was none like it in all the land. But it baa one blemish in the eves ol its owner, and on this acc »unt lie ordered it to bo thrown into the crucible and reconstructed to please his fancy. He saw it turned into molten gold,, and then learned in despair, for the first time, that "none of the jpjftifiocrs in his d mi. were able .to Construct such Another shi<l I. Tear down the Temple of Old Fel lowship, and it is doubtful whether yqu could, find any who would be able to rebuild ite t massive "columns in all their architectural beauty. Thn terrible war which Ims just closed gave convincing proof of the inherent power of the principles on - which, Odd-Fellowship is oased. The genipa of ouf prder rose superi or to civil dissei s on, and eat in calm benev«“ r.lcnoo above the .smoko and carnage of bat tle. Her ministering angels were seen m th'j cup l and hospitals .of both contending armies—wa'chuig through the weary night hours by the bedside ol suffering, binding up the wounds oi friend and fun; giving the heal ing drab, “ speaking calmness to delirious ravings,” or closing the fading eye and bear ing the last message to the loved ones at home. the recent ~Beasum at the Grand. L r dgo of the. United States vop'osenkativeo were pre.-ent from nearly every S ate In the Union ; ar.d this ub a time when churches have been rudely sundered, families have been broken up, and the lenderest lies of. earth have been severed by the war. This, w »uld soßin 1 o dr-jnmstra c that the cohesive power of 0 Id fellowship h stronger tb ,n that 1 of either the church or rt e family. Tru- t for awhile our intercourse wa* interrupted, hut it was o !■’ the interruption which an island makes iu the current o' the sir earn. Tb« NO. 23.
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