iipERICAN VOLUNTEER. KVKUY THVBHDAY MOKNINO, 1 ' 11V BRATTON »V KENNEDY. , Two Dollars per year If paid strictly In ini Vance; Two Dollars and Fifty Cents if paid * three months; after which Three Dollars charged. These terms will bo rigidly ad hered#) in every Instance. No subscription dis i* 6ohtiimed until all arrearages are paid, unless at ■ -■ -tile option of the Editor. 1 literal KnfoanatCon. S" GOVERNMENT. £resWo nt—Andrew-Johnson. Vlch'President —L. S. Foster. Secretary of State —Wm. H. Seward. • ' Secretory of Interior—Jos. Harlan. ■ Secretary' of,Treasury—Hugh McCulloch. ■ •,, Secretary of war—Edwin M. Stanton. , v Secretary of Navy—Gideon Wells. Post Master General—Win. Dennison. Attorney General—James H. Speed. 'Chief,'Justice of the United States—Salmon P. : Chase. - t! ; i- • STATE GOVERNMENT. Governor—Andrew G. Curtin. Secretary of suite—Ell Sllfer. ‘ Surveyor General—James P. Barr. , Auditor; General—lsaac Slenker. Attorney General —Wm, M. Meredith. . ‘ AcQttt&AtGeneral—A. lißussell, ’ .. Stiro Treasurer—Henry D. Moore. ChlOtfiUfltlco of the Supremo Court—George W. r-’v^JohhM. 1 Bead, Daniel Agnew. Cf-v- , • I: v;. COUNTY OFFICERS. ■ : ' ‘President Judge—Hon. James H. Graham. ■ ■ Associate Judges—Hon. Michael Cocklin, Hon. .'Hugh Stuart. • District Attorney—C. E. Maglaughlln. . prdthpnotttry—Samuel Shiremau, Clerkond Recorder—Ephraim (Jormnan. R««ilter--GeorgaW. North. . ' HffiiSierill—John Jacobs. . OSSraKTreasurer—Levi Zeigler. , Ck)Wrti^'—Davld : Smith. >' • ’ Cdt^S'^Gonimisslonors—John McCoy, Henry • Cams. Alecs. P. Meek. ClerkfrrJames Armstrong. , Attorney—M. C. Herman. -. • Poor House Directors—C. Hartimm, W. NV lierry, , Jonathon Snyder. ' Steward-Henry Snyder. t t :• Auditors—D. B. Stevick, J. A. Heborllg, Chrls • ’ xian Dietz. . , physician to Jail—Dr. S. P, Ziegler. ■." Physician to Poor House—Dr. S. P. Ziegler. BOROUGH OFFICERS. Chief Burgess—John Campbell, Aflstitant Bvirgess—William J. Cameron. Town Council—East Ward, J. W. D. Glllelon, ' Andrew B. Ziegler, Geo. Wetzel. Chas. U. Holler, ■* Barnet Hotfman; West Ward, A. K. Ueem, John HaVßrßobt. M. Black, 8. D. Hillman; Clerk, Jos. ■ .M*M^Oniiaimner. ; Borough. Treasurer—David Cornmau. High Constable—Emanuel Swartz; Ward Con i Ward, Andrew Martin; Westward, * Jame&Widner. *2l i Assessor—William Noaker. r .t »Auditor—A. K. Sheafer. „,, , > 'Coat Collector —Andrew Kerr: Ward Collectors, Ward, Jacob Goodyear; West Ward, H. R. ' y WllHftmu. -.-Vv! Street Commissioner —Patrick Madden. justices of the Peace—A. L. Spongier, David : ' SriltbiV'Abrm. Dehutl", Michael Holcomb. • ' V'|j^ftP;Jflghters—Alex. F. Meek, Levi Albert, CHURCHES, ;*plist Presbytorlau Church, northwest angle of ii5V Cei»tW'Square. Rov. Conway P. Wing, Pastor.— : : - . Services every Sunday morning at 11 o”clock, A. ; ’ -.MaiandiT.Q’cloclc, P. M. - : Second -Bresbyterlan Church, corner of south Si. Hiinover ana Pomfret streets. Rev. John 0. Bliss, i'ii' Pnstorr 1 'Services commence at 11 o'clock, A. M., ~ J - ' and7‘o’clock, P. M. . Bfc Johu’S Clxurcli, (Prot. Episcopal) northeast •\■- f 5 - ongl« of Centre Square. Rov. F. J. Clerc. Rector. ‘ at II o’clock, A. M., and 7 o’clock P. M. A - Church, Bedford, between ; Main and Louther streets. Rev. Sainl. Sprecher, ' X*aSt6tv Services at U o’clock A. M., and s M. " . Reformed Church, Louther, between -- Hanover and Pitt streets. Rev. Samuel Philips, : PaalorV Services at 11 o’clock A. M., and 0 o’clock -p.MiM*- " . ‘lvMdtiiodist E. Church, (lirst charge) corner of ■ ■ - HaJA'and Pitt streets. Rev Thomas H. Sherlock, Pasjanfc .Services at 11 o'clock A. M., and 7 oclock ;f Mefeioaist E. Church, (second charge) Rev. S. L. r Pastor. Services in Emory M. E. Church V 'iiatJjLb'dpck A. M, M. >(ssur6h of God Chapel; southwest cor. of West ;X'stf«fet aiid Chapel Alley. Rev. B. F. Beck, Pas •w > at 11 A. M., and o}4 P» M. , ■ : ;,- ; v:St; . ! iPatrick’s Catholic Church, Pomfret, near h '’- - East Street. Father Gerdeman. Services every i " - at 10 o’clock. Vespers at 3 P. M. ‘- . ZQetmnn Lutheran Church, corner of Pomfret - ■'vand- Bedford streets. Rov. Kuhn, Pastor.— ' SorvW4s,atl oclockP. M. 1 changes in the .above are necessary, r : y- tho.p'roper persons are requested to notify us. DICKINSON COLLEGE. . ’• mi M. Johnson, D. D., President and • ;.'.XYofe£ftfjr of Moral Science and Biblical Lltera -5 ; . Btuniitel D. Hillman, A. M., Professor of Math , •" .■ matics.. - r ■JoknK. Stnyimm, A. M., Professor of the Latin '■ y and French Languages. Honj James H. Graham, LL. D., Professor of P. Himes, A. M., Professor of Natural ‘ Sldendo and Curator of the Museum. / r-Bovs'James A. McCauley, A. M. Professor of • : the Greek and German Languages. : Rev; Bernard H. Fadall, D. D., Professor of Phl- I losOphy ahd the English Language, j : ; ' Bev-Henry C. Cheston, A. M., Principal of the i j. Principal of the Commercial ' ■ TUirife'rtm rtn t. . :CT'Whtson McKeehan, Assistant in Grammar and Teacher of Penmanship. BOARD OF SCHOOL DIRECTORS. F,'Cornmnn, President: James Hamilton, H. Saxton: B. C. Woodward, Henry Newsham, p. P. Humerioh, Sect.y; J. W. Eby, Treasurer: John Bpahl l . 'Messenger. Meet on the flrst Monday of each'lnonth at 8 o’clock A, M., at Education Hull. - corporations. i ■ ‘ ‘Carllsle Deposlt Rank.—President, B. M. Hen derson ;-CaBhler, J. P. Hassler; Tollers, L. A. Smith, W.iA.ICox, Jno. L. Waggoner; Messenger, ; Jno.lfndeVwood • Directors, R. M. Henderson, ■ President ;R. O. Woodward, W. W. Dale, William Line, John Zug, John Stuart, Jr., Abm. Rosier, Henry Saxton, Bkiles Woodburn. First National Bank.—President, Hon. Samuel HepburnrCashlcr, Joseph Holler; Tellers, Messrs. 1 Umead Orr, and Brenneman; Directors. Samuel "- Kerr, John S. Sterltt, W. B. Jdhnn. Leldlg, Isaac Brenneman, W. I'. i' - d Valley Railroad Company.—Pres i ,• idont, Frederlcl: Watts; Secretary and Treas t Edward M. Biddle; Superintendent, O. N. I ' tolLtijPaiaenger trains three times a day. Car lieie Acoommodallon, Eastward, leaves Carlisle J 5.55 A.M..arriv 1 nir at Carlisle S.P*J P. M, Through » tSdhS'StWnrd, 10.10 A. M. t and 2.10 I>. M, Wcst wnrdhtBi27 A. M., and 2.65 R. M. . -viCtwUSleGaaana Water Company.—President, ttmuel Todd; Treasurer, A. L. Spousler: Super f HrtTOdeht; George Wise; Directors, P. Watts, E. : M. Blddlti Henry Saxton, B. C. Woodward, J. B. p Wm. M. Penrose, Peter. Spahr. SOCIETIES. '.fcumborlunil Star Lodge No. 197, A. Y. M., meets ii ftt Marlon Hall on the 2d and 4th Tuesdays of ov 'tiryinorith. John's Lodge No. 200, A. Y. M., meets on the ttilra Thursday of every month, at Marion Hall. t . CarllsleLodge No. 01,1. O. of O. F. Meets Mon- Trout’s Building. Lodge No. G 3,1. O. of G. T. Meets every % ~'^^pr^day^e vening In Ilheem’s Hall, 8d story. ,V FIRE COMPANIES. »<.•: o- (i :o XhV' : tJnlon Fire Company was organized In f ‘‘ : l7B9i House In Loutlier between Pitt and Hano -,ver streets. - 1 Hie Cumberland Fire Company was Instituted s, ■ Pebffiarjt‘lB, 1809. House In Bedford, between a ' -Main and Pomfrot streets. a »Ji ®ho Good Will Fire Company was Instituted in ’ .'-March,. 1855. House In Pomfrot, near Hanover .'UpfKfcWßafaplre Hook ond Ladder Company was , In 1859. House in Pitt, near Main st. p ' rifriftWifrl - - ' f ■^^^ rNESS AN SJ^ ESPATCH * ill JOB PRINTING OFFICE : with the American Volunteer, has supplied with the most modern spoci- Type Issued from the Eastern Foundries Connection with the Jobbing Office of the which has been united with it, com : greatest variety of JOB TYPE to be any Office In Southern Pennsylvania. in taste and promptness, cannot in the County. uow prepared to execute all sorts of A'i ; "vMbrkxisuullv done in a First Class Office, such rod 1 . 1 ■/■Vv#. 'P, ■ ,c-S % mm™*' im! ■ circulars, . s t\ programmed, I v , BUSINESS CARDS, INVITATION CARDS te'wfe BANK CHECKS, Srf * LEGAL BLANKS, PAPER BOOKS, [W '.‘-SfOK : BILLS OF LADING, }s, wl^Pamphlets, s vaaj& t o-* 4e ‘ ’ f(E IX COLORS AND <js , PLAIN PRINTING, JWSi,PRINTING OK EVERY DESCRIPTION, „.'4 ort notice and reasonable rates. Orders sent by mall, accompanied by the B P will bo promptly attended to. limi ■ filimlcetE BY BRATTON & KENNEDY. ffjetoi ii mccii Vet reiuins iinscso." AX EXQUISITE UAI.I.AD, The very beautiful verses which are subjoined have been “ going the rounds of the press” for sev eral years. On their travels many blunders have crept into them, sadly marring the poet’s mean ing. The verses were written by “ Joe Brennan,” one of the most gifted of tho manfy gifted young Irishmen who assumed to lead the abortive re volution of 1818. The poem was addressed “To my Wife,” and was tlrst published In a Now Or leans paper. Brennan was then living in tho city, and was editor of the Delta . He died in New Orleans. Mrs. Brennan was for several years n resident in Brooklyn, Now York, whore she mar ried a second time. She is dead some years : Como to me, darling, I am lonely without thee, Day time and night lime I’m dreaming about thee, Night time and day time In dreams I behold Unwelcome that waking that seaces to fold thee; Como to mo, darling, my sorrows to lighten, Come In thy beauty to bless and to lighten; Come In thy womanhood, meekly and lowly; Como in thy lovlngness, queenly and holy. Swallows shall flit around the desolate ruin, Telling of Spring and its Joyous renewing; And thoughts of thy love and Its manifest trea- sure, Are circling my heart, with the promise of plea- sure; Oh! Spring of my spirit, oh ! Slay of my bosom, Shine out on my soul.till it burgeon and blossom; The waste of my life has a rose root within it And thy fondness alone to the sunlight can win - it. Figure which moves like a song through the even, Features lit up witli a rcllcx. of Heaven. Eyes like the skies of poor Erin, our mother, Where sunshine and shadows are chasing each other; * Smiles coming seldom, but childlike and simple, And opening their eyes from the heart of a dim- ple ; Oh, thanks to the Saviour that even the seeming Is left to the exile to brighten his dreaming. You have been glad when you knew -I was glad- dened; Dear, are you sad to hear that I am saddened? Our hearts ever answer in tune and in time, love; As octavo to octave as rhyme unto rhyme, love; I cannot smile, but your cheeks will be glowing; You cannot weep, but my tears will bo flowing, You will not linger when I shall have died, love, And I could not live without you by my side, love. Come to me, darling, ere I die of my sorrow, Rise on my gloom like the sun of to-morrow, Strong, swift and strong ns the words which I speak, love; With a song at your lip, and a smile on your cheek, love; Come, for my heart In your absence is dreary ; Haste, for my spirit Is sickened and weary; Come to the arms which alone shall caress thee; Come to the heart which is throbbing to press thee. ,1 STRANGE AFFAIR. BY EMERSON BENNETT, At a way—side inn, on the old road that ran between Philadelphia and C , in the State of Pennsylvania, a very strange and curious affair occurred in the fall of 1797. One dark, rainy, disagreeable night, a mounted traveler, well muffled up in a great coat, with its broad cape turned up over his head like a cowl, his chin and lower part of his face buried in a bandana hankerchief, and with abroad black patch over his right eye, rode up to the tavern and called for supper and lodging. At the large lire burning in the chimney of the bar-room he sat and warmed and dried himself, while his meal was being pre pared, without removing any of his gar ments, not even so much as his hat, and when the landlord at length announced that his repast was ready, he simply re marked:' “I have a severe pain in my face—so you must excuse my going to the table as I am.” He ate his supper in silence, showed no disposition for conversation, called for a strong glass of brandy and water, and soon after asked to be conducted to his room, adding that he was very much fa tigued. “ By the way,” he said to the landlord, who in persen lighted him to his bed room, “I may as well leave my pocket book and watch in your possession till morning,” at the same time handing these articles to the host, who took them with some reluctance, saying: “Ireckon they’d be quite as safe here with yourself—though I’ll keep them for you if you wisli mo too.” “ You’ll oblige me by doing so,” rejoin ed the stranger. “’Well, then,” said the inn-keeper, “I must know how much money you’ve got here, if I’ve got to be responsible for it,” “• Please open the pocket-book then and count for yourself,” returned the stranger. The host did so and said “ I make it two hundred and fifteen dollars.” “Right!” rejoined the traveller, “and while I’m about, I may as well add this purse, which contains fifty-one dollars in specie.” The landlord also counted the coin, part gold and part silver, said the amount was right, and went out bidding the other good night. About two o’clock in the morning a neighbor living within a stone’s throw of the tavern and who chanced to be up with a sick child, fancied he heard above the roar of the storm, which had increased in violence, a wild shriek, followed by two cries of “Help! Murder!” He was rather a timid man, and was much alarmed. He blew out his light cautiously, opened the door, looked out, and listened. The storm heat in his face and howled around his dwelling, but he could see nothing, not oven a light at the inn, and lie heard nothing more that sounded like a human voice. He shut the door, fastened it, and then woke up Iris wife and told her all. She happened to be a woman of unusual nerve and cour age, and after putting a few questions, re plied with a'yawn: “ Oh, Jim, it was only one of your fan cies. You are always hearing something that nobody else does. Just think how many times you have hunted the house over'for robbers since I’ve lived with you! Just tend to Mary, will you, and let me get a little sleep, for you know I didn’t have any last night.” “ I know it wasn’t a fancy, but a real human cry,” grumbled the man as he walked away, and allowed . his drowsy spouse to return to her dreams. The dull leaden gray of morning was just beginning to dispel the inky black ness of the stormy night, when the land lord of the. wayside inn was aroused by a series of thundering knocks upon the out er door of his habitation. He sprang out of bed, hastily drew on his trowsors and boots, took his waistcoat in Ills hand, and hurried down to wait on Ids supposed cus tomers. On opening the door-he found himself confronted by two rough looking men, well muttied up against the storm, which as yet had scarcely abated its fury. Their horses panting, splashed with mud, with drooping heads, were hitched to the nearest post, and showed by their looks that they had been ridden very fast and far. “Did a mounted traveller stop at this inn last night?” abruptly enquired one of the two. “Yes,” was the answer. “ Is he here still?” “ He is.” “ Will you describe his appearance?” “As well as I can,” said the wandering host, “ for I didn’t see much of his face,” and he not only proceeded with a descrip tion of his person, but added all that the traveler had said and done, Including tho affair of the money. “I think we’ve got him this time!” said the one who had addressed the land lord, turning to his companion. “It looks Tike it,” was the reply, “ but he’s no doubt a desperate fellow, and we had better proceed with caution till we make all sure.” “Hark you, landlord!” said the first speaker, in a low tone, “a word in your private ear. We are officers of justice, from Philadelphia, in pursuit of a bank robber, and we suspect your strange guest to be the man we seek. Here Is the war rant for his arrest. Now conduct us qui etly to his room, and if need be, assist ns in securing him.” “Certainly,” said the host, turning somewhat pale, as it was afterwards re membered, and seeming not a little agitat ed. “ Walk in, gentlemen—this way, gen tlemen.” He conducted them into the bar-room and hurriedly struck a light, for it was yet too dark to see anything distinctly. ‘ l l hope the fellow has not lieard us,” said one of the officers, drawing a pistol, while the other produced a pair of handcuffs. “I hope it won’t be necessary to shoot, gentlemen,” said the host, with increased agitation. “We will go up softly and try his door,” said the officer with the pistol, “ and if we find it fast perhaps it would be better for us to remain on guard and wait till he comes out himself.” The host, light in hand, led the way. though with seeming reluctance, as If not over anxious. On reaching the door, which the three parties had approached with light, stealthy steps, the landlord tried it very gently, and finding it unfas tened, slowly pushed it open and went in, followed by the officers. The next mo ment the inn-keeper exclaimed, in a tone of alarm and agitation. “ Gracious heavens! what’s the mean ing of this?” The bed was tumbled, but vacant; no traveler was there —and the sheets and pillow-cases were stained with blood! The officers looked meaningly at each other, and then at the host, who, pale and trembling, sunk half fainting upon the nearest seat. For a few moments there was a deep and ominous silence,- and then one of the officers said slowly, and with pointed emphasis:— “ Landlord, this is very strange.” “ The strangest thing I ever knew,” fair ly gasped the inn-keeper, glancing around him in frightened bewilderment, “ where can he have gone to ?” " And this blood, too,” sternly chimed the officer, “ what does this mean, If not some foul play ?” “Oh, gentlemen,” said the host, in a low tremulous tone, “ I hope you don’t suspect me, for I’m as innocent as the child unborn. And now I remember, too, when I went to the door to let you in, I found it wasn’t fastened, and I am right sure I fastened it myself before I went to bed.” “ We certainly do suspect you, sir," said the officer, “ for how can we help it, since the man is gone, as you have confessed, and yon have his money in your pos session.” “ But he gave me the money to keep for him,” cried the frightened host, “ and I have got it yet.” “ Undoubtedly you have ; but that, you see, so far from proving you know noth ing of the affair only tends to make the matter worse for you.” “Perhaps he’s about yet, somewhere,” suggested the inn-keeper, “ if he’s a bank robber, and heard your knocks, he’d be quite likely to hide himself or run away, 1 should think.” The idea was worthy of attention, and a search for the missing man was forthwith begun. On looking under the bed blood was discovered on the floor, and the trail of this was found to lead out of the room, down stairs, and out of the front door, showing that the object of search, either living or dead, had gone out of the house. Beyond the building there were no traces for the storm had obliterated