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NVAIRER .173 ,PUBLISHED EVERY SATURDAY /OEM Ojiice in Carpet Hall, North-west corner of kE i ront and Locust streets. 'Terms of Subscription. Jae Copy_perannuln,if pnidin advance, • . _ `' if not paid within three renteoramen cementorthe year; 200 4 0 4 02a.ti50 a copy. Nato, unseription reeetitedlor a less time titan six ..r.onskspand no paper will be discontinued until all •wrrearegenare paid,uniessat the optionof the pub isher., • 11:rionernaybe•eatittedlumaii a tt hcpublish. • er's risk. Rates of Advertising. 'quart Est I nesjone week, +O3B three weeks, 75 eachmbsequentiasertion, 10 [l2.ines]one week. 50 three weeks. L 00 eachiubseqaentinsertion. 25 Large radverti secruent n proportion. Al literal liscou ttlwi Ibe made to quarterly,lialf .earlyor:earlytdvertisers,whoare strieti3confined o t heir business. DR.. HOFFER, - TI)ENTIST..—OFFICE, Front Street 4th door _LI ham Locust. over Saylor & McDonald's Pooh store Columbus. Pa. frj'Esdrance, same a. Jolley'. Pho tograph Cutlery. Ugust 21, 1858. TIIOIIICAS NVELSII, JUSTICE OF TEE PEACE, Colombia, Pa, OFFICE:, in Whipper's Nay Building, helms Black's Hotel, Front street. tro g e P a ro re mpt attention given to all business entrusted November 28,1857. 11. IC NORTH, TTORNEY AND COUNSELLOR AT LAT rol um IA a .11' . C4llecisoup.t.romptly made .i n Laneasole pond I'ml Columbia, May 4,1950. .1. W. FISHER, Attorney and Counsellor at Law, 4 0cammaxibila, Columbia,Septemleer!i, If S. Atlee Bocklns, D. D. S. PRACTICKS the Operative, Surgical and Blechan feel Departments of Dentistry; +01:110E •Loeust si reel, between he Franklin Haute land l'ostOlnee, Columbia, Pa. May 7. 1.857. Harrison's Coumbian Ink - ATH . T d II .O I: c a o t r U r gZO g r , u h r; i c p l% p t e , z he had in nut mantity.ut the Family Medici•te *tore, and blacker • let to that English Boot Poliah. Columbia...lmm 9,1839 We Have Just Received "DKr CUTTER'S Improved Chest Expanding Sa*pender and Stioulder Braces for Beiulvm..tt, and Patent Skirt Supporter and Brace for Ladle., .1111.10 e article Blatt 14 wanted at this Bine. Conic and see theta at Family Medicine Store. Odd Fe:low,o Hall. 0.1.959 Prof. Gardner's Soap. ws have the New En.trland Sonp foe those who Mgr not obtatin it from the soup Mato; it is Mei/Aunt to the Mid will take grease 'pots from Wooten Good+, it in therefore no humbug. for you get the worth of your money et the Family Aledmine State. Columbia, J une /1, /Wt. GRAHAN, or, Bond's Boston Crackers, for DyApepticS, UNd Arrow Root Cllwker., for in validg and Thad, en—lieW articles in Columbia, at ahe PUMIIy Medicine April IQ, leM SPALDING'S PREPLIIIED GLUE.--The want of such an ar:iele 14 fell in every (mily. arid now it can no e.upplietl; for mrtalmg furniture, china waro.orneenerneal work, toy.. S. e . there I. nolh,ng oupsrior. We have found it te-ofal en i ete.teeeng 101111) article , wheel! have Leon ei±eles- for monde, You Jan 'lain it at nee in.ounA : I'IILY VEDICINS: STORK, XR.ON AND STMXIL I IPTIE Sultoci.lo-r- 'aye n•yeived it New uIAI I.4.arg,c 1. Stock of oil k" , I*.tod of • BAR IRON AND STEEL! ThrT are cou.tnotly supirJed %rib , tork lu ihiA ',vine!) of hid busbies., nod Call IWlllll It la euvoimr.iu lurge or moan gualititien,ut the iOVVCAt. J. RUM PLE & SON. Lori, rt reel below Second, Columbia, Pa. A out lOCO. ARTLiT'S COLORS. d general ass areal. in tubes. Aka. a variety Ls Wm.. at the Golden 111nrinr Drag ,iore. PITT7.II'S Compound Syrup of '1 and AVi Id Cherry, for Cough., t o d., &e. h. Golden Moriar Drag:4ore. Frani st. 1n1342 YEE'S Compound ConcentruteJ tract Sarlannrilla for the eure ot Seto! en :vol. and all -erofu lnu• ntreetion.t, a feed at, ju,l received and (or .nle lay R. WILLIAMS, Front at , Columbia, wept. 24, 1859. FOR SALE. n n GROSS Friction Motenes, very low for cash. Ti UV Suite Z. It. Wil.t.t A Nl4 Dutch Herring! A Ng one fond of a goad Iternag a ho 'applied at V I.:I3ERI.ELVS Gwen" Sto.e, N 0.71. Lacuna. == LYON'S PURE 01110 CATAWBA BRANDY .cid PURE WINEs raperiaily tor Medmallets is Sacra meant' purpo.ea. at we Jan. 29. F.ll‘lll.lr MEDICI NE STORE. MICR RAISINS for 8 cts. per pound, are to be bud only at EIBERLEIN'S Orr/eery Store, N 0.71 Locum .treet. hiffret 10, IE6O T G ARDEN SEEDS.resh Garda' Seeds, war rented pate, of nit k.tvirt.ja•rt received at EBERLEIN'S Grocery Store, No 71 Losuct ctreel. March 10.1860 POCKET BOOKS AND PURSES. A LA Run lot of Fine and Common Pocket Books and Purses, at fro n 15 cents to two dollars each 11t tdquarters and News Depot. Colt:taiga, April 14,1 VO, i W more of thole beautiful Print* Jetz t which will be %old cheap, at SAYLOR Se AteDOPIALIYS Columbia, I'2. April 14 rust Received and For Sale. ;4500 SACKS Ground Munn Salt, in large or smug quantities, at A PPOLD'S Warehorm. t aual Bumin. MILTS:BO. LOLD cum OP GLYCERINE.—For the cure and prevention fn elierped band.. &c. For rule .at the (gnaws MORTAR Dlt UV STORK W. 0 ,34840. Front *tree'. Columbia. Turkish Prunes! ova a etrat ratearsciaat Prunes you most go to S. P. NUNI2LEIN'S Nov. 19, ISIS. armory Store, No 71 Locust et GOLD PENS, GOLD PENS. yusT received a large and fine assonroent of Gold ,„4/ PCOS.Of Newton and Griswold's manufacture, at SAYLOR & McDONALD'S Book Store, aavill4. Front street, above Locust. FRESH GROCgRIF.S. rtir Eternities to Pell tie be.d"Levy" Syrup. While T 1 sod Brown Sugars i good Coffees and choice Teas. to be had in Columbia at the New Corner Store. op , posite Odi Fellows' Ha:4llo4i at the old mend adjoin , log the `at. H. C. PONDERS:MTH. Segars, Tobacco, &c. ALOT of first-rate Segars. Tobacco sold Send will ba (mud at the more oleos subscriber. Ile keeps ooly a first rate article. Call it. S. F. EBERLEIN'S Grocery Store, Oct-SOW Locust at., Columbia, Pa. COFFEE BOASTING. 1 1 1 Hgeabierieer has made engagements for Roast. -L ing Correa se lame or small quantities. He is now , !MIRO to r0416t for retail dealers, or to famish them ready readied, on reasonable terms. H. P. EBERLEIN, Grocery Sere, Locust freer.H Ostl i ,lllooo. Ixf dry.. Par the Coll:mine :sl , py. Liberty and Union—Now and Foreve— r and Inseparable. 8130 I= Ye woutd never the ti ON—but etta ye undo The relations of brother to brother? Ye may coldly regard him, and slimier him too, But when sorrow-We:lakes him your heart will be true To the lore ye once bore him, when together ye grew In pence by the ride of your Morass. Ye would sever the Ustost —bat can ye ant Wine The numhorlegs ties that have hound you? Like the threads of a creeping and delicate vine. They have silently spread, In the rain and the shine, Till, when ye would burst them, each gossamer line 'uns to 'Cord and to Cabe" moon.' you. Ye would sever the limas—what! ye who were 'tuned I t the arras aim holy a Morass? \Volld ye dare to pronounce her astray and accursed, Who rocked you to sleep in one crad e at first— Who shielded your head front the storm.whett it barm y Abe ne'er gave the charge to anothert Ye would sever the Utwox—but can ye forget New your nianests stood shoulder to shoulder? !low like one in poi/titian, their stern hearts were set; Now like °tie lit the conflict, our foeraen they met., Now like one they were melted by sorrow, and yet Ito a• iu danger grew bolder and bolder? Yr would sever the Umov—hut will ye divide The Prato ofour FIik.XDOX and GLonv: It waved O'er the fields Where our forefathers died; Their t hi'd roll unfurl it with reverent pride; Aod who, -13 all the Ind: he to throw it aside, And tell the tot I notions the story? Te would sever the Crrom—nut who then 4hall claim The cr.tve of our Cot:mutes Dammtruta? WJ the Nolan and the : . .. , ouru fan the fuel to flume, And figin o'er a-hes. whose glorious name Is a wArcuwolto of I,7IIERTY, UtiTICE and Vault, We would all eidnicr die titan SURRENDER? Ye would sever the U %rots—lint wo to the day When ye mingle in council no long .:r! What Ms], shall keep rulers from deadly affray! What love shalt be poll•el :be people to away? I r e mill find )ow...elves powerless the torrent to stay, Of hale and the right of the stronger! We would sever the Urnon—our Unimt: and why? Short and few are the words of the reason; The North thinks the South should adjure Slavery. The South Think, the North doss not temttrly try To view all her deeds with unprejudieed eye, Mid &Len SA, a refuse iii—rtlEA.-ON: •Judge not that ye be not judg'd'l— Leave unto GOD The right of condemning your brother! Until like an owner, ye -mud on his sod Until your feet in his pathway have trod; Until you are scourged, both alike, by the rod, Never dare to pronounce on another. But eheri•li the thttrne with heart and with hand, A. ye clieri-h your home, and your Altar, Through the length and the breadth of out wide spread tog land, Alone by the eye of OMNIPOTENCE von ned, Bite up to your strenoh, and the craven withstand, Who dares to dissem'tle and Lille.? It ye eever the Usiox—ihen Lamar! Dm, To re.tore het —in Valli the endeavor; She will sole to on dittaat and cloud ruatitled elries; And in vein will the world life lie que.tioaing e) en, She will ors hi- moved by its grief or pail . ..prise; Once mule, the in SlLc a react-ES. get ertittno. Deacon Palmer's Family The sound of the stage.horn• flowed in sweet, mournful currents in and out of the hollows, and the echoes among the hills caught them up, and tossed them back and forth through the forest, and they ran in long silvery edd'es up the turnpike and over the meadows, and across the orchards till they rraeltel the ears and stirred the hearts of the quiet little village of Wood. stock, whose farm houses sat in the valley, at the foot of a long chain of hills, like a company of pilgrims gathered to worship at the shrine of a vast temple. It was just ut sunset, and somehow, those long, mourn ful minor tones seemed the fitting close of the day's service—that autumn day which hut arisen on the mountains in garments of sunshine, and marched through the hours in beauty and rejoicing, living 'Glory to ' God!' the creator of its good and perfect gilt. But it was o day fraught with dread and foreboding to the thousands of homes and hearts in the land, fur the voice of war was abroad in the earth, and mothers had strained their brave sons fur the last time to their bosoms, and seen them go forth to the battle, and husbands and fathers had laid aside the plow and the scythe, and shout. dared their muskets, and taken their lives in their hands fur the sake of freedom, and in the name of the God of battles. So deep shadows lay on the quiet country thresholds of almost every home in New England that autumn day, and almost every hearth-stone was an altar where nnzious, loving hearts sent up a cry to God fur their beloved. Mrs:Palmer, wife of Deacon John Palmer, of Wood,tock, stood in the wide, old fashioned kitchen of the dingy, yellow farm-house, which she bre% her husband on her marriage morning. She was an ample, motherly, pleasant-faced looking woman, whose whole physiognomy corresponded with the room. Strings of red peppers and rows of dried apples were festooned along the ceiling, while a swinging board, fastened to the beam, which divided the hail overhead, wee burdened with herbs and berries hams, dried beans, seeds, and a motley variety of domestic rares. Mrs. Palmer's life had slipped .orer its fiftieth summer, and her black hair was thickly sifted with gray, and there were lines about her forehead, and the smile in her faded eyes had something sorrowful about it; for Mrs. Palmer had walked with grief many times; and of the ten fair boys and girls who had been gathered to her ma ternal heart, only two remained to her old age. It was a small family under the roof of the old gray homestead on earth, bat a "NO ENTERTAINMENT IS SO CHEAP AS READING, NOR ANY PLEASURE SO LASTING." COLUMBIA, PENNSYLVANIA, SATURDAY MORNING. NOVEMBER 24, 1860. larger one in that golden, upper homestead, whose blessed threshold is never darkened by the shadow of death. Mrs. Palmer paused as she caught the faint. sweet echoes of the stage horn,' and she deposited half a dozen freshly boiled doughnuts in the pan on the table, murmur ing to herself, "Now, for n'.l the' world, if that isn't the mailtooming' in! - Who knows but what there may be news from Reuben?" Xid if you had heard how her voice lin gered over the name, you would have known she was his mother. "I wonder if that boy'll take any sort o' care of himself," continued the fond mother, dexterously convolving several strips of dough, and placing them in the large iron kettle which bung over the fire, filled with boiling fat, which indignantly snapped and sputtered at their intrusion. "If there was a fray, he'd be sure to be foremost, for he always was poking hie head into all sorts of danger, and never seemed to feel quite so content as when there was a chance u' getting his neck off his shoulders. "I never could exactly see where he got his harum,carum turn, for his father was al'ays a. sober-minded man; but it was umazire how he'd be sartin to come out straight. I never had. an easy hour fur the first ton years of his life, for fear he'd be brought home with broken limbs; but as ter he'd gone through with what would a killed , a dozen ordinary children, I kind o' gave I up. I concluded he bore a charmed life. "Bless his heart! my brave, handsome boy never gave his mother a cross word in the world; and I saw the tears a shinin' under .his lashes that mornin' when he kissed me good-bye, afore he started for the army, though he talked su bold and cheery about his coming back a cap'n or a colonel. "Poor fellow: I hope he won't get the rheumatis campin' out nights, and they say they have to put up with fare such as we wouldn't have the face to offer to a smart dog. I wish I could do up a paper o' these doughnuts for the boy, he al'ays was fond of 'em. Dear mei them cakes aro burnin'," dipping her large tin ladle into the boiling fat: 'gat it al'ays flustrates me when I get to thinkin' o' Reuben. I'm reminded some times o' what Portion Hunter sail to me: "Mrs. Palmer, you mustn't make an idol of your son. Ile belongs to the Lord.' I know it's true as Scriptur', but I can't help thinkin' the Loral' show mercy on my weakness, cos Le's all I've got, and after a great many struggles I've given up the others to llim; but my very life's bound up in that boy, and if anything should happen to him, God knows it would break his poor old mother's heart." And Mrs. Palmer broke down here, and she sat down on the old oaken chest, and wiped her eyes on the corner of her check apron. Light warblings of some old psalm-tune fluttered down the staircase, and then the door opened, and a pleasant looking girl I burst into the room. • Rebecca Palmer was twenty-two, and tbe sight of her bright, young face was like a picture rejoicing the eyes. She was not beautiful, but her cheeks were full of the glow of youth, and the richness of perfect health. "Well, child," said Mrs. Palmer, taking her kettle from the crane, "you jest bustle round spry, and get up supper. Your father and the men will come clear tuckered out, for they're been fellice trees all day, and we must get a hearty meal fur 'em. You slice up sonic ham, too, and fry a dozen eggs, while I fix up some short b,tke." •'Jlother, did you hear the stage-horn?" asked Rebecca, as she laid the cloth she had spun with her own hands, for the sup- per. "Yes; and I was kind of impressed there was news from Reuben." "I wonder what keeps father so?" re marked Rebecca. "Likely as not be's gone round to the tern, to learn if there's any tidings from the army." Another half hour throbbed itself away in the pulses of the great, old-fashioned clock in the corner, and both the women had be gun to grow alarmed at the deacon's pro longed absence, when they caught the click of the gate•latcb, and his heavy tread along the foot path. They saw him stop, as usual, at the wooden trough at the well, and wash his hands there, and then he came into the kitchen. "Why, father," began Mrs. Palmer, with a little wifely admonition, "what has kept you so • long? I rely began to get scared about you." "And the supper's about burnt to cirtders," added Rebecca, who was in something of a hurry to get the table cleared in time for singing-school. The deacon was a squaro•ba It sun browned man, with shaggy eyebrows and weather-beaten face. Re came toward the table with a slow, groping movement, which neither of the preoccupied women noticed, and he cleared his throat before he spoke. "I was detained a spell on some matter of' my own," and Mrs. Palmer and Rebecca at once concluded that be alluded to some bargain with a neighbor. "Don't you see the chair there, father?" asked Rebecca; for the old man stood still as a statue before the table, though his daughter had just placed his seat at his el bow, and now he sat down without speak ing & word. "Why husband. I do believe you'rsdeaf to•nigbt. You haven't taken your bat off," exclaimed Mrs. Palmer. "Don't, wife, don't" and the old man laid his straw hat on the floor beside him. The two women bent their beads reverently over the board, waiting for the deacon to invoke his customary blessing upon the meal, but no sound broke the stillness. Mrs. Palmer glanced up at her husband; his head too, was bent over his plate; and a stream of candle light falling on his face resealed it fully to her gaze. "John, some thing has happened to you to-night," she said, leaning forward, and breathlessly searching his face. A deep convulsive :ort of groan heaved out of the old man's lips, and both the wo- men grew white ns they heard it. "Oh, what is it,.father? do tell us?" flat tered up the frightened voice of Rebecca. Mrs. Palmer rase and rent to her hus band, and laid her shaking fingers on his hard hand. 'JO, John, it ain't anything about Reu ben?" She cried out the words as one might if a sword had struck suddenly into his heart. Rebecca had sat still at the table, her sweet face struck white with %solder and fear, and her brown eyes fastened on her parents; but now she sprang up and dropped down &Al her knees at the deacon's feet; "0, father, do say it isn't Reuben," and her voice was like her mother's. The deacon opened his lips but he could not speak. Ile took the hands of his wife and child, and covered them kith his own trembling ones.' "0, Lord, have mercy upon us!" groaned the stricken man, and then they knew, Mrs. Palmer crept up to her husband, and then whispered in a faint, broken voice, "Just say my boy isn't dead, father. I can bear almost anythin,g.else." The deacon made no answe'; but the great tears fell down his furrowel cheeks, and it was enough. The tidings of the disastrous battle at Long Island, which closed the summer of seventeen hundred and seventy.sis, bad filled the land with mourning, tot thousands of widows and orphans had been made in that terrible hour when so many brave Americans lay dead on the battle field, and the news of the successful skirmish which took place the following month near King's Bridge in New York, was everywhere hailed with gladness and gratitude, and the little village of Woodstock bore its part in the general rejoicing on that autumn night, when the stage first brought in the tidings. The deacon's family was the enly one in the village of Woodstock to whom the news brought any sorrow, fur it was in this en gagement that Reuben had fallen: Ile was a great favorite in the :village, and every heart was filled with sadness at the thought of that bright, handsome face lying stark and rigid on the battle field. It was late that evening when Parson Hunter entered the stricken home, for friends and neighbors feared to intrude on its awful grief. But the tender hearted old minister could not res',-, till he had carried the sweet balm of his love and faith into their broken hearts. Parson Hunter was a tall, white-haired old man, a fine - representative of the staunch old Puritan minister, but beneath a stateli ness and austerity of manner beat a heart where were all fair and fragrant blossoms, and golden fruits of charity and love; a heart in whose pleasant, goodly paths the angels loved to walk with their shining fuces, and of whom they wrote. "Of suc', is the kingdom of heaven." The minister found the family in the kitchen, where we left it, utterly crushed down by grief which expressed itself nej ther by moans nor tears. Mrs. Palmer eat in the large arar•chair before the fire, where her husband had placed her, the crimson Net fluttering over her pale face, which seemed frozen to stone, and her tearless eyes fastened in a Munk gaze on the wall, and it was well, perhaps. that alarm fur her reason of her life had somewhat diverted the thoughts of the deac on and his daughter from the dead; to the liv ing, though it seemed to the minister that the last hour had done the work of years on both of them. "My friends,"said the minister, speak ing in his deep, solemn tonss,-"I should not have come into your house of mourning to night, feeling that I intruded; but I remem bered that it was twenty-four years ago this very month when you brought Reuben up to the altar to dedicate him to his God, and I felt that I had a right and a title to come." And these words unlocked Mrs. Palmer's face. She turned suddenly toward the old man as the vision of that Sabbath morning rose and walked up its long path of years and stood before her. "I see him! I see him!" she Sobbed oat, "with the little brown curls a dancite round his face, and the merry blinkin eyes tinder them. My little Reuben! ho was the sweetest baby that ever gladdened a moth er's heart, and I was so proud of him, and I thought God would spare him to be the staff of his mother's old age, because I gave the rest to him. 0, Parson Hunter, it can't be true that I shall never bear the sound of his voice, that he's Iyin' off there on the bat tle-tleld, and his mother not there to smooth away the hair from his forehead, or give him one kiss when he looked in her face for the last time!" Tho old man sat still, overwhelmed by this mighty burst of a mother's agony. lie closed his eyes for the tears that Limed them, and felt that for her he had neither hope nor consolation. "The Lord gave and the Lord taketh away; blessed be the nanie of the Lord!" The low, solemn tones of the preacher scarcely above a whisper, fell into the hearts of the hearers and stilled them, as man's never could, as God'a only can. Blessed Bible words, which we read over in the morning lessons and evening service, and never know the fullness and richness, the depths of meaning there are in them, till some awful sorrow of our own touches the springs, and then we go in, and lo ! those old familiar passages are like stately rooms resting on massive pillars, and gar-' nished and adorned with all fair and beau tiful things, or they rise before us like gar dens filled with trees whose branches aro burdened with gold and purple fruits, whose winds are full of the street breath of flowers, and whose silence is stirred by the voice of soft falling waters, nmid which the weary soul may walk and be refreshed. 0, reader, for you, too, sooner or later, must come this time when all earthly help shall fail you, when no human words can be of avail or of healing to you, and in those silent and awful sorrows when only the voice of God can speak to the heart, you too may find what it is to have the wiuiows of the promises opened, and your soul shall sit down under their blessed shadows and be healed. Days passed away. A young man walked along the road slowly and wearily, leaning upon a stout oak stair; his face was ghastly white, and he wore the blue uniform of the "Continentals." Ho had a terrible wound on his right shoulder, and had been left on the battle field for dead. He opened the back gate softly, and gazed al! about bite at the wood-pile in one corner of the great yard near the suntl.rwer stocks, and the small quince trees which grew on one side of the old brown homestead of Deacon Palmer. Suddenly the door opened and Rebecca Palmer came out of the door with a tin ba sin in her hand, and the man's heart leaped us he heard her say— " Never mind sprinklin' them clothes, mother; I'll attend to it as soon as I've hunted up a few o' them winter pears to stew fur supper," and he saw the light rapid fig ure hasten round the corner of the house to the old pear tree just in the edge of the pas ture, which he remembered climbing so many times in his boyhood, and amid the branches of which ho had gathered the faded bird's nests every fall. lie followed the quick figure stealthily, and stood still a moment just outside the bars, and she did not see him, for her back Was; turned, and she had dropped down on the yellow grass, and was searching among it for the fruit which the wind had shaken off. The turned around and as she looked in his face a ghastly palor overspread hers.— She covered it with a shriek, not loud, fur it seemed to lie, for very terror, iu her throat. "Why, Bocce, do look up here! Raven% you gat a better welcome than this fur your brother, when he's came back from the dead like?" But she cowared close down in the grass, and moaned and shivered like the leaves in the old pear tree. "See hero, now, what on earth ails you! If you take me fer spirit, jest look up and I'll be able to convinoo you I'm honest flesh and blood yet." He lifted her up with one arm. for she was too weak betwixt fright and wonder to resist; but the old, familiar, hearty tones half-reassured her. She lifted her face from her hands and looked at her brother a moment with a strained and wild glance, then the glad truth broke into her heart, fur the hazel eyes had the old roguish glance, though they were set in a pale, wasted face. "0, Reuben, Reuben; I jest thought it was a ghost!" and she fall upon his neck with a wild sob of joy. It was long before he could get her to talk rationally. She would throw her arms around his neck, and, hugging him tightly, murmur such tender words over him be twixt sobs and laughter, as Reuben Pal mer had not heard since ho lay a babe in bis mother's crib. "You precious, darling fellow, have you really come back to us alive? Bless your heart, how white nod changed you are! 0, Reuben, darling, is it really you, or am I dreaming." And at last the girl grew calmer, and was able to tell her brother of that terrible night when the awful tidings came of his death, and how they hadn't one of them smiled since, and how, though his mother tried to "bear up," every one who looked in her face could see that her heart was broken. And then both the young man and the maiden set down on the grass and wept as though they were little children. At last Rebecca rose up. "0, what will mother say? You must come right into the house, Reuben, only p'raps I'd better break it to her slow like, for she's weakly now, and the sudden joy might kill her. 0, there's father!" And they saw, the old deacon come slowly into the yard, and aliEht from his horse just before the barn door, ant remove the heavy bags of flour from the animal's tack, fur di" old man bad just returned from the Mill. "Wall go and tall him first. You just si ) so PEN YEILICIN.ADVANCE; 82,003 E NOT IN ADVANTE keep around the corner of the bare, and I'll break the nesse," cried Reteeca. She cams panting up to her father just as he was leading the horse into the barn. "Say father, I want to tell you—some thing has happened!" The old man turned and looked into the eager face of his daughter, and his son, standing a little way off. could sea the change which the last two _weeks Lad wrought in his face. "Well, what is it, my child?" "You'll be so glad, father, and yet—] can't tell it. 0, Reuben, do come here!" The vague superstitions which almost all country people held at that period, of ghosts who haunted their old homes, and visits matlegby the dead to the living, at once sup gested even to the well-balanced mind of the deacon the possibility of his son's spirit re turning to him. He turned white ac his child bad done, blt be did not speak, and Rebecca cried out, "Don't be afeared, father. It isn't a ghost, but Reuben's old self, and he wasn't dead, as we all thought." One long, greedy glance, and the father knew his child. And the father and the son fell upon each other's ne:ks, like Jacob and Joseph of old, and wept. "We must break it to mother easy, chill. ran, or it'll sortie kill her for joy," said the old man, vigorously wiping his face with his pocket handkerchief. S ) it was arranged that Deacon Palmer should go in and break the joyful tidings to his wife according to his best judgment. The trio went op to the house; Deacon Palmer entered the kitchen, and his children stood just outside the door, where they could hear every word. Mrs. Palmer was slicing same apples into a wooden She did not look up as her husband entered; all these weeks she had gone on with her household duties carefully and assiduously as ever, bat with a face which grew more pole, patient, every day—more like the faces over which the grasses grow, and the winds walk. "Wall, Becky," she said, "I e•mldn't make nut what had kept you. You've been heap of time huntin' them ;.learm." All the lire had gon3 uut ar her voice, i t was as full of grief and ralieuee as her lace. "It's me, mother. not Be Ay. I've just got home from the mill, mid I'VC heard good news." "What kind of news, father?" with scarcely a ftint stir of interest. "Ahem—well, this was from the army." The old woman sighed. "Then the Lord's given us another victory over our enemy." "Wall not that exactly, It's suntothin' that consarns us more nearly—somethin' that'll give you gre.tt joy, mother," Poor old man! He was :eternally eon• gratulating himself on the taut and discre tion with which he had aporoached his sub ject; but he could not keep a tone of tri umpliant gladness out of his voice, and he was not astute enough for a woman ' s quick intuitions. "John," she said, turning round and looking hint full in the face—"hare you heard any thing about Reuben?" "Wall, yes, it did consurn him—." Ile broke down here. "Reuben, come io and let your mother see for herself." "Mother!" She gave one long, greedy look as his shadovr fell over the threosh , ,ld. She com• prehended it all atthat glance, and stretched out her arms as ho rushed forward, but they only clutched nt the air, for befo:o she could gather him to her heart, she had fallen to the floor. liar son that was dead, was alive again, but the mother's joy was more than her heart could bear. But the color soon came to the faded cheeks, and at eventide on that happy day, vas heard in good Deacon Palmer's house the voice of praise and thanksgiving to El im who in his wisdom "taketh away," but in mercy "res. toreth again."—Ladies' Repository. Positively A Ghost. A young man called Arthur, will coming lately from the country to Paris, where ho had been to arrange some family affairs.— lie was atone part of the way, but at some distance from town a traveler gnt into tho coach. The traveler wawa young man ab tl.e age of Arthur, and a friendly intercourse sprang up between them. The new comer's name was Ed ward B. lie related to his fel low traveler that he was in a peculiar situ ation; be was going to be married to a lady whom be bad never seen, neither did be know her father; the arrangement had been made by a friend of both parties, the pre liminaries had been gone through by *erre.- pmdence and all seemed to make it a very desirable match. On arriving in Paris, Edward and Arthur were the but friendo in the world. "I hope that we shall meet again," said the young provincial to Arthur, "and if you are not in a hurry to return home, you would do me much pleasure by breakfasting with me at the hotel where I stop." Arthur sweet ted the levitation. The young people hat hardly been seated half an hour at the table, when Edward was taken suddenly with a fit. and died before assistance could be procured. This sad occurrence threw Arthur into great consternation, end he wished at least to re•.der a last service tv tho friend he had lost, by going to inform the family by which [WHOLE NUMBER 1,579. Edward was espeoLod, of the end catl,:tr.p. phe. However, before fulfilling this sad mi plan, he went home to his young wife, whom he was afraid would be uneasy at his absence; s) that it was not till about five in the ufte.- noon that he was able to call on Mr. C—. lir. C—, who doubted not on seeing him that it was hit intended ean-in-law, re ceived him with open arms. "How glad I am to see Sou, my dear Ed• ward;" said he; ''we were only waiting foe you to go to dinner." So saying, he hurried the perplexed Ar thur into the drawing-room, where, inde. pendent of his wife and daughter, were as. Aembled several friends, who were to be presented to the future son-in-law. Mr. C's fluency of spoezh was so great that Arthur, not being able to get in a single word to undeceive him, was obliged to re sign himself to be presented to the young lady. Ile forgot area the death of poor Edwnrd, and could not help smiling nt the strange ness of the adventure, which was more like a scene in a farce than anything so serious as the reality. The thought PO tickled his fancy, that 11:5 spirit became excited, and he Wai so witty end agreeable during the dinner, that every body, including the young lady, was delight ed with the supposed Edward. At a quarter to sever., ust as they were going to tea, Arthur looked at his watch and then rose. "A. thousand pardons," said bo to Mr' "but I :tat unfortunately obliged to leave you." Leave us, and why?" "For an affair which does not allow of the least delay." "What affair can you hare in Paris, where you are quite a stranger? Besides, o n this occasion, I quite expected that you would at least have devoted to us this even• Eli "Impssible, my dour sir, impossible." "Iluw: impossible?" "Weil," timid. Author, "since %you must know all, learn: At ton o'clock this morn ing I arrived in,Poris, and at half past ten I died; and that as the weather is warm, they mean to bury mo this evening at seven o'clock. You must be aware that I. cannot keep the funeral ceremony wtsitin.t; it wont,' give them a % cry bad opinion of me. Bes:des, the Young Franco Mull won't keep my body any longer." After this speech Arthur took his hat and vatti blied. ..Wliat an original:" baid Mr. C.— "Como we shall have every witty relation; but I wish he would have joked on a graver subject. You see hell be back in half an hour: I dare bay he's gone to smoke a cigar un the 13aulevard.. This la no doubt the way theyjdk.o in the country." Ten o'clock struck and the intended bed not, yet returned. Mr. C. became uneasy; and to salvo the mystery. went to the hotel and inquired fur Elward B. They related t) him that a traveler arrived there that morning at ton, and that half nn hour after he died, and had been buried that °rani g at seven; to sub stantiate which statement, they produced the official depos:tiou of the death of Ed. 13 —. Poor Mr. C. returned Kama in a Mato of mind impossible tudescritie. Ills belief io gliestsrentains unshaken since this occur- MIMI A Chapter of Wild Stlident Life. Ilemet,stati, Sep. 18, 1853.—lIeldelberg has four great attractions—its noblt castle, its scenery, its famous wino tun, and its wild etadents. The first three have been,. described 84 ofteii and so well that I shall pass them over in silence, and confine my. eolf to the last but not to the least interest in.; sublet..., which I shall endeavor to trent . frint a student's point of view, keeping my. American notions and prejudices as far as p masihlo in the background. In no other way can I place before your readers h true idea of the wild life era llcidelberg student, of which, however, I am nut an almiror. The German students are divided into corps and unions. The first hold to the old traditions and practices, especially to the duel, while the latter, though net rigorously prohibiting the duel, were organized nr the purpose of putting it down, and are CO9lllO - (may regarded with supreme contempt by the corps students, who style themselves the chivalry of the university. Of the unions I have nothing more to say, except that they are composed mainly of serious. plodding fellows, who havn't wit enough to be wild. At Ileidelberg there are four corps, the Suabiao, the Prussians, the Vandals, and the Weatpluslians. Each corps has its dis tinguishing colors, displayed on the cap anti the watch ribbon. The members of each corps are divided into two classes, the Foes and the Bursehen (old boys, is as near as ,L . can translate it ) When a studetafeatri a corps he is canal a Fur, and is put under the special care of a Borsch. who ,untrer takes to train hies up in the way he should g The process of training is anything but agreeable to the suldect, especially' where the Burtch is inclined to take a ma licious pleasure in tormenting him. The probation lasts a year, or until he Ins siren a certain number of wounds in a duel, and learned to poor a quart glass of . beer down ' his throat without stopping to take breath. When he has proved his accomplishment in /halo two features of student life, be is ad E Ell ME
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