®ljc American Volunteer. PUBLISHED EVERY THURSDAY MORNING BRATTON Ac KENNEDY, OFFICK--NOVTH 3IABKET SQUARE, terms:—' Two Dollars por year. lf paid strlctiy n advance; Two Dollars and Fifty Cents If paid trltbln throo months; after which Three Dollars will bq,charged. Those terms will bo rigidly ad bored to In every instance. No subscription dltu continued until all arrearages are p,ald, unless at the option of the Editors. ' poetical. LINES, to KATE. There’s something in the name of Kate Which many will condemn; ■But listen now whiled relate -The traits-of-some of them. ■ There’s advo-Kato, a oh'drinlug miss, Could you her hand obtain, She’d lead you In the paths of bliss, Nor plead your cause In vain. There’s dpli-Kato’ a modest name, And worthy of your love; She’s nice and beautiful in frame, As gentle os a dove. Commuiti-Kate’s intelligent. As we may well suppose; Her fruitful mind Is ever bent, On telling what she knows. There’s Intrl-Kate, she’d so obscure, Tls hard to lind her out, For she Is often very sure, To put your wits to rout. Prevnrl-Kato’s a stubborn mind, She’s sure to have her way; The cavilling, contrary Jade Objects to all you say. There’s alter-Kate, a perfect pest, Much given to dispute; ’ Her preying tongue can never rest, You cannot her refute. There’s dlslo-Kale, quite lu a fret, Who falls to gain her point- Her case Is quite unfortunate, Ami sorely out of Joint. Equivocate no. ope will woo, The thing would be absurd: She la too faithless and untrue, You cannot take her word. There’s vindicate she’s good and true. And strives with dll her might Her duty faithfully to do, Aud battles for the right. There’s rusticate, a country lass, Quite fond of rural scene; She likes to ramble through the grass, And through the evergreens, Of all the maidens you can find. There’s none like edu-Kate; Because she elevates the mind, And alms for, something great. likceltaiw. George. ‘Happiness and poverty are two exact opposites, in my opinion, l replied Tom, ‘and such as you will find hard work, I’m thinking, to reconcile to each other.’ sale grocery store of Messrs. Moore & ?' 11 try it ’’ said ® eol ' Be- JENNY IRVIN G; flic l.lttlc Milliner. q&eorge Lenox was a clerk In the whole- Reese in one of our Eastern cities. Geo. 'f' was an ambitious young man, had many bright hopes of the future, and was gen erally In good spirits, though sometimes the great highway of life seemed dark* oned and the star of hope shone feebly on his path. But George was honest, and . Messrs 1 Moore & Reese Jiad long since come to the conclusion that he was just the clerk for them'. Some distance from Messrs. Moore & Reese’s—away down street, a quarter of a mile,perhaps,and nearly opposite George’s boarding place, was a milliner’s shop—a real fancy shopo-vlth a handsome sign, large windows with splendid curtains on the Inside, displaying a rlch'and beauti ful array of those dear treasures that so delight the fair sex, viz: dear little bon- nets, all styles, and trimmed In every imaginable way, with bright ribbons and delicate flowers, formed with exquisite taste by the fairy ( hands of blooming maidens. ’ ' Were not these attractions ? Yes, George never passed the door of Madame Josephine Lavelle, from Paris, without casting a glance into the window or .thro* those beautiful plate glass doors. George did so often, for he often passed on his way to and from bis boarding house; but it was not for the sake of catching a sight of the bonnets or rib bons of Madame Josephine, for he could them equally as fine in other milliner ahqps in the neighborhood, but it was to steid a glance and get a good look as of ten as possible at Madarae’s little Jenny Irving, or ‘Queen of Beauty,’ as she was called. Yes, Jenny Irving, the orphan or 'poor orphan,’ as some termed her, was Ma dame Layelle’a favorite apprentice, and possessed the first love of George Lenox. She. had caught a prize without angling for it. In our hero’s estimation she was the most bewitching of. maidens. Her tiny, but faultless form, golden hair, bright blue eyes, dimpled cheeks and dainty mouth offered attractions which he could not resist; and then her voice, so sweet/ and musical, was melody itself, aud her almost baby hands, so fair, and soft; and her fairy feet that seemed scarcely to touch the ground on which she trod, ac tually charmed him and completed the conquest which Cupid—little knave had so artfully planned and so success . fully, carried forward. After having se- cretly admired Jenny for months, George one day became acquainted with her—no matter how—though of course, in the same way that all young people get ac quainted who are struck with each other's appearance—first, an Introduction at some party or social gathering, with an ‘l’m happy to make acquaintance,’ on the lady’s part, and ‘allow me to see you home,’ on the gentleman’s; then a moon light walk, with a great many silly, foolish remarks made on both sides, con- -first day’s ceremonies. Of coarse, this, mode of proceeding soon makes fast friends. George continued to attend to business closely, but his evenings were generally his own, and then, when Jenny was* noi busy, of course they had delightful times. $ Jenny was not by any means without other admirers. Many a young man in the neighborhood would discommode himself much to accommodate her, and consider himself well paid if he could thus win a smile or 'thank you' from her sweet lips. But George was her favorite lover, and he sedulously improved his opportunities u °til Unally, it was whispered around, **nd pretty freely, too, that he and Jenny wore engaged. Such reports el ways spread like wlldUro, and this one was not long in reaching the ears of Mr. Moore, one of his employers. Mr. Moore had a daughter who took quite a fancy to our frleud, and he was aware of It, but could not reciprocate the compliment. Her father also knew it, and knew that George was a smart tollow, and would, as he often said, 'make a stir in the world.’ He thought that George and his daughter would make a good match, and that the former would fool highly complimented at the propo lie', ioUmteer BY BRATTON & KENNEDY. sal. Therefore, soon after Mr, Moofo first heard the foregoing report, he called George to one side and 'opened the case’ to him, concluding by hinting at a part nership in case niatters turned out favor ably. The old gentleman’s proposal took .Qtorgo. somewhat, by surprise; but as a young man of principle, he felt in duty bound to give an immediate and decided answer. *1 feel flattered by your preference,’ said he in reply, ‘and it is very gratify ing to me to know that yon hold me in such high esteem ; but I cannot accede to your proposal—l am engaged to another.’ ‘Well, sir, as you please,’ said Mr. Moore, with a suddenly assumed sternness of demeanor,‘but yon will lose much by your decision. Allow me to ask who your intended is?’ ‘Miss Jenny Irving.’ ‘Miss Irving!’ said Mr. Moore, witii feigned astonishment, ‘Miss Irving, a penniless girl.’ ‘Yes, sir, and an orphan,’ was the quick reply.’ ‘lndeed, an orphan ?’ said Mr. Moore, well I pity her then, as I do all orphans; but really George you are throwingyour self away—you’ll not get a cent by her.’ ‘I know it, sir, and do not wish it,' re plied our hero, with spirit. *1 marry her for herself,’not for her money.’ ‘Yery well, sir,’said Mr. Moore; and turning away he soon left the room. ‘Ah, oh ! my lad, in love with Madame Lavelle’a queen, the little milliner,’ said young Tom Moore, addressing George as the former came rushing into his father’s store, one afternoon, soon after George’s conversation with Mr. Moore. ‘Ah, ah ! in love, eh ?’ ‘Well, yes, I suppose I might as well own up drat as last, ’ said George with a smile. 'Of course you might,’.said the former. ‘Well, mau, what’s her dower ?’ . ‘Youth, beauty and a contented mind is her replied'George, ‘and that’s enough for me.’ ‘Enough I—that support you, eh V said Moore provokingly. ‘No, but will make me happy,’ said . ‘Well, do, if you please,’ replied Tom sneeringly, ‘and by and by report pro gress. I fancied that girljmyself, but I’m sure I can’t marry a beggar. A wife without money is a poor prize in my es timation.’ ‘Jenny is no beggar,’ was on George’s lips, in reply but ere he bud time to speak he was gammoned to a customer. .‘Jenny will show them her value yet,’ said a low musical voice behind him, and turning, he\saw Jenny, who had glided in noiselessly to bring him an invitation to *a party .which she had Just received for him, holding also in her hand, on which her own name was dis tinctly written*. She had unintentionally heard young Tom Moore’s remark, aud well under stood its meaning of her when she said, with usual emphasis, ‘Jenny will show them her value yet.’ But a few days elapsed ere the story got around that George had been offered the hand of the rich Mr. Moore’s daugh ter in marriage, and had declined it for that of Jenny Irving. Soiu£ wondered at his choice, while others considered it one of true love aud consequently one of wisdom. Time wore away, and a year brought around the day fixed for George and Jenny’s wedding. One evening but a few, days previous to the time appointed, they were conver sing together at Jenny’s aunt's, where she boarded. ‘We shall be obliged to have a plain wedding, I suppose, my dear,’ said George, ‘and commence life in a snug way, for my income is not very large, you know.’ ‘As you please, George,’ was the reply; ‘any way that is most agreeable to you, and iu which we can live the happiest. But,’ said she r with a light ringing laugh, ‘are you not going to take me to church iu your carriage ?' ‘ln a carriage, perhaps, said George, .‘though probably not in my carriage, as I have not the pleasure of owning on/?.’ ‘Just so,’ said Jenny. ‘Well then sup pose I send mine after you,’ ‘Yours!—that would be a joke, for a milliner girl hardly out of her appren ticeship, to set up a carriage of her own and send off after her intended on the morning of her wedding.’ ‘Stranger things have happened.’ ‘Yes, may be, but the thing does not seem possible, or at least in our case. You were" not born to a fortune, Jenny. ‘lndeed !’ replied Jenny; ‘your remarks are not calculated to give me a. very ex alted opinion of my condition in life; but I will forgive my future husband this time, as he has not yet very closely in vestigated my personal history. Of one thing, however, I am certain, and that affords me no little gratification ; you did not marry me for my money, ‘little beg gar,’ as I am, or at least as Mr. Thomas Moore saw fit to designate me.’ Nothing more was said about fortunes then, but George had a suddeu surprise in store for him, somewhat startling and as unexpected as any event that could happen to any mortal. On his bridal morning, as ho was dressing at his boarding-house, an ele gant carriage with a span Of milk white horses, stopped before the door, and the driver springing from his seat, rang the door bell, and inquired for Mr. George Lenox. ‘What does this moan?' was George’s Urst thought. 'I engaged a carriage, but not near as elegant a one as this. There’s something wrong here*’ ‘You’ve made some mistake In the name,' said he to the driver. ‘I think not, sir,’ replied the driver. ‘Then who sent you here?’ said George. ‘Miss Jenny Irving.' ‘Miss Jenny! impossible.’ ‘Yes, sir, that’s her name, and this is her carriage and horses,’ replied the dri ver. ‘Jenny.lrving,' said George to himself, musingly and striving to unravel the mystery—‘What street does she live on ?» ‘Band Street, No. 30 sir.’ , ‘The same. Ah, dear girl,’ thought he, ‘she Is trying to miatify me a little by sending round a carriage at her own es- pease; for no doubt she pays for it out of her own hard earnings. Well, I will gratify her and take a ride down to her aunt’s iu her carriage, as the driver colls It. . It Is her’s, I suppose, while she hires it.* - • , . So in jumped the hero and was soon at . Jenny's door* __ „ . .. ‘How do you like my traveling estab lishment?' said she'nsGeorge entered the room. ‘Oh, first rate,’ was the reply, it is splen did. I see you practice ‘women's rights,’ and hire your own carriage. Well there’s no harm in that, it will answer admira bly for to-day and then the owner will have Jt I suppose.' ‘Undoubtedly,’ said Jenny with a smile. After their marriage at the church they returned to Jenny's aunt’s and sat down to await the arrival of some friends whom they were going to treat to a few viands prepared for the occasion. ‘Why don’t the driver take that car riage home?’ ‘Perhaps he is awaiting the order of the owner,' replied Jenny. ‘lts owner! where Is he?' ‘His name is George Lenox, and ho occupies the very place where you now sit,' said Jenny; ‘is any further expla nation necessary ?' ‘George Lenox? Not me?’, said George fairly starting from his seat ‘Yes, you, was the reply. ‘lt was my carriage, and I have now made you the owner of it.’ ‘ ‘Your carriage !—why, Jenny,’ you surprise me,’ said George; ‘how came you by such an expensive establish ment?’ ‘I bought it and paid my own money for it.’ ‘Bought it—and—paid—your—own money—for it?’ Said George,slowly and pausing slightly before each word ns if weighing their meaning, for he was pro foundly perplexed. ‘Yes, my dear,’ continued Jenny ‘it was mice; it is now your’s. You are its owner, and there it stands subject to your orders. Tf you wish, we will drive to our country house, just out of the city this afternoon.’ ‘Country house just out of the city I T believe you are crazy Jenny,’ exclaimgd George. ‘No, I am net-’ ‘Well, then what do you mean ?’ said he. ‘Explain yourself. There is some mj'stery that! don’t understand.' ‘I k,nowyou,don’t understand it, dear,’ said Jenny, ‘ and now I have mystified you a little, I will solve the riddle.’ And then Jenny, with sparkling eyes and in her happiest mood, told him how that her parents had died when she was quite young and left her penniless; and in the. care of her aunt, who had adopted her, and thatforty years before a wealthy undo in England—her father’s brother— had died, leaving her his large property, amounting to seventy-five thousand dol lars, and that as there was so. much courting heiresses for their money, she bad resolved to keep the matter a secret, and .pass among people as a dependant for support upon her own exertions from day to day, so that if she ‘was wooed at all, it might be for herself, and not for her money; and that for this reason she had served apprenticeship in a milliner’s shop. “ ‘Am I dreaming,' exclaimed George, amazed at a revelation from Jenny’s lips so astonishing and unexpected, and which increased; If possible, the esteem he already had for her, who could con ceive so noble a project and so effectually carry it out. ‘No, George* it Is no , dream,' but a pleasing reality. . You know I said Meuuy, would show her value yet.’ I then referred to my fortune. Of my value aside from that it is not for me to speak. Aud now/said she looking con fidingly into the face of him love she prized higher than all treasures,. ‘Jenny entrusts, to you herself and her fortune without any fears for their future safekeeping.’ George’s income whs now amply suffi cient for his and Jenny's wants, but be ing one who abhored idleness, he iu a few days, opened a wholesale grocery in' the city, and was soon.ougnged in an ex tensive and flourishing business. Benefits of Laughter.—Probably there is not the remotest corner or little inlet of the minute blood-vessels of body that does not' feel some wavelet from the great convulsion produced by hearty laughter shaking the central man. The blood moves more lively—probably Its cheriilcal, electric,.,or vital condition Is distinctly modified—it conveys a dif ferent impression to all the organs of the body, asdt visits them on' that particular mystic journey, when the man is laugh- ibg, from And thus it is that a good laugh length ens a man’s life by conveying a distinct and. additional stimulus to the vital forces.' The time may come when phy sicians, attending more closely than they do now to the innumerable subtle influ ences which the soul exerts upon Its tenement of clay, shall prescribe to a torpid patient ‘so many peals of laughter, to be undergone at such and such a time,’ just as they now do that far more objec tionable prescription—a pill, or an elec tric oi* galvanic shock ; and shall study the best and most effective method of producing the required effect iu each patient. A lively girl had a bashful lover whoso name was Locke. She got out of patience with him at last aud in her an ger declared that Shakespeare had not said half as many things as bo ought to about Shy Locke. An Illinois lover closes his letter to his lady sentimentally as follows: My best loved one, I chawed the postage stamp on your last letter all to thunder, because I know you licked It (jp. Many ladles have ruined the shape of their ears by wearing heavy, massive ear rings, which not only spoils the shape of the ear by elongating It, but also pro duces headache and pains in the face. A Mu. Bay wished to join the Knights Templar, but was rejected on the ground that the days never did and never can mix with the nights , *Fasihonauli3 boot makers cannot al ways cure ladies' boots if they are, bajci ; but they heel them. CARLISLE, PA., THURSDAY, JANUARY 4,1872. THE GIPSY'S GLASS. Cissy Thorne was sitting by her toi&i-' table skipping a novel, while her maid, Emma, brushed her long, thick, silky hair. Some people said it was false, be cause thorp was so much of It; other Christians were certain it must have been that if had the pocu-' liar bright, golden tiut which is so often due to art, but Emma know better.- That exemplary girl took the same sort of pride in her mistress’ hair that a good groom docs in the coats of his master’s horses, and was never tired of brushing it. Fortunately, the young lady took an equal pleasure in her passive part of the performance, and so both were satisfied. -When the spoiled beauty did not know what else to do, she went up to her room, took off her dress, and had her hair brushed; it was a lady-like substi tute for smoking a pipe. I wonder that Darwin has not in stanced the pleasure we feel in being stroked the right way, in favor of the last theory. I believe that Cissy was very near purring, especially in thun dery weather, when her hair crackled like an experiment. ‘ Well, Emma, did you go to the fair ?’ asked the brusbee, laying down her book. ‘Yes, miss, I did.’ ‘And what did you see?’ 'I saw a horsemanship, where they rode standing, anti jumping through hoops, Wonderful I * ‘And did you go on one of the round abouts that is worked by a steam engine which plays an organ ?’ ‘No, miss,’ replied Emma, with em phasis. ‘Do you know, Emma, I should like to, .if no one saw.’ ‘Lor, miss, they are crowded with such a low lot, they aro.’ Low lots, ns you call them, seem to have all the fun,' said Cissy with a half sigh. ‘And what else did you see?’ ‘I went to a—fortune-teller.’ ‘No; in a tent ? ; There were little tents about, but it was a very yellow cart I‘went into; not in the fair exactly, but in the clump be fore you come to it. She’s wonderful!’ ‘ls she, though ? What did she say ? Tell me,’ cried the excited Cissy, who was troubled with yearnings after the supernatural. . ‘She told me all sorts of things which she could not have kupwu natural; a mole on my back ; how long I have been in service ’ ‘Yes, yes, but the future; did she say anything about that?’ • ‘She did more miss; she showed it to me.’ ‘No?’ ‘ln a round glass; as true as I’m stand' ig here, I saw him plain.’ ‘Your future husband ?’ ‘As is to be; yes, miss.’ These two girls had been playmates when very little, and there was much more familiarity between them than' is customary with mistress and c maid. Bo Emma had to enter into all the mysteri ous details of the cabalistic ceremony. ‘What fun !’ cried Cissy, ‘I should like t0.g0;.1 will go! The fortune-teller's caravan is not actually .the fair, you say ; and there will not be many people about if we start early.’ ’Lor, miss, what will your pa and ma say?’ 'I don’t know; I’ll do it first and ask them afterward, for fear they might ob ject,. We will go to-morrow morning, directly after breakfast, mind.' Mr. Thorne was a steward; I do not mean an official attached to a steam packet, in charge of a china shop full of white basins, but a manager of large estates in thecountry; a well-to-do man, who had a small property of bis own, which ho farmed in the most intelligent and neatest style, on the outskirts of the market-town of Littlelura. Mrs, Thorne was plump, good-natured *and lazy, yet somewhat proud and sensitive; she fancied the country families were pa tronizing, and she would not be patron ized. Cissy was their only child, and they thought much of her, honestly.believing that there never was such another baby —child—maiden. Of course, the paragon was never sent to school, and the govern esses were selected principally with ref erence to their power of appreciating her merits. Nevertheless she was very charming, and had two lovers—l do not mean ad mirers, but two men who were ready to marry her, if sho would but choose one of them. But she could not quite make up her mind which of the brace to se lect. ‘lf the gipsy would only show me which I am to take, it would save me a world of trouble,' she sald to herself. with a smile, ‘but of course that is all nonsense. Yet, if she did, I vow that X would be guided by it.' One aspirant was Pendil Frogmore; a landed proprietor in the neighborhood, very poor;,for though his rent-roll was a fair one, his debts were enormous ; but, very handsome, and well set up. . In deed, he had been in the blues. I don't mean bad spirits, but a mau in armor, commanding men in armor, and his wife would be undoubtedly county. Charles Wilson was the name of the other ; he was a young London solicitor, who had been taken into a good Arm, and was now on a visit to his mother, an Indian Colonel’s widow, who resided at Littielum. Mrs. Wilson and Mrs. Thorne were good friends, and so all was smooth there. Mrs. Wilson had murmured, in deed, when she first saw her son's\noii natlon. ‘Would she he a companion for you, Charles? would she be able to take an interest in the same things you did ?’ ‘No, mother, that is just what I want. I should hate a wife that was as clever as myself. But how cun you fall to see her merits ? She is such a very nice little party 1’ Tan'ic, Charlie, par tie; how dread fully bad your French accent is 1 I grant that she would not bo a bad match for you, from a worldly point of view.’ Frogmore was the most handsome, Wilson the more pleasant. Really,. If fate would settle the matter for her, it would save Cissy Thorne a world of trouble. So the pretty bone of contention thought, as she started with her maid Emma, for Littelum Hurst, at 9 A, tr.; for Mr. Thorne breakfasted early, and his daughter presided, Mrs; Thorne being a I sluggard. Not a drum was beard, not a pandean note* as they stepped briskly along; the gingerbread husbands were covered up l from the dust; the merry go-rounds were still; the clown was mending bis dress; the donkeys break* fasted frugally on each other’s manes; the fire-eater was trying a diet of bacon, 'bread'and garild JorlT cliaug'el Business never commenced In the fair till after noon. But Miss Thorne’s visit was not to the fair. To the right, some fi /e hun dred yards from the common, there was a clump of sparse trees, and sheltered beneath th em stood one of those old yol~ low huts on wheels which act so vividly upon the imaginations of viiliage chil dren. This was the abode of the sybil, and the adventuresses turned aside to ward it. Emma went first on the steps andtapp |ed with the bright brass knocker; the door opened immediately, and a woman I of the mystic race appeared—young, I handsome as a Spaniard, though her splendid black hair was rather coarse, if you come to examine it closely. Emma drew back to let her mistress enter, first. .‘Walk in, my pretty lady,’ said the gipsy; 'don tbo afeared, I am quite alone here.’ Although the fun of tho fair did npt Commence till late in . the day,.it was evident that custom came betimes to the sybil, for traces of night disorder had disappeared from the miniature interior, which was spick and span, neat' and clean; obviously prepared for visitors.— The small apartment was still further reduced by a curtain, which ran on brass rings along a rod, enclosing a portion of the space. The gipsy examined Cissy’s hand, and began making shots—centres through most; bull’s eves, some. ‘You are an only child, and your father and mother would give you gold to eat, if you wanted It; whea-.a..child you were in great peril froto a dog.’ A lot more to the same effect, couched iu vague language, but very correct. Cissy began to be very sorry that she had cotfie. ‘There’s twogentlemen as is very sweet upon you, my pretty lady,’ con tinued the unpoetlo sibyl; ‘if you marry one you will be unhappy all your life, hut if you take the other you will he lucky, and live to bo eighty and ride in your carriage and pair all the time.’ The idea of this very protracted drive rather amused Cissy, and that revived hfer courage. After alb the woman might have made inquiries about her on the chance of her coming. ‘And how am I to know which of these gentlemen to choose?’ she asked, In a bantering tone. 'Ah, that I cannot tell, my lady ; but you can look in the Magic Glass for yourself, and see if it shows you aught.’ The gipsy said that Emma should leave the caravan ; but Cissy would not have that, so a compromise was effected ; the maid was blindfolded. Then the gipsy drew slides across the window on either side, producing a deep twilight.— Indeed, it was more like ground-glass than an ordinary mirror; ground-gloss with a feeble light behind It. Presently the surface became covered with ill-de fined, shifting shadows, which gathered so thickly as to obscure the whole of it; and then it gradually cleared and a head and shoulders grew upon it ; It cleared a little more and revealed—the undoubted face of Charles Wilson. Cissy stood aghast in awe-struck terror before the supernatural intimation, when suddenly as she gazed the face before her became suddenly convulsed with an expression of terrible agony. She uttered a little scream and fainted. Fresh air and cold water soon brought her to; she left the gipsy and started homeward. ‘You see’d him, miss?’ inquired Emma. ‘Yes; and I'll never marry any one else, if I die an old maid. But, oh! what cun that dreadful expression on his face foretell ? I feel that some dread ful calamity will happen soipe day !' A not improbable dread. There was one consolation ; fate and Cissy's secret bit it off nicely. Girls are queer things, an d she bad hardly known that she pre ferred Charley Wilson as she did. In due time he offered aud was accept ed ; and they were married, and went off for their honeymoon to the Lake of Como. One evening Charles . Wilson rowed his bride out ik a yery clumsy boat. ‘How serious you are, Cisaums!’ he said, finding her less chatty than usual. ‘Did that bravo-looking beggar frighten you? Because, his frowsy head shall be punched if he did ?' ‘Ob, no; oh don’t offend him!' cried the young wife. ‘I am sure he has got what the Italians call the Evil Eye.’ — L Has—he?—Well —uever—mind ;—the- Americans have invented a potion which counteracts the effect. 1 , ‘Eeally I' ‘Yes, when we return I will get that gentleman from New York, stopping at the hotel, to concoct us an eye-opener; that will make it all right.’ ' ‘Oh, do I' cried Mrs. Wilson ; and her husband paddled on. *1 say, Cissums,' he said presently, resting on his oars, ‘don't think that I am finding fault because you have not got any faults, so far that would be ab surd ; but are not you rather supersti tious?' ‘And if I am I have a right to be,’said she. ‘Ah; eny particular experience?’ and he wormed out of her the whole story. ‘I am sorry I told you,’ she cried when he burst out laughing; ‘you, don’t be lieve It 1 You had better call me a story teller at once.’ ‘Believe it, my dear! I am ready to swear to it. You did not see ray ghost, though ; you were looking at me. I was in a terrible confined position, and that thief of a gipsy was so long about her preliminaries that I, got a horrible cramp in my right calf, and made a fane which I thought would betray me.’ The bride hurst out crying. ‘And you bribed my maid ; and laid a plot with a common gipsy to deceive me; and nearly frightened me to death ; and wore laughing at mo all the time— Oh 1’ she sobbed. ‘All’s fair in love,’said Wilson, sloep ishly. ‘lt was unworthy of you 1’ she con tinued; ‘you have married me under false pretences. I shall never feel the same toward you ; f will never forgive you, never 1’ But she did. A HUMOROUS SKETCH. BY CAPTAIN MORTONS. In the year 1852 X, with three fathers, who were officers ou the good steamship Winfield Scott, then lying at the wharf, at San Francisco, became imbued, as many others before übubad been, with the pre 'Vading;gold~fever.~' tions in the good ship, we started for the famous gold mlues of * Carsdn Creek.’ Our journey was accomplished on foot, we carrying oiir. loads of provisions on our backs—the sun iu the middle of the day terribly hot. The nights being cold, wo would build a fire, and, wrapping our. blankets around ua, ‘put us in our little beds,’ and then compose ourselves to sleep, soon to be awakened by the dismal bark of thousand cayotes, bears, and other ‘ insects’ that would quickly sur round us. A brand from the fire would cause them to scamper off in a hurry, shaking the ground as they went. Pursuing our course in the daytime, our only guide through the forests being the innumerable .‘sardine boxes’ that lit erally paved the way and constantly in dread of meeting the noted cut-throat and robber, ‘San Joaquin,’ and his band, who were then roaming round the coun try, the terror of all miners, we finally, at sunset of the ninth day, reached Car son’s Creek, and took up our quarters in a deserted log standing apart some distance from any other. Building afire, and sending up to the store in the miners’ camp, on the hill, for some beef, we soon felt as if we were capable of meeting San Joaquin, bears, or ‘any other man.’ On looking round in our room of the cabin, we discovered a platform raised about three feet from the ground (there being no floor), which evidently had been used as a bedstead, and three of us took our blankets and laid down to get some sleep, myself in the middle; the fourth one, whose name was Jack Davis, having been wise enough to bring his hommock along with him, hung it high up in the rafters. Some time during the middle of the night, the fire having gone out, we were awakened by Jack Davis yelling— ‘Jump up, fellers, jump up! There’s a ‘grizzly,’ under the bed. He will soon have you.’ The intelligence of qur dangerous posi tion fora time parulized us, and neither of us possessing the requisite amont of courage lo get up, we soon became engag- ed with each other in a desperate strug- gle for the middleof the bed, but I, being the strongest, managed to hold my own. Meanwhile Jack Davis, from bis com- parative secure position, half ,up on the rafters; yelled incessantly for us to get up and attack the bear—calling us cowards, sojers, and threatening to come down and lick us, bear and all, which brilliant per- formance he had no idea of‘attempting. My two bedfellows, failing In their at tempt to get the middle of the bed, agreed with mo to jump for the door, which we did. But now another difficulty presented tself; no one knew how to open it. Our situation becoming desperate, we turned to face the animal, and from under the bed two large red eyes glared on us, while from the rafters came the consoling yells from Jack— ‘Now he’s coming, look out! You’re all gone I Ain’t you a nice set? Sailors! blast you, you’re ‘ sojers I’ Go home ! which last advice every mother’s son of us would then and there have gladly consented to act upon. Another struggle now ensued between us three, as to which should be in front, or rather who should be behind, when they finally succeeded in thrusting me in front, aud at tltesametitae theanimal sprang out, striking me in the breast and face, knocking me down, and in my fall ing taking the other with me. Each one thinking he had hold of theanimal while on the ground we gave one another the most unmerciful pounding that any mor tal ever received, being encouVaged in our good work by Davis yelling to us: ‘Give it to him, boys! Now you’ve got him ! until, after exhaustion, we found out our mistake, the animal having es- caped through a large hole in tlie bottom of the door that we had not observed be fore. Striking a light, we presented a forlorn and ragged appearance, and concluded we were not much at mining life, if that which we had Just passed through was a specimen. Our thoughts were distorted by Davis asking us where the bear was, and if we had killed him •eply, bflt mentally swore that we would be even with him. The opportunity pre- sented itself sooner than expected. In. the morning we were invited by some of the miners to come to their, camp and give them tho latest news from home.— We started in the evening, leaving Jack behind, as ho preferred to sleep in his -hammock' Relating our terrible combat, it came out that instead of a bear it was a poor old dog that slept there every night, which accounted for the hole in the door. Our mortification at the absurdityof the whole affair was intense, and the miners laugh ed heartily. At midnight they accom panied us home, aud reaching the hill ;hat overlooked the creek where the cabin stood, it occurred to us that now was the time to get even with Jack. Firing our revolvers, throwing large stones on the roof, and yelling like demons, ‘San Joa- quin !' ,Ban Joaquin!’ we rushed down the hill only to see poor Jack come out in bis shirt* jump the creek and bolt like a shot up Bear’s Hill, on the other side of the valley. Through the tangled under- bush ho went, his nether garment stream ing nut behind, and he was soon lost in the gloom. Awaking in the morning, we saw the face of Jack peering through the door, and such a face we had never seen before. Soared is no name for it. The very, life seemed frightened out of him. ‘Fellers,’ said Jack, has he gone ?’ ‘Who?’ we replied. ‘San Joaquin.’ 'No'; wo hadn’t seen anything of him,’ ‘Jack, where have you been?’ ‘Fellers, I had ah awful time last night. The band was here. I stood my ground and fought them as long as I could, and hurt some of them badly.' 'Well, yes. Jack; but what were you running up the hill so for?’ ‘I was trying to catch the last one that escaped,’ said Jack. At. this wo could hold in no longer, and laughed till our sides ached. It fin ally came t° Jack’s mind that he had been sold, and knowing the lies we had detected him In, be raved like mad, and would have considered it a personal favor if we had ail indulged him in a fight, which we respectfully declined. Beep Stewed with Oysters.— Cut some tender beef into small pieces, and season With pepper and salt; slice some onions and add to it, with water enough itthestewpan fo.make a gravy. Bet it stow slowly till the beef is thoroughly -cooked; then add some pieces of-butter rolled in flour, enough to make a rich gravy. Cold beef may be cooked in tho same way, but the onions must then bo cooked before adding them to the meat. Add more water if it dries too fast, but lot it be boiling when poured in. Spanish Steak.— Cut some onions' very fine and put into a frying pan with plenty of butter, boiling hot.— When fried quite tender, push to tho back of the pan. Season a tender loin of beef with pepper and salt, put it on the pan and cook till done. Put the oniohs over it and pour in tho pan suf ficient boiling water to make a rich gravy. Bet all stow five minutes and serve. - Muffins. —Tliroe pints of milk; three or four eggs; small teacup' of yeast; piece of butter, size of an egg, melted in a little milk ; tablespoon of salt; add sifted flour till as thick as buckwheat batter ; eight or ton hours’ rising; cook cither in muflin rings, placed on a griddle, or pour directly on griddle in thin cakes. Powdered sugar - and ground cinnamon served with cakes improve them. Mutton Sour.—A neck of mutton, weighing five or six pounds, three large' carrots, three large turnips, two large onions, a bunch of sweet herbs;, salt and pepper to taste; a sprig of parsley, three quarts of water. , Lay the ingredients in a covered pan before the fire, and let them remain there one day, stirring oc casionally. The, next day put the whole into a stewpan, and place it on a brisk Are. As soon as it boils, take the pan off the lire, and pul it on one aide to simmer until the meat is done. When ready for use take out the meat, dish it with the carrots and turnips ; strain the soup, let it cool, skim off the fat, season it, and thicken it with a spoonful of arrow-root dissolved in cold water. Simnier for five minutes before serving. Why Soup is Wholesome.—Physio logically, soup has great value for those who to hurry to and from their meals, as it allows a"n interval of comparative rest to the fainting stomach before the more substantial beef and mutton is attacked, rest before solid food being ns important as rest after it. Let a hungry and weary, merchant or lawyer rush in mcdias ns plunge boldly into roast beef, and what is the result? The defeat is often as pre-. cipitnte as was the attack. When the body is weary the stomach must be iden tified with it, and cannot therefore stand the shook of some ill-masticated, half pound weight of beef. But if a small plateful of light soup be gently insinua ted Into the system, nourishment will soon be introduced, and strength will follow to receive more substantial mate rial.— Scientific American, , ■ To Baku a Large Fish Whole.— Cut off the head, and split the fish down nearly to the tail; prepare a nice dressing of bread) butter, pepper and salt, mois tened with a little water. Fill the fish withithia dressing, and bind it together with flue cotton, cord or tape, so as to confine it; the bindings may be three inches apart; lay the fish on a grate or a hake pan or a dripping pan, and pom round it a little water and melted butter. Baste frequently. A good sized fish will bake in an hour Serve with the gravy of the fish, dnjwn blitter or oyster sauce. Hair brushes are best cleaned by washing them in saleratus or soda water, which removes all the oily coating. The allmli, of course, unites with the oil to form soap, which aids in the cleaning. ' Rhode Island Brown Bread.—One quart Indian meal, one. pint rye flour, a small cup of molasses, one teaspoonful each of saleratus and salt, with hot water, thin it enough to pour; bake three hours. Glazing for Linen.—Adda teaspoon fui of salt, and one of finely scraped white soap to a pint of starch. We made no Chest Affections.— ln the treat ment of chest affections, great attention is now rightly given to the choice of climate; and upon this as well as upon many other points to which wo have boenmnablo to' allude; we“could have" wished to enlarge, but we have already overstepped our proper limits, and we would conclude as wo began—that cough is a syrapton that calls for investiga tion, and not a disease to be dealt with in a spirit of routine. It is too valuable a servant to bo silenced' and disregard ed ; better that our slumb'ers should be disturbed than that the enemy Iruking nt our gates should entrench himself in the citadel; lot us not poison the watch dog, but he grateful for the bark which discloses the foe and prepares us to fight him. Epidemics.— According ,_to Doctor Kansome, bronchitis and catarrh aro most common in winter, and diarrhoea in summer; rheumatic fever, although rather more frequent in winter than in summer, may come on at any time, but is commonest in autumn. That scarla- tina is never entirely absent, and usually is most prevalent in autumn, and least so in dry summer-months.— Measles is essentially a disease of win ter and spring. Whooping-cough, too, is, on the whole, more prevalent in cold than warm weather. Typhus fever is rare during the frost of winter, and the number of cases is low in early summer. Cube Eok Fever and Ague.— The following is said to be a certain cure for fever and ague; Take one tableapoonful of common chalk, pulverized, and one wine glass of vinegar- Stir briskly, and drink while In an effervescence, when the first effect of the chill is felt. Get in to bed and wrap well in flannels. When the patient prespircs freely, the cure Is effected. VOL. 68.—N0-30 HOUSEHOLD RECIPES. USEFUL REMEDIES. Hates for Abucrtism^. ADVKETIBKiUCWra Will bO inserted fit Ten CcUl per lino foT tho first insertion, and five cents per flop for each subsequent insertion. Q.mu« torly, half-yearly, and yearly advertisements in orted at n liberal redaction, on the above rale*. Advertisements shonld bo accompanied by the CASH. Whonuent without any length ol tinif specified for publication, they will bo continue t nntllordorod out and onarged accordingly JOB PRINTING. CAKD3,Handßilm,OißOULAiifl, and every fill er description of Job and Card Printing. ®Ws anti A LITHE WIFE. I wish I had n little wife, A little stove and fire, I’d ling her like a lump of gold, ’And lot ho one comb nigh her; I'd spend my days In happiness, l’d vegetate In clover, And when I died, I’d shut my eyes. Lay down and roll right over. Here is tho most dog-gonod alFeo donate poetrs f that wo havo over srmi: When old Carlo sits lu Sally's chair, Oh! don’t I wish that I were there: When her fairy fingers pat hla head. Oh! don’t I wish’twos me Instead; When Sally’s arms his neck Imprison. Oh I don’t I wish my neck was hb'n : • When Sally kisses Carlo’s nose, Oh! don’t I wish that J was those? Penny—that “square” dances are coming round again When is a young lady “ like a whale?”’ When she’s pouting. 1 A Western editor reports money close,” but not close enough to reach. Twins, like misfortunes, never come singly. Honey bees are winged merchants— They coll their honey. It has been said that pantaloons ob linedon credit are broodhes of lrusl. Woman’s silence, although it is less frequent, signifies much more than man’s. You feel the sensation from a lady’s boot heel (present,stylo) when she steps on your foot accidentally. The height of impudence—taking shelter, from the rain in an umbrejla shop. Because top dressing is good for fields, it does not follow that it is good for heads. Bit. Livingstone has died so many times these last few years that people are beginning to call him Dr. Dying stone. An enthusiastic editor, speaking of a new prima donna, says: “Her voice is soft as a roll of velvet, and as tender as a pair of slopshop pantaloons.” Why "should potatoes grow better than any other vegetable? Because they have got eyes to see what they are doing. “My lord,” said the foreman of an Irjsh Jury, when giving in the verdict, “we find the man who stole the horse not guiily.” Duck hunting is carried to somewhat of an excess in New York. Five hun ters to one duck is the average in Os wego couniy, and then the duck gets away about half the time. A young man' in our town being charged witli laziness, was asked if ‘he took it from his father. “ I thjnknot,” said the disrespectful son, “ father’s got all the laz,ine-s ho ever had.” An old stager, was compelled by his worthy spouse to (‘join the cold-water army,” which ho did, promising not to touch a drop of anything except in sickness. Ho has never been well since. “Papa,” sahka Jittlo boy to ids pa rent, “ am notsailors very small men?” “ No, my dear,” answered the father. “ Pray, what leads you to suppose that they are so small ?” “Because,” replied the 3-011 rig idea, smartly, “I read the other day of a sailor going to sleep in his watch.” Soiie one says that the lion and the lamb may lie down together in this world, but when the lion gets up it will ho hard work to find the lamb. A swell wishing to make himself interesting, asked, “Maria, what do you suppose I was a hundred year ago “ Just what you aro now, noth ing at all,” was the prompt reply. Trying to do business without ad vertising is like winking at a prettj girl through a pair of'green goggles.— You may know what you are doing, but nobody else does. Josh Billings says in Ids “ Lecter:” Bats came originally from Norway, and nobody would have cared if they would have originally stayed there. A lady friend remarks that they still show their gnawaway origin. A lady had a favorite lap dog which she called Perchance. “ A singular name,” says somebody, “ fora beautiful' pet, madarao. Where did you And it ?” ' “ Oh,” drawled she, “it was named ~ is m ■ ■ 'br from yron’.s dog. You remember whercJiesays, ‘ Perchance my dog may howl.’ ” Tee story of a lazy school boy who spelled Andrew Jackson, “ &ru Jaxon” has been equalled by a student, who wished to mark half a dozen new shirts. Ho marked the first one “ John Jones” and the rest “ do.” Breakfast and Dinner.— A pen niless young lawyer asked a million aire for liis daughter’s hand. “ I shall give my child a hundeed thousand dollars on her wedding day,” answered the merchant. “It is a pretty little sum, cnougli to buy breakfasts for the family. Now will you have the kind ness to toll me how you propose to furnish the dinners?” ‘‘Oil, for that matter,” returned the unabashed youth, “ those you have breakfasted so well will not need any dinner at all.” Guest—" How came this dead fly in my soup?” Waiter—" In fact, sir, I have no positive idea how the poor thing came to its death. Perhaps it had not taken food for a long time, dashed upon the soup, ato too much of it, contracted an inflammation 6f the stomach that brought on death. The fly must have a very weak constitution, for when I served the soup it was danc ing merrily on tho surface. Porhhpsr and tho idea presents Itself only at this moment—it endeavored to swallow too largo a piece of vegetable; this remain ing fast in his throat, caused a choking at tho windpipe. This is tho only rea son I can give for tho death of tho Insect.
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers