~ . . - t . • .N ---- ii - .' .."... - - P .-- . • , ....e - . ... : `''-::: . . - , ' - cill '' 7 .. 7. . p .. . . - A - ' . ... .. f .... . - - .7 . • ' ....:" . . • • -:' 7 - : . S ANGEL WRIGHT, Editor and Proprietor. VOLUME XXXIV, NUMBER 13.] PUBLISHED EVERY SATURDAY MORNING. Ogee in Carpet Mil, North-zoestcorner of Front and Locust streets. Terms of Subscription. Qw e Cop ype ranpum,i f puidin advance • 4 . if not paid within advance, inontli.fromcommeuccmcniofthe pear, 200 9t Clam:atm a oclorry'.. !So. utvacripi lon renewed lora less (line than nix :1101101 4 : nod nopaperwil I lie discontinued until nil turnarageibtrepaid,unlessat the optionorthe pub- it %loamy naybe•emittedb%•mai I an hepublish er ;le, • • •' Rates 'ot Advertising. qua r.[o ines]olle week, • *O3B •• three week's, . '75 • eacirmintequentiasertion, 10 [l2 Ineeioneweek. 50 • • three weeks. ' - I 00 , each4obiequentinsertion. 25 to.rgert‘lvertkement,in proportion A .11,e , 61 li.cou ti 1 willbe made to quorierly,bal 1 e „ 0.• ~ •.• trlvtdivertisers,wtto are strictbeonfinett ~hr•or h.lwille18• Itittrg, "Non Respondet." it seems but yesterday that; as eompan tom, We rend the life of the old Latina age, And all its stern and stirring tannin: glories Flashed on our souls from out the woitdroue page I call to mind when Brit the Roman legions (lathered nt rell•eall met our eager gaze, Comrade for :lain comrade anewering, NAL nspanclet! flow /lie eye( kind'ed hnio stalest "slow Like," he cried, "they smoke from lieraelem , Prom ThEltqrlll:llt, CaMIT. [INTEL'S C6EIIIOIII Salad; t's long and weary years of struggl Theirs were the only voices in the land!" lesst night i t cant?, before the gene of Rirlanlnd, Our roll at IL4 cane! at one short in toth aro: Orilerl . )'s cle ir vac.: ran; out as ever . Slurp!) , distinct, deltherate, and slow. MI at ate name what 'madden solemn atilleee.d 0 ❑n If we heard it tlion.Vt so far away: And "lie replies not," were the words wt.:poi:ea That m mtent's aft awl( Siftllee sewn to say. When, in the reddening smmm•r dawn they gathe r Dale hia4eltold Caoesronie.l the hoard, we ri+o And man in Eweei forienutne‘s to eall-lihn— nut only in silence:--nnwer lie replies. When. in the purple twilhr,ht, memory warders to yletumut hl'etteig to other Oily+, • - A el we w.th °tautest said. ..D t you remetnher?" 'Pont quick to meet Iltr ready answering gaze: o.ly our sad heart,' slow and mournful No young and fresh elastic voice replies: We• nt^.•t Me stow' fur off and pitying glances, Ilut not the tender fervor of Mai eyes. r.n , t yen r, when violets leashed in blue-eyed meadow. And white•robed "Leto' the staith decline', Allll iii+lllll . l•CUpi in %IIi.REM; load prat:o:44°n Olui cirtd to the great cathedrals of the pities Ile •nid, lienr my mother Nniure enlling: I .hake tam mhomPgs ala.t he.thl a her rill.; 0 teml-ro.t A in i Mater' I reg tin thee A. m .eat II too) wile., I !at the,,e hill. e Ala,: I hear that elfl a min re-echo • Prom where .111 a hnh.l4 earnical to-dap; 1:41 ••11- r plhs not: the birds and fl twer., e.trl) to p.tue. to -1:441 .ini e.ty. O ...11.! with :ill illy my aid; 01 Vt. 1 4 'hi, the swedes'. evermore al 010 rave young lire: I• thew 110 deeper record . 04 tin,,ekl on •be world, v hid, even u• death. it Wessel! 401 11 1 1111111 t. In C1111111101,r4 ft• colt the 1,4011 wawa list old worl.l (we: There i. uo voice which Anl 4 wery fro.n the living Wills hulf the power of His from oat the grove. 4 %lieu to die home and to the hen rta he cheribhcd, Toe .4.latitherott4 calm which folowi youth bind A. to !Ito cal: for goltlrt t•piratioott The drove-} power, of I I rhd t ull be dumb, not-04e voice shall lire lk that deadly silence; And bob Ina southern grave the4e answers ri4e:— dlie only live,who I.r.wely cool!, AN Er -Or; on y he :hat yields to 'wrong,. who dies!' Olt solemn roilwall: through the coming ages I he ir thy echo swell the pine -wood's roar; And II •ntmg down the Idis-issippo's current, Co ne back with South wilidt from the low Gulf shore. And Av'aroo a soldier !nom. •rs. "Non norpo•ofet In oil, •r looloous than Ramat spoon., lien turns Tue great lo non o• - a loots-awaiting nation To caw!, wacre elon's beacon watch-are bunts They raise to freemen their uppealing voiem, Garth woolt,, the utiswer to that hitter cry; And front the graves at Springfield, Shiloh Rueltmond, Swells the unfaltering chorus, "We reply!' getettiono. Klte's Soldier "If I were only a man!" Kate Bumlay's eyes flashed with a splen did resolve, a fine blaze of courage. "If you were, would you not do just the same as now—sit Still and wish something else?" . . "Why do you judge me so unkindly, Jar Roietq, - - • - The liPs began to Pout now, a little tem per to blend with courage in the fine eyes. :lßaesus.e 2 ryou.Ato not do what you can, even now. If you were 'not my cousin, I luitikkiZeilioald not speak to you 'so plain lrillllyiti`ifi; it taxed me when dear 'you wishit!grarroing, noon,- and .