them. The hostler was called, the only other man about the house, but he appeared to be a kind of stupid fellow, and evidently knew nothing of the matter, and a look in the barn showed the stranger’s horse still there. About an hour later the neighbor men tioned came over to the inn, in agitatiolT and alarm, said there was a man lying by the roadside, and also stated what he had heard during the night. Throughout that thinly peopled section, the news spread rapidly, and before night a large number of excited spectators, in cluding the Sheriff, Coroner, and two Magistrates, had collected at the inn. An inquest was held, and a verdict rendered in accordance with the facts, and though there was no direct evidence against the landlord, yet suspicion so strongly point ed at him as the murderer, that he was taken into custody and cominitted for trial. In due time the trial came on, but the jury could not agree, and he was finally discharged. ’ A second trial resulted like the first, and the inn-keeper, whose name was Williams, was kept in prison over a year. How the affair would eventually have terminated had the mystery not been cleared up in an unexpected manner, it is impossible to say, but ere the time for the third trial arrived, a stranger appeared be fore the magistrate of the county, and de posed that he was the individual who had lodged at the inn on the night of the murder, and for taking whose life the landlord was still in prison. In the course of his evidence he stated that he had been a merchant in Philadel phia, who finding himself on the eve of failure, had collected a large amount of money, run away, and that all traces of himself might be lost, and his death ex pected, he adopted the plan of putting a small part of his money in the hands of the inn-keeper ostensibly for safe keep ing, and secretly departing in the night on foot, not supposing anything very se rious would result to the landlord from this course of action. On petting up somewhere about midnight, his nose had set to bleeding, which would explain the traces of blood he had left behind him. He had made his way to Baltimore, and thence sailed to Havana, where he had been so fortunate in Ms speculations as to find himself in a condition to return and settle with all his creditors. On coming home and giving an account of his adven ture to a friend, he for the first time learned with horror of the almost fatal consequences to the inn-keeper for his unjustifiable disappearance, and had hastened to make what reparation lay in his power. His testimony was subse quently corroborated on all important points, and the inn-keeper was honorably discharged, to the great relief and joy of his sympathizing friends. As a partial recompense for what he had suffered on his account, the merchant made him a present of the horse and money he had I left with him, and two thousand dollars besides. CARLISLE,, PA., THURSDAY, FEBRUARY 15, 1866. But clearing up of one part of this strange affair only seemed to Involve the other Tn deeper mystery. A murder had surely been committed, but by whom, and who was the unfortunate victim? Even this, in the course of time, was also manifest. Some years after, a villain under sentence of death, confessed that he was a partner of the bank robbery, and that having made an equal division of tho spoils, they had agreed to leave the city by different routes and meet at an appointed place; that, eager to secure the whole of the booty, he had secretly taken his partner’s road instead of the one agreed upon, and had waylaid and murdered mm within a few rods of the tavern kept by Williams, who, by. being arrested for the crime,inad drawn off all suspicion from himself. Thus were the records of the deeds of thattempestnousnlghteventually brought to light, and the Innocent cleared and re warded, and the guilty detected and pun ished. Jim Ward was a conductor on the eastern division of the New York Central Railroad running daily between Utloaand Albany. Ward had been in the employ of the Cen tral railroad for a long period of years, and Is one of the oldest conductors in the coun try. Invariably attentive to the ladies, he always managed to make liimself a favorite with those of the fair sex who ac companied the train under his direction. The Buffalo Republic relates the follow ing anecdote of what happened to Jim be cause he didn’t know a male from a fe male baby A short time since, when a train under his direction, was on its way east from Utica, one of those interesting incidents occurred on board the train, which add to tlie visible number of passengers, but scarcely ever improve the profits of the trip. Ward, as soon as he discovered the condition of the lady, hustled about, and with the train running forty miles an •hour, fixed up a portion of the express car and had her conveyed there. A phy sician by the name of Beecher was on the train ; his services were immediately put in requisition and in a short time Ward had the pleasure of announcing to his anxious passengers, that mother and babe were 11 doing as well as could lie expected under the circumstances .” The mother was a poor woman, and as soon as it became known, Ward went round with a hat, and in a short time a handsome purse was collected, and Jim, with his countenance actually filtering of happiness, took it to the mother. After he reappeared the passengers proposed the child should be named. No sooner said than done. Jim went in and got the baby, and with the consent of the delight ed mother, brought it out when' it was proposed that it should be “James Ward” after Jim, and “Beecher,” after the physician who had professionally at tended the mother. It was adopted with acclamation; amid a shout of ap probation, the babe was named “ James Ward Beecher—.” Jim, with a smile of illconcealed delight was lugging off his little namesake, when some of the ladies requested to see the “little baby.” It was passed from hand to hand among the ladles, all admiring the little bundle, but at the same time a general disposition to smile and stuff handkerchiefs in their mouths became manifest among the la dies. Jim wandered in vain what this sub dued laughter meant until the baby was handed to an old lady. She had not had itmore than a minute, when she exclaim ed — “LawSuz!” “Well, ma’am what’s the matter?” said Jim, fearfully. “Why, it’s a gal!” said the old woman, handing the babe to Jim. Then rose a yell of laughter; the men broke out first, then the women, then they broke out together, until the universal scream filled the ear. Several gentlemen threw their hats out of the windows, while others endeavored, unsuccessfully, to “saw their legs off.” — The women blushed and screamed; the men shouted and held their sides. In the midst of this storm of fun and laugh ter, Jim made his escape from the car, with his female “Jim Ward Beecher,” and far the rest of the trip, on the plat form of the baggage car, ruminated on the sudden changes and mutations of hu man life. A Romantic Love Story.— The Count de St. Croix, belonging to one of the noblest and wealthiest families in France, became engaged, after a long and assidu ous courtship, to a lady, his equal In posi tion and fortune, and famous for her beau ty. Shortly after the happy day was ap pointed which was to render two'loving hearts one, the Count was ordered imme diately to the siege of Sebastopol; so he girded on his sabre, and at the head of is regiment marched to the battle-field. During the Count’s absence it happened that his beautiful fiance had the small pox; after hovering between life and death for niany days, she recovered her health, but found her beauty hopelessly lost.— The disease had assumed In her case the most virulent character, and left her not only disfigured but seamed and scarred to such a frightful extent, that she became hideous to herself, and resolved to pass the remainder of her days in the strictest seclusion. A year passed away, when, one day, the Count, immediately upon his return from France, accompanied by his valet, presented himself at the resi dence of Ins bethrothed, and solicited an interview. This was refused. He, how ever, with the persistence of a lover, pressed his suit, and finally the lady made her appearence closely muffled in a doub le veu. At the sound of her voice the Count rushed forward to embrace her, but stepping aside she tremblingly told him the story of her sorrows, and burst into tears. A heavenly smile broke over the Count’s handsome features, as raising his hands above, he exclaimed, “It is God’s work; lam blind." It is even so. When gallantly leading his regiment to the attack, ajcannon ball passed so closely to his eyes eyes that, while it left their ex pression unchanged and his countenance unmarked, it robbed him him forever of sight. It is said that, at this day, may often be seen at the Emperor's receptions an officer leaning upon the arm of a lady closely veiled, and they seem to be at tracted to the spot by their love of music. An Indignant Gird.—A young girl was reading the marriages in a newspaper a few days since, and after she had con cluded she uttered ah exclamation of Im patience. ‘ What is the matter?’ asked her friend. ‘You are angry.’ 1 And it’s enough to make one look an gry, my good gracious!’*.was the reply. "Here I’ve read the marriages of four widows in this one paper!’ ‘Well, what of it?’ ‘What of it! Doesn’t it prove that widows are good for nothing, designing things, and prevent us girls, from getting husbands ?’ ‘No.’ ‘ I say it does,’ replied the indignant girl, ‘ and I’ll tell you what I’ll do. I’ll get married, and have my husband die, and then I’ll see if I can’t get a good one.’ This brilliant scheme the designer is S repared to carry out; so young men who esire to live their natural lives will please avoid her, for she is dangerous, A Blight Mistake. BILL IBP, THE ROMAN BUNAGEE. The subjoined letter refers to a charac terwell known in Georgia, as “ Big John,” who is, to use a familiar but expressive phrase, “ a regular trump— Atlanta, May 22,18G4. Mr. Editur: —“ Remote, onfrended, melankolly, slow,” as somebody sed, I am now seeklri a log in some vast wilder ness, a lonely roost in some Okeefeenokee swamp, where the fowl invaders cannot travel, nor their pontoon bridges phloat. If Mr. Shakspeere were correct when he writ that “ sweet are the juice of adversi ty,” then it are reasonabui to suppose that me and my foaks and many others must have some sweetnin to spare. When a man Is aroused in the ded of night, and smells the approach of the fowl invader; when he feels konstralned to change his base and bekum a runagee from his home, leavin behind him all those nessary things which hold body and soul together; when he looks, perhaps the last time, upon his lovely home where lie has been for many delightful years raisin children and chickens, strawberries and peas, lie soap and inyuns, and all sich luxuries of this sublunary life ; when he imagines every onusual sound to be the crack of his earthly doom ; when from sich influ ence he begins a dignified retreat, but soon is konstralned to leave the dignity behind, and git away without regard to the order of his going—if there is any sweet juice in the like of that, I havent been able to see it. No, Mr. Editur, sich scenes never happened in Bill Shakes peere’s day, or he wouldnt have writ that fine. I don’t know that the lovely inhabi tants of your butiful sity need any four warnius to make ’em' avoid the brokers upon which our vessel wrecked : but for fear they should some day shako their gory locks at me, I will make publik a brief allusion to some of the painful sir kumstances which lately okkurred in the regions of the eternal sity. Not many days ago the everlastin Yan kees (may they live always when the devil gits ’em) made a violent assault upon the sity of the hills—the eternal sity, where a hundred years the Injun rivers have been blendih their waters peaceful ly together—where the Chocktaw chil dren built their flutter mills, and -toyed with frogs and tadpoles, while these mi iestick streams were out little spring branches, a babblin along their sandy beds. For three days and nights our valyunt troops had beat bak the fowl in vader, and saved our pullets from their devourin jaws. For three daysand nights we bade farewell to every fear, luxuriat ing upon the triumph of our arms, and the sweet juices of our strawberries and cream. For three days and nights fresh troops from the South poured into our streets with shouts that made the welk in ring, and the turkey bumps rise all over the flesh of our people. We felt that Rome was safe —sekure against the as saults of the world, the flesh and the devil, which last individual are supposed to be that horde of fowl invaders, who are seeking to phlank us out of both bread and existence. , But alas human hopes! Man that is born of woman (and there are no other sort that I know of) has but a few days that ain’t full of trouble. Although the troops did shout, although their brass hound musik swelled upon the gale, al though the turkey bumps rose as the wel kin rung, although the commanding General assured us that Rome was to bo held at every hazard, and that on to-mor row the big battul was to be fought, and the fowl invaders hurled all bleedln and howling to the shores of the Ohio, yet it did transpire somehow that on Tuesday night the military evakuation of our sity were 1 peremptorily ordered. No note of warnin—no whisper of alarm—no hint of the morrow came from the muzzled lips of him who had lifted our hopes so high. Calmly and coolly we smoked our kifly klnick, and surveyed the embarkation of troops, konstruin it to be some grand ma-- noover of military strategy. About ten o’clock we retired to rest to dream of to morrow’s viktory. Sleep soon overpow ered us like the fog that kivered the earth, but nary bright dream had kum, nary vision of freedom and glory. On the kontrary, our rest were uneasy—straw berries and cream seem to be holdin se cession meetins within our corporate lim its, when suddenly in the twinklin of an eye a friend aroused us from our slumber and put a new faze upon the “ situation.” General Johnson was retreatin, and the blue-nosed Yankees were to pollute our sakred soil the next mornin. Then came the jug of war. With hot and feverish haste we started out in search of trans portation, but nary transport could be had. Time-honored friendship, past favors shown, overlastin gratitood, numerous small and luvely children, kunfederate currency, new isshoes, bank bills,- black bottles, all, all influences, were urged and used to sekure a korner in a kar, but nary korner—too late —too late —the presure for time was fearful and tremengious — the steady clock moved on—no Joshua about to lengthen out the night, no roliin stock, no steer, no mule. With reluktant and nasty steps we prepared to make good our exit by that overland line which railroads do not control, nor A. Q. M. impress. With our families and a little nothing we crossed the Etowan bridge about the brake of day on Wednesday, the 17th of May, 1864, prezakly a year and two weeks ‘ from the time when General Forrest marched in triumph through our streets. I By gnd by the bright rays_of the mornin, sun dispersed the heavy fog. which like a; pall of deth had overspread all natur.; Then we exhibited to our afflicted gaze a highway crowded with wagins and teams, kattle and hogs, niggers, and dogs, wo men and children, all movin in dishevell ed haste to places and parts unknown. 1 Mules were brayin, cattle were lowin, hogs were squealin, sheep were blatin, children were cryin, wagglners cussin, whips were popin and horses stallin, but still the grand karavan moved on. Every body wanted to know everything, and nobody knew nothin. Ten thousand wild rumors filled the sirkumanbiont air. The evcrlastin kavalry was there, and as •they dashed to and fro gave false alarms of the enemv bein in hot pursuit. About this most kritikul juncture of affairs, some philanthropik freud passed by with the welkum news that the bridge wer burnt, and the danger all over. Then ceased the panik; then came the peaceful calms of heroes after the strife ol war is over; then exklaimed Frank Ralls, my demoralized frend, “ thank the good Lord for that. Bill, let’s return thanks, and stop and rest. Boys, let me git out, and lie down. I’m as humble as a ded nigger. I tell you the truth. I sung the long me ter doxology as I crossed the Etowah bridge, and I expekted to be a ded man in fifteen minutes. Be thankful, fellers— let’s all be thankful; the bridge is burnt, and the river is three miles deep. Good sakes! do you rekun them Yankees kan’t swim ? Git up. boys—let’s drive ahead and keep niovm. I tell you, ther’s no akountin for anything with blue clothes on these days. Dinged, if T aint afeerd of a blue-tailed fly!" With most distress! n flow of language lie kontinued his rapsedy of random re marks. Then there was that trump of good fel lows. Big John —as clever as lie is fat, and as fat as old Falstaff—withinde-/of-igablo diligence he had sekured, as a last resort, a one-horse steer spring wagon, with a VOL. 53.—N0. 34. low flat body a settln on two riketty springs. Bein mounted thereon, he was urgln a more speedy lokomoshun, by lay in on to the knrkass of the poor old steer with a thrashpole sum ten feet long. Hav- In stopped at a house, he procured a two inch auger, and borin a hole through the dash-board, pulled the steer’s tail through, and tied up the end in a knot. ‘ 1 My run nin gear is weak,” sod he, "but I dont in tend to be stuck in the mud. If the body holds good, and the steer don’t pull on his tail, why, Bill, I am safe.” “My frend,” sed I, “ will you please to inform mo wuat port you are bound for, and when you expect to reach it?” "Noport at all, Bill.” sed he, “ I’mgoindedstralte to the big Stone Mountain. lam goin to git on the top, and roll rooks down upon all man kind. I now forwarn every living thing not to kum thar until this everlastin fool ishness is over.” He were then but three miles from town, and been travellin the livelong night. Ah I my big frend, thought I, when wilt thou arrive at thy journey’s end? In the language of Patrick Henry, will it be the next week or the next year? Oh, that I kould write a poum, I would embalm thy honest face in epik verse. I kan only drop to thy pleasant memory a passing random rhyme: . Farewell, Big John, farewell; ’ Twas painful to my heart, To see thy chances of escape, Was that old steer and kart. Methinks I see thee now, JVith axletrees all broke, And wheels with nary hub at all, And hubs with nary spoke. But though the mud is deep, Thy wits will never fail; That faithful steer .will take thee out; If thou wilt hold his tail. Mr. Editur, under such varygated scenes we reported progress, and in course of time arrived under the shadow of thy sit ty’s wings, aboundin in gratitood and joy. With sweet and patient sadness, the tender hearts of our wives and daughters beat mournfully as we moved along. Of ten, alas, how often, was the tear seen swimming in the eye, and the lip quiver ing with emotion, as memory lingered around deserted homes, and thoughts dwelt upon past enjoyments and future desolation. \Ve plucked the wild flowers ns we passed, sang songs of merriment, exchanged our wit with children —smoth- ering, by every means, the sorrow of our fate. These things, together with the cbmick events that okkurred by the way, were the safety valves that saved the poor heart from bursting. But for them, our Heads would have been fountains and our hearts a river of tears. Oh, if some kind Trend would set our retreat to musick, it would be greatly appreciated Indeed. It should be a plaintive tune, interspersed with okkasional comiok notes and fre quent fuges shattered promiskously. ; Onr retreat was konducted in excellent good order, aricr the bridge wan burnt, — If there were any straggling at all, they straggled ahead. It would have delight ed Gen. Johnston to have seen the alak rity of our movements. The great strug gle of our contest seemed to be, which ar my could retreat the fastest. General J ohnston’s or oio-n-which could outphlank the outher, and I allow as how it was pull Dick pull Devil between em. It are a source of regret, however, that some of our households of the Afrikan scent, have fell back into the arms of the fowl Inva ders. I suppose they may now be kalled missiu generators, and are by this time inkreasm the stock of Odour d’ Afrlque in Northern society, which popular per fume have crowded out of the market all those extracts which made X. Bazin, Ju lusHoul, and Dubin famous. Good bye sweet otter of Roses, farewell ye balms of a thousand flowers—your days are num bered. But I must klose this melonkolly nar rative, and hastin to subskribe myself, Your Runagee, ■ Bill Akp. ' P. S. —Tip are still faithful onto the end. He says the old turkey we left behind have been settin for 14 weeks, and the fowl Invaders are welkum to her, further more that he throwed a ded cat in the well, and they are welkum to that. Fancy Dreams. —Some young ladies regard marriage as a fairy land, where violets and roses perpetually blossom, where the cedar tree and the cinnamon tree ever flourish; "where the" water of tranquility and sweetness uninterrupted ly flows. Tell them there are briars in their stead; though.they do not con tradict, yet they do not credit you, for they believe that their love, their devo teduees for each other, will exempt them from the cares the vicissitudes and the anxieties pertaining to humanity. All lovers before marriage conceive that their destiny will be an exception to the gen eral rule. The future with them will be toujour scouleur de rose. Could you give them a sketch in the page of their future history they would not believe a word of it, they would set you down as a misan thrope, a painter of gloomy and unnat ural scenes, an inimical represser of the hopes and aspirations of youth. The dark spots that the telescope of your experience might discover, they would regard but as mole-hills in the moon. If they'.would but reflect a little, how much misery they would avoid. What is 1 Steblino’ Money? —During the reign of Richard I, King of England, about 1100, money which was coined in the eastern part of Germany became of great demand, on account of its purity. The inhabitants of that portion of coun try where this pure coin was made were called ‘ Easterlings’—hence the name ‘ Easterling’ money was applied to the coin brought from that region. Soon af terward, some of the 1 Easterlings,’ who were skilled in coining, were sent for to come fp Loudon and bring the process of coining to a state of perfection there. This was accomplished, and the English coin took .the name of 1 sterling money,’ which it retains to the present time.’ A greenhorn went to a menagerie to examine the beasts, the birds and creeping things there congregated, among winch an ouraiig outang particularly struck his attention. Several gentlemen were conversing about the animal, one of whom expressed the opinion that it was a lower order of the human species. Jona than did hot like this, and striding up to the gentlemen, expressed his contempt for it thus: 1 Pooh, pooli! lie's no more human than 1 be.’ 86 1 Pap,’ observed a young urchin of tender years to his ‘ found parent,’ 1 does the Lord know everything ?’ • Yea, my son,' replied the hopeful sire, 1 but why do you ask that question ?’ ‘ Because our preacher when he prays is so long telling him everything, I thought he wasn’t posted.’ The parent reflected. JtSf A justice, better versed in law than gospel, married a couple in this way : ‘Hold up your hands. You solemnly swear that you will faithfully perform the duties of yo'urofUcc, jointly and severally, according to your bestskill and judgment, so help you' God. That’s all —fee , one dollar. 1 flay* As liberality makes Mends of enemies, so pride' makes enemies ol friends. advertising terms. Ai>vkutihriients will be inserted at Ton Cents nor lino for the first Insertion, and five cento U*r line for each subsequent Insertion. <luar terlv. half-yearly/and yearly advertisements in sorted at a liberal reduction on the above rate* Advertisements should be accompanied by the Cash. When sent without any length, of time specified for publication, they yrill bo continued until ordered out and charged accordingly. JOB PRINTING. Carps, Handbills, Circulars, and every other description of Job and Card Printing executed In the neatest stylo at low prices. A TAI.E OF HORROR. PART FUST. Jane Ann Pilkinhorn was the only dar ter of poor but honest parents. They had no other child but her. She was their all, and besides their dog Towser (who wm ayaller dog and warnt pertlklerry o.verburdened with branes), she was the only human bein they had to luv. _ That, howsumdever, was their misfortin ana not their fault. Her Ize shone like a new brass kettle, and her .cheeks was as red as a temperance lecktrers nose. Her hair was the color of safron tea, and her form was as graceful as a hound pup. So much for Jane Ann Pilkinhorn! PART SEKUND. Jethro Snodgrass was an adopted son of the Rev. Mordecal Mumblechops, the village parson. He was a “ fair and kum ly youth,” as the poet sez, and stood six feet in ids stockins. (That is, in the win ter. In the summer he didn’t wear stock ins.) His compleckshun was as clear as the compleckshun of a taller candle, and his hare curled as natteral as the tall of a yelpin cur when gitten a bastln from nis master. But Jethro had one fnleln. Al though adopted, he was In every respekt a minister's son / He driv a fasthoss, and was pertlklerry fond ove femall society.— He smoked segars and drinked beer, and was very much inclined for society of wimmin. He played keerds and pitched quates for a shillln a game, and was con stantly runnin after the gals. He liked to danse all nite to the feerful raspin of the country fiddle; but his topmost pash un was ahankeriu arter the opposite sect. Otherways, he wouldn't have been a min ister’s son! And there , s where the Iftu comes in! So much for Jethro Snodgrass. PART THIRD. I bleeve that I have previously intima ted that Jethro Snodgrass was fond of wi men of the female sect. But of the wun min in town, Jane Ann Pilkinhorn was his fust choice and his best holt. Ho luved her very muchly, and she dittoed him full ns muchly if not muddler. Their two luvs blendid together like bordin house bisket (which can’t be pulled apart without using a pair of pinchers.anda claw-hammer). And can it be possible that two fond hearts like theirn must be forcibly ripped asunder?. Yes, gentle reeder, it is po.ssiblo, and a good deal pos sibler! PART FOURTH. It was a cold nite in the month of Jin newary. Jerusalem! how cold it was 1 It was cold ennff.to freeze the nose on a graven immidge. It was eniiymosl as cold as. a rich relation’s greetin, Jane Anil Pilkinhorn and Jethro Snodgrass were “ trippin the light fantastic hoof, (ns Spurgeon sez,) in the dancin hall of Bill Baxter’s tavern. “ The taller caudles shone o’er the fair wimmiu and brave men, and all went jolly as a dinner bell. But hark! what sound is that? That fearful sound kawses the dancers to dry up on their dancin, and even the fiddler to cease his unearthly strunes! Jane Ann Pilkinhorn has fainted and tumbled ker chunk onto the bare floor! “Water! water!” shouts Jethro Snod grass, frantlkally. Rernarkin as how that was the first time in ten years that he heard young Snodgrass call for water,‘and that he did nt keep the stuff in his house, Bill Baxter, (the tavern keeper) run to the bar and fetched up a decanter of airthquake gin, which he throwd into Jane Ann’s face. Jane Ann imejuntly rekivered! Jethro Snodgrass took her Into his arms and to ted her into the parlor. She throwed her arms clean around his neck, exclaimih; — 1 ‘ My preserver! My preserver! ” “Notoya darned site!” sez Bill Bax ter, who was standin by, and who had a sneakin noshun arter Jane Ann himself (bein a bachelor onmarrled), and was therefore jelus—“not by a darned site! — You never’d come to if I hadn’t slung thirty-seven cents worth of jin in your fase, and now Snodgrass is gittln the kred it of it.” “Beware!” sez Snodgrass; “beware how you provoke my wrath, or I’ll mash your jaw!" Bill Baxter not bein a fltein man im mejuntly retreeted, vowin venjunce onto Jethro. And he had it speedily! Ten minutes arterward, Jethro Snod grass entered the bar-room, artd throwin three cents onto the bar, exclaimed in a voice of thunder and litenin: “ Give mo a glass of your best jin 1” Bill Baxter, with a lere in his sore eyes sech as only a friend Inkamate cood lm mytate, sot up the bottle. Jethro poured out a tumbler full and drank it down at one gulp. In less than ten sekonda ho clapped both hands on his stumuek, and hoUerin “Pizenedl pizened!” hedansed around the floor in fearful aggemy 1 From that shock he never rekiVered, but arter a llngerin Illness of three days he expired. Jane Ann Pilklnhoru was kerrid home in a wheelbarrer in a state of unconsciousness, ravin and tarin her hare like a disappointed John Bull English man after mvestin all his property in the Konfedorate loan. She is now thirty years old, and aint much on her marry.— To the last chap that popped the question at her she replied with tears in her ize that “she didn't see it," and “that if he hadn’t got no more feelins than to come gallivantin round a young gal that was mournin the loss of her lover, the best think he cood do was to go and bag his head." B. A Bill Baxter the tavern keeper, was ar rested and tried for highbougery in third persan singular, but on akountof the man ufacturer of the jin that Bill sold bein ap pointed as forrman on the jury, the jury coodent agree, and Bill was discharged.— A few months afterwards he was smashed to deth under a pile driver, and was obledged to go south for his health, Sltch is life. Morril. Don't drink airthquake jin. SSy* A magician once upon a time ad vertised on his bills that theevenlng’s en tertainment would conclude with a my sterious disappearance of a lady. Sure enough, after the performance he eloped with the wife of the man who owned the hall. Bgy l lf I am not at home from the party to-night at ten o’clock,’ said a hus band to his better and bigger half, ‘ don’t wait for me.’ ‘ That I won’t,’ replied the lady, significantly—‘.l won’t wait, but X’U come for you!’ The gentleman returned at ten o’clock precisely. Bay- A clergyman lately traveling in the oil regions, saw a childstumbling and falling. He kindly picked herup, saying, ‘ Poor little dear, are you hurt ?’ when she cried out; ‘ I ain’t poor. Dad has struck lie!’ The following beautiful inscription 1s to be seen over a soldier's grave in the Alexandria Military Cemetry: “ Unknown” is all tliy epitaph cun tell If Jesus knew thee, nil fswell. Why is a sympathy like blind man’s buff? It is a fellow feeling for a lellow creature. Why cannot two persons ever become great friends V Because they will always be slight acquaintances. Why is rehumatism like a glutton','- Because it attacks the joints. BST No evil action can be well done, but a good one can he iU done.
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers