c fit ttinting: mopeisscsmaaramr maicocatzsuumcrueD= o g tV 23 N 13 t 2 l a o 7P7rloEpa yL L EBANON, ME NWA TIN eStabliehtnent le now supplied with an OX01:10111 jamortment of Aliii TYPE, which will be increased as the !patronage demands. It can now turn out PRIN3IIIO, of every description, in a neat and expeditious manner— and on very reasonable terms. Such es Pamphlets, Cheeks, Atiiinelis Card., Handbills, diroulars, Labels, Bill Readings, Blanks, Programme., Bills of Fare, Invitations, Tickets, Ike., &O. t IVO-DE=5 of all kinds, Common and Jndgment timens. !School, Justices', Constables' and other Stamm, printed 'correctly and neatly on the Lest paper, conetautlY kept for sale at this onto, at prime "to suit the times." s e e Subscription price of the LEBANON ADVERTISER Ono Dollar and a Half a Year. Addroes, W it. DI. 13azatin, Lebanon, Pa. NEW vALL & WINTER I GOODS JUST RECEIVED AT HENRY & STINE'S STORE! Loin , DRESS GOODS French 3tortnoei, Coburg, , Cashmeres, P.fustin Deo all Wad Reps, Sack Flannels and Fluid Goods of celery description and at all prices. For a splendid asSorttnent of Dress Goods call at HENRY Jc STINE'S. SHAWLS ! SHAWLS! ! 'Socha Square and Long Shawls, all Wool glad Long Shawls, Mourning Wool Shawls and a largo lot of W square 00l Shawls offered at low prices by & STILE. MEN'S AND BOYS' WEAR. Clotho, Cmlame, Bata:lets, Union Cassinters, 'Ken. lucky Jeans, Ermine Clotho, end an snortment Heaver Clotho, tohlell wilt be offered at reduced prices by Lebanon, Nor, 0, , 01. HENIIT & STINE. CHEAP STORE RAUCIt, OF & LIGHT. At the Omer of Oismberiand Street and flank Road, LEBANON, PA. MeveIAOW. RAIIOII & LIGHT take pleasure %inform ing their friends and the public generally that they Just opened a large and carefully selected assort ment of DRY HOODS, 01100 HMOS. QUSENSWARE, Arc, to which Coy respectfully invite the attention of the public. Their DRY GOODS, have ail been selected with the . greatest care from the largest Importing Houses In Philedelphin. GROCERIES, A large stock of cheap Sugars, Coffees, Teas, Chocolate, and all kinds of Spica. Also, a large assortment of QUEENSWARE, among which are the newest patterns, together with al limit an endless variety of Goals In their line of hoe-- tien t which will be sold very cheep for cash, or Countty Produce' taken in exchange. PAM 'BAGS! BAGS! I The attention of Millers and 'Armen is directed to their large stook of HAGS, which they will Mt at wholesale Mom October 17,1860,1 RAIICII & LIGIIT. IP YOU WANT thPIOTURB of your deceased friend, enlarged and colored In oil, call at DAILY'S flattery, next door e Lebanon Deno,lt Bang. Walter & Focht's Mill. Tin subscribers respectfully inform the public that they have entirely rebuilt the Mill on the little Swe lters, formerly known as "Straw's" and later as "Wen. latiVel'' about one-fourth of a mile from Jonestown, Lebanon county, Pa.; that they hare it now in complete running order, and are prepared to furnish customers regularly with a very superior article of Mr' 4111311111__T AEC. " aaeheap as K can be obtained from any other source.— They keeps also on hand and for sale at the lowest cash prices CROP, BRAN, SHORTS, &e. They are also pre • pared to do all kinds of CUSTOMEREV Weitz, for Farmers and others, at the very shortest possible notice and in rite all to wive them a tile. The machinery of the Mill is entirely new and of the latest and most Im proved kind. Dy strict attention to business and felt dealing they hope to merit a Aare of public patronage. WHEAT, RYE, CORN, OATS, Sze., twilight, for which the highest Lebanon Sliirket prices will be paid. FRANKLIN WA LTER. Nov. 'al, WILLIAM FOCIIT. INEW LIVERY STAR LE. riIIIR undersigned respectfully Informs the public that I he bee opened. a NEW LIVERY STABLE, at :Mrs. RISE'S Hotel, Market street, Leb anon, where he will keep for the , ' sepublic accommodations good stock - _ • of HORSES and VKILIGILES. Ile Will Mop pulls and good driving Horses, and handsome and safe Vehicles. Also, careful Drivers furnished when desired, Also OMNIBUS for Parties &e, Lebanon. July 17 , 1801. J AMES MARCH. aOWbtAN, HA.IIER & OAPP'B U el 7 S L R This Way, if you Want Cheap Lumber. THE undersigned have lately formed a partner i. ship for the purpose of engaging in the Lum ber Business, on a new plan mould respectfully inform the public at large, that their place of business Is DAVID Bowman's Old Lumber Yard, in East Lubanou, fronting on Chestnut street, one square from the Evangelical church. They have enlarged the Yard and filled It with a new and eneellent assortment of all kinds of Lumber, Mil as BOARDS, PLASM, JOISTS, LAM, SIIINDLEIS, AND SCANTLING, of all langtlis and thicknesses. In short, they keep con stantly on hand, a full and well-seiusoned assortment of all kinds of BUILDING MATERIALS . Persons in want of anything in their line are Invited to call, examine their stock, and learn their prices. Thankful for past favor', they hope, that by attention to business and moderate prices, to merit a continuative of nubile patronage. BOWMAN, BAUER & CAPP. Lebanon. September 6,1800. Phila. & Reading Railroad. Lebanon Varney Branch. iq'lrf: EY' tiFtfikif 13.t.t3 .1:11.1:11dS' [arr .- • 411110.1. Two Daily Passenger Trains to Read ing, and Harrisburg. nA£l5 LEBANON, going Nail to Reading, at 0.43 A. Id., I and 2.45 P. M. Pass Lebanon, going West to Harrisburg, at 7.04 P. N. and 12.10 P. M. At Reading, both trains snake close connexions for Philadelphia, Pottsville, Tamaqua, Danville, Williams. port, Ac. Morning train only connects at Reading for Wilkes. bane Tittston and Scranton. I At larrisbing, trains connect with "Pennsylvania." "Norther Central," and "Cumberland 'alley" Railroads for Pittsburg, Lancaster, Baltimore, Sunbury, Chambers. burg, de. Through Tickets to Lancaster, in No. 1 Cars, $1 60, to Baltimore. $8 80. 00 Ne. baggage allowed to each passenger. The Second Class Care run with all the above balm Through 'First Clan Tickets at reduced rate to Niagara BUtfalo, Detroit, Chicago, and all the principal points In the 'West, North West, and Canada's; and Bial a; Tlckete, at lower Farm to all &bon - places, can be OA rir,t'4.3ll :no &Minn Agent, at Lebanon. Throuh -Class Couonickets and Emigrant Pickets agt reduced Fares, to p all The principal points in ea North and West, and the ()amides. COMMUTATION TICKETS. .With 26 Coupotte, at 23 per cent discount, between `any points desired, and MILEAGE TICKETS Good for 2000 miles, between all po ints, at $46 each for Families and Business Firms. tip Trains leave Philadelphia for Reading, Harris. burg and Pottsville at ill A. M. and 3,80 and 6 P. M. Peasengere are requested to purchase tickets be fore the Trains start. Higher FPPIa charged, if paid in the care. G. A. NICOLLS, July 17,1801 , Dtgineer and Superintendent. WEEKLY ARRIVALS ! HE HERE GIVE" Store, opposite the Court House, r het among this wok's arrivals ; lade Mobilises at from 20 to 60 cte per gal. gbh Sugar (good) at o and 10 ate per penal d Sags Coffee (bout) at 18 mita per pound. DRY GOODS. 20 pieces Calico and Bleached 31uslirt 6 1 4 rte. 10 ' 4 New M arkers l2% c i s. " 10 11 DeLaines 03e,0t. 10 " New 51718 De Laines 25 Cl., " Print 5% eta. A 10t of Ticking. from 5 to 25 eta. Domestic Cioghama 10 cts. Stockings 5% etc *nanny front auction very low. 20 Brocha Shawls—wool and silk, the genuine article —seri OUP. ZION'S -AND LADIES' CLOTHS, LADIES' CLOTH CLOAKS, and storks altiortment of DRESS 000 M which will be sold cheap, for cash, and for any bill of foreign good , ' Upward of fire dollars, bought for cash, a deduction of flee per et. will be made. lOU Ail kinds of Country Produce takoJ i nni exchange. - rebsnon, Nov. 20, IL RG Private Sale. rvng subscriber offers at private "ale all that certain I farm or tract or land, situate partly In Pinegrove township, Schuylkill county, and partly in Bethel town- Ship, Lebanon county, bounded by landed Eck ert and Ottlirord, Benjamin Aycrigg, Daniel n, Dauber to nd others, containing one hundred and ill torty-sight mass and a quarter, with the appur- II Stigmas, conaliating of a two story to dwelling.. onee, (weather boarded) a 114 story log dwelling house, a new bank barn, o th er out-lluildinp, and a new water rawer saw mill. ' Tor terms, ac., which will be allay, Apply to O. MAT(iftlit, Agent. rinegrori, April 20, 1050.-tf: VOL. 13---NO. 33. A soldier qf the Legion lay dying in Algiers I There waniek of woman's nursing, there wall dearth of woman's tears; But a comrade stood beside him while his lifeblood ebbed away, And befit with pitying glances to hear what he might say The dying soldier faltered as he took his eomradn's hand, And he said, "I never more shall see my own, my na tive land ; Take a message and a token to some distant friends of mine; For I was born at Bingen—at Bingen on the Rhine. "Tell my Imo there and companions when they meet and crowd around ; To bear my mournful atory, in the pleasant vine-yard ground, That we fought the battle bravely—and when the day was done Tull many a corpse lay ghastly pale beneath the art. ting sun ; And midst the dead and dying were some grown old in wars— The death wound on their gallant breasts, the last of many scare, But some were young, and suddenly behold life's morn decline ; And one bad come from Bifigen—fair Bingen on the Mine. "Tell my mother that hor other sons shall comfort her old age, And I was aye a truant bird, who thought Ms home a cae; Fol. my g father was a soldier, and even OA a child My heart leaped forth to hear him tell of struggles tierce and wild ; And when he died, and left no to divide his scanty board, / let them take whate'er they would—but kept my father's sword, ' And with boy tab love I bung It where the bright son used to ablate On the cottage wall at Bingen—calm Bingen on the Rhine. "Toll my Mater not to weep fur me, nor soh with droop ing head, When the troops are marching home again with glad and gallant tread, But to look upon them proudly with a calm and stead fast eye For her brother was a soldier too, and not afraid to die. And if a comrade seek her love, ask her in my name To listen to him kindly without regret or shame, And to bang the old sward in its place (my father's sword and mine,) For the honor or old Bingsn—dear Bingen on the Rhine! There's another—not a sister—in the happy days gene , You'd by have known her by the merriment that spark led In her eye; Too Innocent for coquetry, too fond for idle scorning— Oh friend, I fear the lightest heart makes sometimes heaviest mourning! Tell her the lust night of my life (for , ere this moon he risen My body will be out of pain—my sent be out of prison,) I dream/. I !Wind with her, and saw the yellow of sun light shine On the vine-clnd hills Zof DingerrL-fair Bingen on the Rhino. "I saw the blue Rhine sweep along—l heard or seemed to hear, The German songs we need to sing, in chorus sweet and Wear; And down the pleasant river, and up the slanting hill, The echoing chorus sounded, through the evening calm and still; And her glad blue eyes were on me as we passed, with friendly Down many a path beloved of yore, and well remam• hared walk, And her little hand lay lightly, confidingly in mine But we'll meet no more at Bingen—loved Gingen on the Rhine. Els Voice grew faint and hoarsor—hie grasp was child ish mak— His epee put on a dying look--he eighed,and ceased to speak-; Ms comrade bent to lift him, but the spark of life had fled. • The soldier of the Legion in a foreign land wee dead! And the soft moon rose up slowly, and calmly she look ed down On the red sand of the battle field, with bloody corpses strown ; Yea, calmly on that dreadful scene her pale light Beam ed to shine, As it shone on distant Bingen—fair Bingen on tLe Rhine. 'Farewell, Marianne, farewell,' said a young soldier of a French regiment of infantry, leaning over the side of a vessel tossed in the storm to a raft, on which the officers, with a few wo men on board, bad been hastily pla ced, in the hope that they might in safety reach the coast. 'My child, my child!' shrieked the woman from the raft. 'Too late,' said the soldier, clasping to his 'heart a boy of some throe years old, who, with the unconsciousness of infancy, gazed up at the heavens, watching with general wonder the golden chasm made by the light ning's flash. And so they had parted—the raft floating at the tempest's will on the waves towards the Southern coast of France—the'ship, past all help, past all human skill, dashing itself to pie ces in impotent struggles against the waves, the wind and God's thunder. The ship was a French transport, having on board a regiment that had seen hard service in Algiers, and that, after three years, was returning to its home. Marianne, who wept si lently crouching in one corner of the raft, was only a vivandiere—one en during, brave as a man ) klentiftil, ten der find true as a woman. Love they were waiting the return to France for the laws to sanction, though in the meantime the regiment recogni zed the tie as binding, had united four years previously, Marienne to a brave young sergeant. The want of the proper documents, of which the law requires so many on the part of Marianne, had alone prevented the almoner of the regiment from bless ing the union. Marienne could not prove, by any legal paper that her mother's grandfath'r or father's grand fhther had been legally married; she could not bring the certificate of her birth, marriage and death, though many in the regiment knew that her mother had died when Marianne was born,_ and that her father had been killed twoilays before. But the tee. timony of a whole regiment was not worth six lines on stamped paper, bearing the signature of mayor and notary; so, until Marianne could prove to the law that she was some body, it was impossible for the pru dish, moral and cautious law to con sent to Marienne's• becoming legally a wife. Meantime, the regiment call ed her Mme. Bernard, and Bernard loved and respected her as his Wife, and to the child who, in the midst of the tempest clung to his breast, called her mother. But the brave ship toss ed far away on the waters, and the raft drifted far on into the darkness. Twenty years after this stormy night a woman sat wrapt in a thick, dark gray cloak, on the stode bench outside a magnificent mansion in the Rue .Plumet, This mansion, belong- .4141 4. ban ii • )7. 4.. t " Ot :ft V . m6t o abticritivt- r _ (noireotitts. BINGEN. BY HON. =S. NORTON Biocettantinto. WHICH LOVE KILLS. LEBANON, PA., WEDNESDAY, FEBRUARY 5, 1862. ing once to one of the noble fainilies of the old regime, had been within the year bought by one who had by his sword earned distinction, riches and a title, Count St. Andre, but recently . Made Marshal of France. This wo man had sat long at the gate without being noticed by any who entered or who went through the small postern; but at length the wide gates were swung open, and a carriage, with the ehasseur behind it, drove out of the court. yard. Then the woman rose and rapidly advanced towards the carriage as if to gaze in, but the pom pous porter, with his long gold•hcad ed stick of office, held her back. 'No beggars allowed,' said he. am not a be2-0.-ar. Who is that?' 'My master, the Marshal St. Andre.' 'That is his title. What was his name ?' 'Well, where do you come from ! ,Why everybody knows that M: de St. Andmis no other than_the groat General Bernard.' 'Bernard? Then I was right!' es - - claimed the woman, turning pale, and instinctively catching hold of the por ter for support; 'when will he re turn?' 'He is gone to the Tuileries; he will return say in two hours. But, let me ask, what's that to you?' 'I must see him—speak to him.' 'lndeed! And pray Madame, who are you, that can make so free as to say must to a Marshal of France?' 'Nobody. I mean a soldier's widow.' Aadame,' said the porter, doffing his hat and holding out his arm to her,' why did you not tell me you were related to the Marshal before?' 'Related?' 'Yes; pray do me the honor to walk in. The Marshal, when he en gages a servant, says to him: Be kind to all; but remember that the sol diem' widows and orphans are all my children; never let one be turned un satisfied from my door.' The woman, leaning now almost helplessly on the porter's arm, burst into tears. As she entered the court yard, through her tears the woman saw the porter lift his hat, and put ting her a little behind him, stand in an attitude of respect. At the same instant a gentleman, mounted on a beautiful prancing steed, dashed by them followed by a groom. She had not time to see his features, but she heard his clear, young voice exclaim, as he passed them, while he half rais ed his hat:— 'Boijour, Antoine.' 'That,' said the porter, resuming his way toward the lodge, without waiting for farther question, 'that is M. Victor de St. Andre, the son of the Marshal.' 'His son, his son—how old is her 'Twenty.three or four; not t..ver that, and how his father loves him.— lie is, as one may say, the apple of his eye; but one shouldn't talk of eyes, for I supposeyou know that the poor Marshal, my noble master, is blind. Blind, alas 'Yes, from the explosion of a can non. That is the reason he retired from active service, for he is now on ly just forty-five. But let me give you a glass of wine. lam not treat. ing my master's relations very well, think. Perhaps you are cotne after the situation.' 'yes, yes, what situation ?' 'Why a sort of nurse and com panion for the Marshal. He has his valet, to be sure, but Mule. la Com tesse—' 'Madame la Comtesse 'Yes, Madame la Comtesse de St. Andre, my master's wife.' 'Wife—is he married ?' 'Oh yes, just one year ago; a beau, tiful wife, too; the Emperor chose for himself; she was a great lady, only poor.' 'ls he happy ?' £.l suppose so. Sbe's just twenty five years younger than he is, to be sum. At this moment the gate Bill rang The porter pulled the string, and the gate opening, a gentleman, young, handsome and dressed in the extreme of fashion, entered the lodge. 'ls Madame la Cowtesee within?' 'Yes,' replied the porter, in a sneer ing tone, turning away almost rude : ly, as the gentleman crossed the court yard to the house. 'Of course he met the Marshal's carriage, and that accounts for his presence; but, however, if you are to be of the household, you will Soon find all out.' The woman made no answer: She sat absorbed in thought, Until the noise of the opening gates fof the Count's return roused her. A few minutes afterwards the por ter touched her on the arm. 'The Marshal bid me bring you to him. You will find the valet.de•eham bre waiting for you in the anteroom. He will announce you. What isyour name?' 'A soldier's widow.' And so under this title, the door of the Marshal's private room was open ed, and the woman stood alone in his presence. The Count sat by a table, and through the heavy crimson cur tains a ray of bright light streamed, illuminating his fine features, now still and calm as those of the blind ever are. His hair, though thick - and clustering, was white as snow. Still his figure was erect; there was not a wrinkle on his clear dark skin; and as he sat there, in his full uniform on which reposed many stars and cross. es, looked the full embodiment of a hero, such as his deeds had made him. The woman, dropping her gray cloak advanced gently and silently in the room, until ehe stood before him; then, gazing intently af,him throUgh her streaming tears, she clasPed her bands and gradually sank on her knees before him. 'Where arc you, my good lady?— Come near me; do not be afraid. 1 am blind, or I would go . to you. An audible sob was the only reply. 'Nay, this is not feat. Who are you? Perhaps your husband has served under me. And the sight of me recalls him and this fact once more to you.' 'lt does not,' murmured the woman. 'Come, come givq, ip 0 your hand, sister, for the widow of a brother in arms is always to me a sister—' The Woman, kneeling as she was, dragged , herself aloni, to his feet ; it then, seizing both his ands in hers, she pressed them to li 'lips and burst into violent convulsive'iobbing. At her touch as she: held hiS handa in hers, the Count started, his whole frame quivered, and :In an almost broken voice, he said :t : : 'Who are:youl*AvW ar© you speak 1' 'Oh, Bernard I' .so'bbed the woman; and the Count, snatching his hands from her grasp, held out his arms, and, with a cry, almost a gasp, ex claimed : , Marienne, Marienne 'Oh, God, he has not forgotten me!' 'Forgotten my early love, my Vic tor's mother, my Marienne—but why have We not met till now, twenty years ?' 'Yes, twenty years. I was east alone on the coast of Africa—sick, maddened by the loss of all I loved. Then I strove—it was years before I came back to consciousness—l strove to find you. I inquired. The regi ment to which we both belonged had perished on thot dre4tdful night on the coast of Africa. You know my ignorance; I could neither read nor write; 1 was forced to be content with what they told me. So years went by, when a good sister in a con vent at Marseilles, where I had taken refuge, heard my story and told me yours. The name was the same; she told me it might be you, and so I came to Pai•is.' 'And have found me, oh ! dearest Marianne. How I have wept for you and your untimely fate for years and years. I have taught your boy to think of you, to love your memory.' 'My Victor, I have seen him as he passed from your gate.' 'Now I will atone forall these years of suffering. lam rich, powerful; I can atone; you shall be again happy.' "There is ode thing you forget,' said Marienne. 'What is that ?' 'Your marriage. • '0 Godl my poor Estelle, what will become of her? She,'so beautiful, so young, who trusted me, how will she bear disgrace ?' %-What disgrace? She has none to bear. All tho disgrace is mine.— Benuard, you forgot; I never was your wife.' 'Not by any legal ceremony; but in truth and heart you were my wife.' 'All that is nothing. I have not come to claim either rank or station; I came to see you and my boy. I find you happy.' 'Very, since I have seen you.' 'Nay, before. Bernard,l have nev er loved but you, but love's accents have left their echoes in my heart; I knew them as you spoke of her.— You love your young wife with all the tenderness and passion that once were mine.' thought you dead, Marienne.— Forgive—oh, forgive!' 'Do you love her?' 'As 1 once loved you.' 'Then all is well. What is my life to yours? You are great 7 —you have, won honor, an illustrious name. I have not any name but that youonce loved—Marienne; I have no family; society has no place for me: My life has been but your love, its purpose— your happiness. For that it is better, J. should be dead. I will bury myself forever in that convent whence! came to,soek you' illarienne, pity.' , '1 shall grow calm. The good'sis- Ors have taught me much. lam not the poor, ignorant creature that I was. In prayer and meditation will I live; and sometimes perhaps a letter, for I can read them now—Oh ! Bernard, Bernard,' she added, with a burst of passionate grief, 'would I had never found you again. 'Poor Mariennel would that I had found you sooner.' 'But our boy—tell me of him.' 'Oh! he is noble, good, handsome, as your child was sure to be. Not one hour of grief has he ever given tne.' 'My boy, he is free—he may love The Marshal sunk back in his chair with a groan; 'Poor Marianne!' he exclaimed, 'What more ?' said Marianne. 'May I not even be a mother—not even claim my child ?' 'This very day—ah ? Marianne, if I had found you biit two hours sooner, not honors, not even Victor's happi ness, should have forced me—.' itie all the truth ; do not spare me; I s can bear all now.' 'Victor is about to married. The object of his choice, whom he adores, is of the highest and noblest family in the kingdom—' 'Well, Why hesitate ?' 'For there than. a year they have withheld their consent, owing to the'— 'The illegitimacy of Victor's birth - ; is that it?' (At length the Emperor has carmen ted to grant me the power to make Victor. tlie heir to my estates, as though he were in law ni3r.sOn. For this I have adopted him, and to-day have signed' amongst other papers, one in which I swear to your death— swear that no parent has claim to him.' Mien even to him 1 must be dead.' 'Or the adoption is not legal, and ho losses all, and the woman he loves han never be his.' 'Poor Victor—my own child—all thy infancy without a mother's care; none to soothe thy childish sufferings, or dry thy boyish tears. What has thy mothor done for thee ? Nothing. But in one action can she concen trate the devotion of a whole life.— He shall never know of my existence; I will not clasp him to my heart that. yearns for him; his brow shall never fecl a mother's kiss, for that kiss would leave there a blush.' • 0 011 'my noble Marianne, why should you suffer all this for out sakes ?' (Beeause I have loved best, and for the fondest, truest heart are thes sac• Ofices, that life exacts' of love. Ber ifited; farewell •,--ontr''boon I ask of you —let me see your wife r let me see Victor? trust me, I will not betray myself. 'Estelle, my wife,' said Bernard, a shade passing over his face. 'I have not seen her to day; I mean she has not been here, for I cannot see even her beauty.' 'Not seen her is she not ever by your Bide! Does she not guide your steps r do not you through her eyes, see all the beauties of the-world r 'Marianna; that I should trust you with this, but I have none to whom I could so open my heart! 'None? what secret weighs on it.' cannot think she loves me; I cannot think her happy.' 'I am infirm, older - much than her; she is beautiful, admired: Marianna,' continue the Court, drawing her nearer to him, - 'look here; for days I have carried this paper about me, not daring to trust any with it. I found it under the vase on her chimney piece, just where the Prince de Mol dave had been leaning but an instant before. I have often heard them whispering; he is "often here, too of ten, and Victor hated him. Ah, Ma rianne, I cannot read.' At this moment the heavy damask curtain that divided the apartment from the drawing-room was quietly pushed aside, and holging it back, there stood on the threshold the love liest vision on which Marianne had ever looked—beautiful, fair, graceful, yet with a patrician dignity of mein not to be mistaken; seeing Marianne she stood • still. Marianne gazing at her fur an instant, her breast heaVing quick, her cheek turning pale ; then she east a look of pity and unuttera ble love on her husband, and holding np her finger as a token of silence and warning, she began to read the letter aloud— " Madame, this is the last time I will icapor.. tunas you; ah, madame, why could I not divine that so much beauty could but be found with such groat virtue. You love your husband; you disdain me; I honor, I respect you as much as you love. Yuu shall not see me till years have paled your image in my heart. I leave Paris to morrow. MoLoeve.." 'Thank God,' exclaimed the Mar shal, 'oh, Marianne, your voice it is that gives me complete happiness and security.' 'Here is the Countess,' said Marian ne, as at a sign from her, the Count ess, pale and with a tottering step, advanced towards them., • . , Madame,' said Marianne, am a soldier's widow; my husband, one of your husband's earliest companions in arms. You must forgive my in trusion; I am about to retire from the world forever'— 'Oh, madame,' said the Countess, looking up at her in fear and doubt, 'you are welcome.' Wear,Estelle, if you knew'— 'I Bring a message,' said Marianne, hastily interrupting him, 'from the death-bed of Victor's mother.' 'Did she not die at sea?' ( No, she reached the shore but to die there.' • 'Where is Victor?' said the Count. 'lle is just returned,' said Estelle. 'Take this lady, Estelle, to your private room ; I will send for Victor, and we will join you there; it, is fitting be should receive his mother's bless ing from her lips.' The Countess bowed, and taking Marianne's hand led the way. When they were alone in 11,1! room, she dos. ed the door, then hiding hoer face in har hands, she fell on her knees be. fore Marianne. 'O, who are you who have saved me? oh, madame, how shall I thank you?' 'Do you know the contents at this letter?' 'No; he but told me ltd* that he bad let it there' 'Ho urges yon, young, virtuous, the wife of a man all France has honored, of a man who adored you, to fly from all that can make life worth the keep. ing, to his degrading love, bringing disgrace on all; on you destruction. 'Oh God l he loved me.' 'Love lives by a sacrifice, not by the immolation of those it loves; he lov. ed you not; I have saved you, not for your sake, but for his.' 'Who are you, madame, then?' ex• claimed Estelle, starting up. 'Victor's mother.' 'Oh heavens ! 'This• to you alone I tell. Bet Ween the hearts that beat side by side, and the heads that rest on one pillow, there should be no secret. Your bus hand—for he is your husband—knots me; it is fit you should know me; to all the rest of the world• I am dead.' 'And you saved me—l, who have taken your place.' never Wit 4 his wife.. I claim noth. ing. My love has passed into a sphere WHOLE NO. 659. above earthly jealousy. You have heard him speak of me?' 'With sorrow, love and reverence.' 'lt is well to speak of me both to. gether when I am gone. Estelle, Countess, I have saved you. You have seen how I have suffered, through twenty years, yet now the suffering is greater still. I. dare not embrace my child, not bid him call me mother. I can ensure 1.4 happiness of both, but sacrifice ray; life. Will you not accept from My - bands the holy task, and: make him we both love honored and happy evertiOre 'Madame, I mill. Here, with my hand in yours, I swear never to !See the Prince again. - I am still worthy to bear my noble husband's name.— You saved us hotib' from dishonor. 1 swear to beat; thAt, tithe honored to the grave. I systar to love and rev. ereuce him as yotf . tvould have done.' 'Tis well,' atiOlarianne,*drawing her to her bosoM f pressed a kiss on her brow,-' :54-° At that,momentYictor, guiding his father, entered therooM. Marianne, calm and firm, no* be gan to tremble as she looked on . Vi ctor. He came toward her—took her hand. 'Madame,' said he, 'you were my mother's friend. You received her last sigh. Oh 1 tell me of her—l am her son.' Marianne's tears choked her utter ance. She stood trembling, weeping, both hands in those of her sou. 'Do you remember your mother?' said she. 'Alas! sometimes, as I lay awake and think of her, I think 1 do; but all I can recall distinctly is a dark night, with flashing skies, heaving waters, and a shrill cry. I have nev er been able. even in my dreams, to bring back my mother's face to my mind.' She loved von to the last.' 'And her. memory is enshrined in my heart as my father painted her to me, tender, beautiful, gentle, full of courage and devotion. Madame, did she speak of me—when she died ?' 'She bid me tell you she had in her life loved but two beings—your father and yourself. She bid me tell you not to forget who was dying, feeling that she must quit all forever.' Here Marianne drew her son wildly toward her. 'She clasped me in her dying agonies as I clasp you,,and, showering kisses thus on my brow, she cried, with her last gasp—'Bless thee, bless three—farewell forever! 'Oh ! that I had been there; oh ! mother, mother!' Impelled by the emotions of the, moment, Victor clasp ed Marianne to, his bosom, and press ed his lips to her forehead. Estelle, holding her husband's hand. in hers, laid her, head on his shoulder ; and wept, his tears falling fast on to her long silken hair. All at once Victor uttered a cry, and unclasped his arms from around Marianne. 'Oh God! she is fainting,' he exclaimed. They rushed toward her; the blood began to gurgle in a purple stream over her pale lips; the eyes were fixed, and gradually glaz ing as they gazed. At his; there came a holy serenity over the face and then all was still. They sent for aid; they watched beside her. At length a deep sigh heaved her breast, her lips moved. They bent down toward her. She gazed for one moment, the concentration of a mother's love in a glanm, on Victor; then, with a smileSjieturned towards Estelle, and feeblY7Striving to return her kiss, she murmured: 'Bernard, remember.'— Then the: Countess felt a faint breath on her cheek, a low, fluttering sigh was heard, the varying lines of the face changed quicker than thought could note them. Then all was for ever still, and Marianne was what for twenty years she had been to all who loved her—dead. Estelle kept her promise. Bernard is loved and is happy. As for Victor, his adoption is, beyond all doubt, le gal. le is married, prosperous, brit iiant, happy. Nothing could be more fortunate for him than his mother's death. He never knew that it was she who died in his arms. Better so, for who knows if knowing all he had to lose, by her life; he would have wish ed her back in life again. ROMANCE OF AN OLD COUPLE Prom the Sd/I Freneieeo Mirror The following somewhat remarka ble narrative is related by a Western lady, now on a visit to this city from Mariposa. She is. herself a charac ter. She has crossed the plains twice —first in 1849, during which her hus band perished—and is the first Amer ican lady who returned to the East by the way of the isthmus of Panama. She is a genuine heroine, a fine spec imen of etout.hearted Western wo manhood, and her adventures in the wilds of the unpeopled West have been numerous and exciting. If the' good folks of Mariposa have missed a lady from their neighborhood, they are hereby apprised that she is corn fortably located at the boarding house of Mrs. Nesbit, on the corner of Montgomery and Sutter streets, and will not return to the mountains an• tit Holmes, of the Gazette, ceases to barrow the hearted' Mariposa moth ers by calliug their little babies "brats." Well, while`the train, of which this lady was a member, was encamp. ed at a point on the Htto4:*Where the Lessen trail interse**C Can son track of travel, she:t ihited. the tent of an elderly, coutple'iiiikd one child—a daiighter of fourteen or fif teen years. The old lady was sitting on a pile of blankets under the: can vas, ericouraging a most determined attacked M the "sulks," while the masculine head of affairs had planted cije atitysttiost: • A FAMILY PAPER FORTOWN AND COIIii.TRY, IS PRINTED AND PUBLISHED WEEKLY By WM. N. 24 Story of Funk's New ; Mt Ci&iberland St At One Dollar and Fifty Cents a Year. .07,-Arivsneiscarerrs inserted at the usual rates. "hi* The friends of the estahliehment, and the public getter ally are respectfully solicited to lento] in their orders. "OP - HANDBILLS Printed at an hours notice. RATES - OF POSTAGE:. . In ribinen County, postage free. - In Pennsylvania, out of Lebanon county WA cents pei quarter, or 13 mate a year. Ont of this State, 63 cte. per quarter, or 2e eta. a year if the postage is not paid in advance, rates are doubled. himself on his wooden tongue, and was sucking his pipe as leisurely as though he.expectedlo rernien the's forever. A single ghetto develOped the fact there was et difficulty in that little train of one wagon and three persons, and that it had Attained a point of quiet lieliPeration beyond the reach of peaceful adjustment,, Three days before they had pitched their tent at the forks of the road, and as they could not agree upon the route by which to enter California, they bad remained. Tbe tfas band expressed a preference for 'the Carson road, the wife for the Lessen; and neither would yield. The wife declaeed she would remain there winter: the husband said he should be pleased to lengthen the "sojourn through the summer following,' 'Ye -- On the morning of elte.foili'th'm.yl the wife broke a etilTen silence of 38 hours by proposing a division of the property, which consisted of twei. yoke of etattle, One wegen:catnp fare nittire, a small que.htity firoriskintee and $l2 in silver. The proposal WWI accepted, and forthwith the "plun der" was divided, leaving the wagon to the old man, and the daughter to the mother. The litter exchanged_ with a neighbor the cattle beterige ing to her, for a pony..ved. pack saddle, and piling the daughter and her portion.of the divided spoil upon the animal, she resolutely started a cross the desert by the Lessen trail; while the old man silently 'yoked:Vie cattle and took the other route. gular as this may seem, it is never'- theless true. It is among the base" - occurrences stranger than fictiOn. Of " course both parties reached Califor. - nia in safety. We say "of course," for it is scarcely possible that any, obstacle, death included, could have seriously interfered with the prege ress of stubbornness so eelsllfee:- 4r- riving at Sacramento 'With her daught er, the old lady readily found epeptoz. , , went—for women were lime pleritye than now-- e and subseqtently spew} a boarding house, and in a few years' amassed a handsome fortune. Two years ago she went to San Francisca, and the daughter, whose edueetiore had not been neglected, , ere married to one of the most substantial citizen. And what became of the old man? The wife had not seen or hetird.,4 him since they parted en the Hum boldt. They have lived happily gether as man and wife for yeah, and she sometimes reproached her. self for the willfulness which separe-- ted them aftet so long a pilgrimage together through this rough life.— But he was not dead. We cannot trace his course in California, howe ever. All that we know of him is, that fortune had not smiled upon him-, and that for years he had toiled with.' out hope. Finally, 'feeling scarcely able to longer wield the fil'ek.eartd , shoeel, he visited San Franeisco,..in the hope of obtaining empleyrdent better adapted to his wetted strength.' For three months he remained idle' after arriving here, and.. then for want of occupation became thaltileile ble retailer of peanuts and oranges; with his entire stock of traffic in a basket upon his arm. This was a.. bout six months ago. A few weeks since, in passing the open door of fre . cottage in the southern :part.Of eleit city, he observed_ a lady in the halle and stopped to offeiehis merchandise., As he stepped upon the threshold,. the lady approached, and the old man raised his eyes and dfopped the bas-' ket. And no wonder, either,. for she was his wife—his 'old woman.' She recognized him, and throwing up her arms in amazement, -exclaim ed : 'Great God I John; is that you ,. ?''. 'All that is left Of me,' replied the old man: With extended arms they appebacne ed. Suddenly the old lady's eletintee nance changed, and she Oefilicid beck, 'John,' said she, witiee look which might have been construed into earn.e estness, 'how did you find the Carson road ?' • br 1 eNlisef ' =able Sakey, sera e, re ' plied the old man, full of sand and alkali ' 'Then I was right, John i' she con= tinned, inquiringly. • • 'You were, Sukey,' he replied; 'That'll enough said she, throwing, her arms ail-build: the, old . man's neelk 'that's enough John couple, so strangely sundoked, were: again united. Both are living with their daughter en. second street; 0:7- One of the zealous chaplains of the; army of the Potomac called on a . Colonel noted for his profanity, in onter_toAlls bout the religious interests of hip He was politely received and bebkoned to. a seat on s chest. "Colonel," said hei "you have one' of the finest regiments 'ti the army." "1 think so," replied the Col., onel. "Do you think you Pair tufficient attention to the religious instruction of your men?" "Well I don't know," rep- , ed the 'Colonel. "A lively interist has been aviakened in the --regiment ; the Lord has blessed the labors of his ser. wants, and ten men have been, already. bsptized.-r [This was.axivaLreglinent.) "Is that zo, 'pOn honongtateir the Colt) , nel. "Yes, sir." , Sergeant," Said the Colonel to an attending orderly, "have fifteen men detailed intmefifitely to be baptized. I'll be be outdone in, any respect 1" The•chaplain took note of she interview and withdrew. Jaxit Jones has no objection to the lick her lavs w4lin ; applied to. Jane. Jane iones contends stoutly for,theliquer -law, as applicable to John. ; is simple and conclushim does liquor, he does - IckVier. • When Jock don't liquor her, he didn't' lick her, Therefore, if John can't liquor, he won't. lick her—the conclusion she wishes to reach. MI I=
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