*night, to be auedo•the impossible; and yet never trying to diriihnt is,readY to your hand. 'Do you think 141.5L0 is.,pp,„anttter,,aaaJaa.thaseartey you are wasting so carelessly in satins and twat iliciwlartaeb:waelliritaelniiiFetiiiia's bill last quarter?". , w ''Unaey, flea; Ooyeroment Pays the soialere r —bettei:Vheaid you say anoyesterday, than any army.is-paid in Eta- . rope." P .I:ett,hy, uspre,them, ern:tent:gives, I think you euuld:hire.soue oite,*bo "Would.oot "go otherwiee . ,46-'figi4 for: ) , 44.7* r•t7,, to I "A. to4l4,whcloi ,o, littkroaore money would Induce! &men"' WhoA would NO•feir4motifir, would not4uiwiihoilt)tf pow . erdly eoriLwou4djet . .be dreamed out of the nuke after the Stet buttlel"J; n•r% 3 Major ifoe'i amll d, s atit:Mainin g smile seeine4,&l, Indikty ‘•""'' ,*.1,1 el . •c. 4: .• 4,44—..• tr "You just look at one side of the question, Kate, and then jump at your conclusion. I know a man who told me yesterday that he would go to war if he could afford it; a man who is neither cold nor cowardly. He has a sister, a girl of fifteen. The two are orphans, and his mother's dying breath gave her to his care. They were well born, but they had fallen into poverty, and he resolved that his sister should have the education of a lady. She is at school now, If ho had the means to leave her provided fur he would enlist; but what if he should die, and that poor, pretty, undisciplined child should be left alone in the wild world, with no means of support, no protector, no friend? Could he answer it to his mother when he met her in the country which souls people?" OEI Kate had listened with breathless interest. "Would he fight well?" she asked, mu singly. "No man better. There is not a drop of coward blood in his veins. He is the very one I would choose to stand beside me in the front of the fray." "If he were sure his sister would be pro vided for in the event of his death you think he would go?" "I know it. Ms whole heart is in the fight now. If ho were sure that she could be secured from future privation, or friend lessness, his name would be enrolled to-mor- row." Kate's face glowed with eager resolve. "He shall be sure. I cannot give my life to my country. I ought not to shrink from giving everything else. That girl is an or phan like me. She shall be my sister. I will undertake her expenses while her broth er is away, and if he dies, she shall share dollar for dollar with me all that I possess." Major Ross looked at his young cousin al rnost'reverently. Ile was just beginning to see below the happy, careless surface of her nature: . But he made no comment on her resolve. "Wait here" he said, simply, "I will bring you your soldier." In half - an hour be returned.' lie brought with him a man, tall, athletic, strong, with a face brave and masterful rather than hand- I=ll3 "Miss Barclay, this is Mr. Keene—Rich ard Keene." So much for introduction performed, Ma jor 12 , )ss went out and left Kate to make her bargain. Mr. Keene was thoroughly well bred. In the peculiar circumstances in which he was placed—sorely trying they would have been to most mon—he was able to steer clear of any false pride or embarrassment. "Miss Barclay," he said bowing, "I am told that by the way of doing your part to ward the war you wish to hire me as a sub stitute, to Eght your battle 3 for you. My terms amorally state'. All I ask is thrt my sister's education shall be carried on, as I have commenced it, until she is able to sup port herself by teaching." "I am ready to provide for all her expen ses, and to charge myself with the care of her future, should there be need of my pro tection. "So auch as that is not necessary. While I live I could not allow you to undertake all her expenses. So far as my pay as a sol dier can go it must be applied to her sup port. For the rest, I accept your offer in the spirit in which it is made. I will re trernber you when I fight, and, heaven helping me, you shall not be ashamed of your substitute." Kate's eyes grew misty. He was so calm in his resolve to dare danger and death, seemed to consider himself so little. She longed to beg him as a sister might have done, not to be too rash—not to ocurt unne cessary peril, but something restrained her. She only,asked: . "When will you take me to your sister? It is better I should be introduced to her by you. She will feel more that she belongs to me when you have confided her to my pro tection." "You are right. I will take you now if you please. I wish to march with the 2.Bth to-morrow, and there is no time to lose.— Poor Emily, it will be hard on her." In five minutes more Miss Barclay was walking towards Grammeroy Park with her soldier by her side. She stole a look now and then at his face. It was calm and firm —no marks there of weakness or irresolu tion. .She began to be proud of him. Soon they sat in Miss Dupont's front parlor wait ing for Emily. As she came through the door her' brother met her, and drew her with him into the back room. lie had said to Miss %achy that it was better he should speak to her first quite alone. Waiting. there; Kate heard the sound of earaeet, manly talk, then a few words in a voice full of tears, then again the low manly tones; and then, after a while, Mr, Keene led sister in. "Mies Barclay," be said, "here is your protege.. Sbe quite understands your posi tion as regard' her,- and I hope she will ex act little, and not make you much trouble." Kates witrut , heart overflowed instantly. She;put: her.arm.wound the shy, trembling flirliwudndrewrber to beri side. She whis pers* .•. - : • "/! , bale. no , mother, dear; and= no sister. I Alta used •you as much as you aball need rattgehttams tore oneranother.;" -rifir.tliosene Aid wit ...beer-the whisper, but hisauriLibitquicirldifeleof , plantare flesh his sistet'a cheek, and the confiding gesture with Whicit—her - bend stole - htto her new teisoiri anthberairsi •"-• • A Z v.'qtrei k'sr , " 1141. 44r, k". 3 . /. 4•1. , , "NO ENTERTAINMENT SO CHEAP AS READING, NOR ANY PLEASURE SO LASTING." COLUMBIA; PENNSYLVANIA, SATURDAY MORNING, OCTOBER '25, 1862 "We need not detain ➢Liss Barclay any longer," he said, gently. "I will walk home with her cow. This afternoon I shall be busy but I will come to you again Ibis evening." There were few words spoken during the short walk, but when they were parting on Miss Barclay's door-step she gave her hand to Richard Keene, and said, earnestly: "Do not doubt that all I can do for your sister will be a labor of love. There has been a vacant place in my heart a lonely longing fur some one to care for, and she will fill it. If"—her eyes were filled with tors—"if anything should happen, she shall be as near to me as she would have been to you." Richard Keene pressed the hand he held. "I believe you," be said. "Emily is a good child. "You will not find in her cold ness or ingratitude." That evening Kate Barclay alone, living over in thought the parting which she knew was taking place, fancying how these two, who were all the world to each other, would say good-bye—a good-bye by which might, ull too possibly, be forever. She almost re pented of her own doing—not quite--for she knew her soldier's heart was in the work, and she felt that if he had been her own brother she could have sent him forth as cheerfully. She was not dealing to another such measure as she would not have borne to have dealt herself. It was a little past nine o'clock when the bell rang, and the servant announced Mr. Keene. She had not expected after their bargain was made to see him again; but she was glad after all that he should have reck oned her among the number .of those to whom it became him to say farewell. He came in as calm, as self-possessed as ever. "I have been bidding Emily good-bye," ho said, as be sat down. "I had to leave her at nine o'clock, and I thought I might venture to come to you, After all, it is by your means that I go, and that makes a sort of tie between us; a bond which it would be presumption to call friendship,• and yet which will make me think of you when I am gone." Kate bad not the courage to tell him that his young sister's thoughts would scarcely follow him with a more constant interest than her own. She asked him instead how Emily had borne the parting. "Bravely," he answered. "He knew the child's heart bad been almost broken, but she had kept back any utterance of com plaint or lamentation, whose memory might have unnerved him when the hour came to test his courage." Then there was a Silence between them for a few moments, and he was the first to break it. "I will tell you honestly why I came here tonight, 31iss Barclay. I have been think ing how possible it was that [ might never come back, and if that happened I feared you might regret that you sent me away. I wanted to guard against your vexing your self with any such needless sorrow. It was the one longing of boy heart to go, and if I could have effected it in any other way I should hove done so long ago. Come what may, I shall never be sorry. I have but one life, and there is nothing else I would like so well to do with it as to give it to my country. I can trust Emily to you without fear, and she was all I had to keep back. In any event, I want you should be thankful, as I shall be, that you helped me go." Kate's tears were choking her. How manly he was! how unselfish, trying, even in this last hour, to shield her whom ho scarcely knew from a possible pang! She could not speak, but she put out her hand. Us took' it-tenderly. •- - ..... "I am going now;" be said, his' eye rest ing on her ati if he - longed' to' soothe away her tears, as he might have dono his sister's. "God keep you, Miss Barclay, and eve me strength to fight valiantly in the cause fur which you have sent me forth to do battle!" Before she could speak the "God bless you?" which trembled on her lips he was gone.—Would she ever see him again—her soldier? The next Saturday the principal of the es tablishment at Grammercy Park was sum moned to on interview with Miss Barclay.— The latter lady expressed briefly the relation of protectress in which she stood to Miss Em ily Keene, and expressed her desire that thereafter her ward should spend all her va cations and every Sunday at her house. The poor, solitary bereaved child was glad en ough to go home with her; and that was the beginning of a true, sisterly love between those two. As the mouths passed on they grew near er and nearer to each other, until Emily could scarcely have told which was dearer, the brother far away, or the new sister else had found at home. Kate's life had been solitary hitherto, since her parents died.— The young girl filled up a void in it, and made her both better and baprier. They read war news togethir, and traced on map. the routes of the armies. Emily herself was scarcely more excited over the news of a battle than was her friend, who followed 'with ceaseless anxiety 'and daily prayers the fate of the soldier whom she had sent into the field. For a long time he seemed to toe Fortune's soldier also. Ile had been noticed for his valor, and proem tad from the ranks;'. hitt he had passed through all• perils .unharmed... Open-idle! Barclay recalled their first ,interview-saw again,,aa.for the Brat time, the-tall, athletic figure- 7 1LO, resolute,. masterful. face—the ••You are too kind to me."... "I do not feel as it I could be." she: an. swaredo"when I remember:that you have suffered and who sent you forth to , fight." lie did not apes* again for a.moment, and , hthasked a strange question:. : , Baralay, what should ,you ithi ok of s-roan, an honest maa,,who loved a-wontan dearly. and.folt in his very: soul that he was I :yr- • . rn: i• ...1“) T.' zow • MEM clear, honest eye; perhaps she liked Emily all the better that those same honest grey eyes shone from under her thoughtful fore head All this time, while danger seemed not to touch Richard Keene, she had a presenti ment that his hour of doom was coming.— She never spoke of this to Emily, and the child, lulled to a - sense of security by his past immunity from harm, was growing to think of him cheerfully. His letters came often written in good spirits, addressed al ways to his sister, but never without some cordial reverential, almost tender mention of her who sent him forth to fight the great fight in her stead. Still the subtle sense which foretells comming danger ha unted Miss Barclay like a phantom. She could not lull it. A day came at last when she opened the paper feeling what its contents wore before she saw them. She read there that Richard Keene was dead. The Fedoralo bad been repulsed, leaving their dead, of whom he was ono for the enemy to bury. She read the tidings calmly. She know he bad died as he would have wished, for she recalled his parting words. Her soldier was gone—her stake in the war. Her hope of success seemed to have died with him.— She did not feel like weeping. She scarcely knew that she felt at all; only the cold dull ache that made her clasp her hand tight to her heatt reminded her. She said to her self, still calmly, "I must go to Emily and tell her that I tent her brother to his death." She put on her things, and wondered vaguely that she did not weep as she saw her own still, composed face in the glass. Emily came to her, in the same room, the front parlor at school, where they had first met—came in joyful with welcome but' started back appalled by the white, still face she met. .Miss Barclay went up to her and said, drearily, "Emily, lam all you have now. Ile is gone!" The girl to whom the ill news came with such fell suddenness burst into a passion of grief; and then, trying to comfort her, her friend wept also, and the tears were a strange solace. She took Emily home with her—her sister from henceforth. She might go back to school another year, perhaps— at present they had need of each other. How dreary the months were which fol lowed! Emily was the first to learn resig notion for the loss of her dead, who died so gloriously. Kate was haunted forever as she had feared she would he, by the idoa that she had sent him to his death, and not even the memory of his own assurances, those generous lust words of his, could give her comfort. The summer came—the summer of 'o2 bringing bird song and blossom. The lonely salt eceutod sea-breeze rippled the waves, and shook the pine trees into melody. From afar Miss Barclay seemed to catch scent and sound. It roused her wish to tread the sea side reeks, and press her careless footsteps in the white sands of the beach. They went to a pleasant, quiet nook, which, as yet, not enough people had found to spoil. And there the roses began to come slowly back to Miss B.trelay'e cheek, and the light to her eyes. She might grow cheerful again in time, she thought, if only her fancy would cease to picture one awful scene—a battle field, where the setting sun searched with red beams for the slain, and found one face, she knew, with clear honest eye and mouth that would never smile more. Did they wound him mutilate him after he was dead! She had heard such things—she wished she could forget them. Walking alone one day, she heard on the path behind her voices—Emiiy's and anoth er. She turned suddenly. Were her senses dazed? Did she dream? Du the dead walk? She saw a face over which Southern turf must have grown long ago, unless it bleach ed white, unburied, on the ghastly battle field. Sight and senses failed her. Fur the first time in her life she fainted. When she recovered she saw only Emily. The child spoke eagerly: "It was my brother, alive himself. lie was wounded not dead. They took him prisoner, and last week he was ezchang•:d. When ho came to New York he found we were here, and followed us." She had poured.the wor Is into Kate's ear with might and main, bent on making her understand the truth lest she might faint again. But such swoons do not happen twice in one day. Miss Barclay oumpre. hcodlxi all now, and was herself again: ready, with courteous greeting, for him who came down the path—the returned warrior, with the soar seaming his broad brow, and showing how near he had--come to the fate she had feared. . . He had a furlough to get well he said, and then he was going back. - Of coarse he stayed with thorn there at Sea View . for a while, and of course they nursed and petted him as women always do their returned braves. r It was strange bola soon all the sadness went oat of Kate's-heart; the melancholy out of her manner. One day .he said to bet: • 7 • .' v. • EE 111111119 her peer, but did not ask her to marry him because she was rich and he was poor, and he•knew the world would brand him a for tune-hunter?" Miss Barclay blushed, but she answered bruvel': "1 should think poorly of a man's courage whom the world's opinion could sway in the most sacred matters of his heart and his life; and if he believed the lady would ever re member on which side the fortune was, I should wonder at him fur thinking her worthy of his love." His eyes—those honest eyes—looked at her with something in their glance which thrilled her heart with u strange, now, timid joy. lie only said: "Kato, you know I love you. When I fight again who will pray for me at home? whose soldier shall I be?" I think her look told him before her words did, but he bent tenderly to hear the answer: "Mine!" I!=1 The crusade against professional gamb lers lied been prosecuted so vigorously in all the lower towns on the river, thnt the 'scamps no longer carried so high a hand as they had done. It was not over safe to at tract the attention of officers or passengers by plucking their pigeons too incautiously, except, perhaps, upon such boats ns were owt.ed by gamblers, of which, indeed, there were more than one. I was descending the river in the old Thuoderer,one of the finest boats I have ever seen. She met with a shocking, fate the next year, being destroyed by fire; and of her passengers, numbering three hundred,, but few escaped. My room mato was a bright young fellow, a New Yorker, out upon collecting tour fur hie etnployere,•and, a as,game of euchre, that I played with him for amusement, con vinced me, a very skillful but honorable and gentlemanly player. Ile was returning to New Orleans, with a considerable sum of money that he had col lected for the house be was 'attached to in New York, and I thought it proper to give him a word of warning about playing for money at all, and especially with strangers on board of a steamboat. Ile, however, laughed at my cau tion; said that this was nut his first southern trip; that when last winter he went up the river, he fell in with a gambler who seemed to have taken a fancy to hint, and who appeared to know all the principal tricks and marks of cards. "Lie added, that as to these tricks, he had not the dexterity to play them off, nor would he do if he had, but yet he was able to de tect them in a moment; and that playing a straight forward open game himself, with plenty of money and unflinching nerve, he had always the advantage of gamblers—so much of their attention being taken up by stocking the cards, and when their plane were defeated, being always annoyed and thrown off from their play. Ile further said, that against the gamblers he bad entertained a particular spite, as his brother some years since had been nearly ruined by them, when on a business trip similar to his own; and that although he never sought a game of puker, he also but seldom declined it. I still urged upon him the great danger to which he exposed himself, but he laughed at my advice, and finally called my anent tion to three persons then in the cabin, who he said he was morally certain came on board for no- other purpose than to bleed him; and, added he, "they shall have the' chance:': Of course there was nothing more to be said by me, und•before night he had gently slipped into the sporting gentlemen's net— as they supposed—and was playing a quiet g•ime with moderate stakes. I watched the game very closely. It was evident, that although apparently playing each fur himself, it was a joint business after all among the chcoalierstf itiduairic; and after the game had lasted for a couple of hours or so, when the betting ran at all high thrs was but one hand opposed to my room mate in any ono deal, and that one proved invariably . the strongest of the three. For some time after the commencement of the.play the gamblers evidently intended that their pigeon should win, but they need not have taken the.trouble, for win he did and would. As he said, he had nerve enough fur anything; plenty of money, knew when , to press play, and when, from the run of the cards Against him, to keep in shore. Presently lune of the gamblers proposed to go, to the bar and procure a now pack of cards. "No, eirl" replied my friend; "I . prefer waiting until some one comes along whom we„ CS 13 send for them." - "Do you suppose that .1 am going to rue any game on you, sir?? demanded the gam!). the "Ancient Pistol" style. 'lgo," was the quiet reply;".l haute you are not , After this,tbere were no more attempts at careless playing. The three,did their • best but, continued to lose. Supper time drew. Inas; -and the game wee - ,neoesesarily discontinued fur a. time. The three went forward,. but I. kept , my eyeewpon.them. and obaorred.ilte party.ak eembled on the hurricane deck, at the* stern of.tkefboskevidently. cugagmk.in animated • ' • =MO 1 e! Dead Mares Island 121=11=31 41,50 PER YEAR IN ADVANCE; $2,00 IF NOT IN ADVA conversation. Of this I informed my friend, and advised him to break off the game where it was; but no—he would not bear a word of quitting them or frightening them off. After supper they went at it again with a much higher ante, and the betting propor tionately increased. Many of the passen gers weroassembled around the table watch ing the genie with interest, and evidently to the great annoyance of the sporting gen tlemen, who made as many remarks and hinted quite as broadly as they dared about intrusion; but as I have before remarked, their day of rule was over, and they dared not, upon any ordinary occasion, exhibit that insolence which, backed by their ever ready weapons, had made them feared, dreaded, and too often submitted to, upon the river boats. Among the spectators was a tall, portly gentleman, of a very dignified and com manding appearance, who, after intently watching the game for some time, gave me a quiet hint that he had something to say in private; and then walked out upon the guards of the boat. ••Is that young man a friend of yours?" asked be. I told hint all I knew in a few wards. "We sir," said he, "it's a bad buiness he is engaged in; yet he seems to be a flue, honest fellow, plays fairly, and I think the best game of poker I have ever seen; but he is playing with three of the greatest scoun drels unhung; they do not know me, I think, but Ido them; and it will be a black day for the rascals when I find them at-bore in my State. They will play him some ean trip yet, mark my words; there is nothing they are not up to; and oven if his purse es cape their clutches to-night, and there is no other way of fingering his money, they will rob him, if allowed to remain on board of the boat, but thatl will, see to. have you enough interest in the young man to remain by the table kith me as lung as they may continue to play?" I replied that I had. "Are you armed?" asked he. "A case of pistols in my state-room," an swered I. "Get them then," said he, ',`and meet me at the table in a few minutes. I wish to speak to the captain and clerk. • For ahlf an hour longer the game went on as usual; but at last one of the gamblers, whose turn it was to deal dropped the cards upon the floor, and, I was sure, . changed them fur another pack, probably kept ready under a handkerchief which was in his lap. My dignified friend gave me a look, and then placed himself in such a position that the gambler could not remove or conceal the first pack without being seen, if it were indeed beneath the handkerchief, as I sup posed. This manoeuvre had not escaped the notice of my acute friend, who chose to let it pass fur the moment, not intending to bet on any hand, however good it might be, that he should hold this deal, as he afterwards told me. The most determined man, however, cannot always resist temptation. As he took up his cards I saw them—he had four aces, (an invincible) dealt to him, as I thought at the time, by mistake; but the after betting puzzled me. They bad been playing fur an ante of ten dollars, each party putting up the whole pool in turn; the oldest hand put up a "blind" of fifty dollars, and it wag my friends first say. lie "saw" the blind—that is, he laid down one hundred dollars, and then bet two hundred "butter"—a capital play, and one very likely to be mistaken by his opponents for a "bluff." The next hard' "passed," and then drew his card; the deal er then "saw" the bet, and also bet two hundred dollars "better." Now it was the oldest hand's turn; he had passed the first "say" by "going blind." Ile did not "make his blind good," hut threw up his cards, and the contest was be tween the New Yorker and the gambler. At this juncture you will perceive there were on the table seven hundred and ten dollars, and it was the Now Yorker's turn. He appeared in deep thought far a moment, examined hand, studied it, took out his pocket-pock; and not finding what he want ed, unbuttoned his vest, and after some time pulled out a money belt, and took from it several bills. "I will cover your bet, end bet you a thousand and forty-fire dollars more," said be, at last, as cool as a cucumber. "And what's the forty-five fur?' asked "Legs." "If you 'see' my bet it will make even money," answered "Now York." It was now the gambler's chance, and be seemed very much excited, and his com panions particularly figety; ho drew a roll of bills from his pocket. then asked 'his right hand man for the tobacco; it was handed to him under the table, and then he made hie bot. - "I believe you're bluffing me, hose, and havela good mind to. call you," said. ho; •'but I won't; here, I'll see your bet and go five hundred more." The game was becoming very exciting. and at this moment I saw my dignified new acquaintance give a slight nod to- the clerk of the boat, and the latter walked out upon the guards, . . "New York" was counting his money. "See your fide hundred, and go another thousand," said he, laying down three bills of the old Uoited States'States Bruck. "Legs" examined the money, looked very critically at the pile of bills the New YorL- [WHOLE NUMBER 1,679. er had by his side, which were seemingly of small amount, took n critical survey of tho money-belt, consulted his companions' eyes, and then said, with a hateful sneer: "Well, sir, here's your thousand, and that makes sir. thousand on the table, Nieo little sum: 'most enough to open a snug, quiet bunk at Orleans; but hero's five thou• sand better." "Hold on; hold on, stranger!" cried New York. "You oversize my pile: must have a show fur my money, you know." "The d-1 you must!" retorted "legs."--- "If you back down, say so, like a mnu, and then, if you are flat-footed, I'll lend yoefa stake to start on. If you don't dare to cull ma, say so, and don't whine like n puppy or a baby, but give up like a man." The New Yorker turned very pale, raised his eyes to the surrnuuding crowd. as if to ask wether they deemed this fair play, then ' pretended to examine the money in the pool, but did not reply. "Quit handlin' them 'shinplasters,' hose: it's no ways likely they'll trouble your pock -- es; and just cull me, or I'll rake do•wn the • pile." growled tout "legs,'''in - au exdesltit' 'err insolent manner. - "Oae 'moment, sir:" intcrupted my actin GEM ••llere, sir, (throwing a pocket-book to.tlee New Yorker,) call him, ifyou wish." Up jumped the throe gambler., piitols . irs hand; but, before either could gra'.'p' il3o money, they were seized behind by threo stalwart fellows; end then the swearing commenced. "This'gn:ne s.hall be played out; noise' no noise. Open my pocket-book, sir; and' use the money as you 'Please:: Mate,' . gag „ : these fellows if' they swear :anotticr oaf said the portly gentleman, in thelono '6l - rnV' born-to command. New York opened' the book; f:i4fi l e,the -requisite amount, placed ieon - 'enble;' l and then "called." "Cull and be—! Da you think out:' siders can come around, lookin' 'at' *out" hands, interfering andlend) ing money? No, siree, boss!" yelled`' nut" the gambler. . "Will you divide the then"' asked the gentleman. "Not a d—d bit of it!" TVs by—, I'll have every red eent.of it but your five thousand!" replied "..Legs."-..”Say., t strangers, .(addressing the spectators,) ean't.l you see this is a put-up s thing, and these two gam biers are here•trying to rob a gontio-: man? Are you going. to stand it?" ;t. "rue,' over their hands," said the gentli- , man, plying no attbotion to the other'sv words. • . The cards were Load. "New 'York" initi4 "Legs," two Jacks,. king, queen t four aces; and ten "Pretty band that, last to be eight. , thousand!" remarked the gentleman. "Bloody robbery, by---:" yelled out the a gambler; "but I'll have justice whoa 1 , Fat to Orleans, by —." "You shall, 91r, and before, too; and.when you make your complaint, tell ~Mr. that you were robbed by the, Governor. of.l this State, sir; and ill hat you ashore, you should have MI oppcirtuaity of complaining , that you expected to be murdered atsu., gri , short notice; for'as I live, if ever le.tteliyo*., there, you will be handed over to the Safety, Committee before you can turn a jack, euaa4t,,, as you are at it. We have been looking for, you three g,cutlemen for the past Year, and , if you had been found anywhere on the left„ bank of the river, we should have ,had yew rotary , in prison ore this; or, more probably, dangling from a mulberry or black, jack, with your cronies Cotton and Saunders. iptain C—," continued he, ad !rest ing the commander of the boat, who hod,just mode his appearance on the seene-:—is there any island:about hero that it IVJU Id ply to colonize?" `•Just exactly the very place, fir'," . turnel the captain. "We're right abeve' Dead :Alan's Island—gling into, the Khate now, sir." "No inbabitantl, I believe," deniatil!f the Gorernor "Nune, rattloinake,i,' and m )srpitos. Shall I lanl them there, sir?" "Yes, with a week's'supply of broa I; not one drop of !Lin Taira their weapons away, an I any tools of their trade that they may have abiut them; eel if they , ' havp - any letters or papers on their persons,_ l e t chp , clerk seal them up and deliver them up to Mr. Baldwin, with my cocapitmeettli.Aiieti,. gentlemen," continued' he, ailriMadix.tiba gamblers as the mate mai hip Friel: we're taking them off gagged and ließ" will Bad your baggage aul traps at the corder's office when pti arrive at _Yew Or leans." tinscit.rox o Coxscitirriox..ltiexelinep says:—Said-Napoleon one day in the Coon council of State, "1 am inexorable on i lh'e I subject of congcriptioil —le- wBcile be"' nnl a How could I reemicile ;4 u Can science to expose the life ofonit'itiad'rer"ibcr advantage of another? ' I 'do noreFen thintl would exempt my own son."' Has atiAtiag. can citizen, in the life or death stividi(oi hie country, less "conscienee"Thiitt : ltitai l eon xn the road to personal dominion ? TeEit Isms right. We shotald all talcC l oru;litinag. With such it cause appealinitoWliii=ti c bliaiit motnentnus thatererii*ell&l 'l;3i'lNAT ity—it ida disgritee to `tim.Pika i h i V l e thni his neighbur 111:till r'ipond le it." = 60. amoral Nit sat ,o1:i 4 1. -.J t ? A ~, • ...„ ..c.rort9 A 4 0 4, 7 ..1
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers