VOL. LVIII.
THE EXILE’S FAREWELL.
BT J. W. WELCH.
Good bye, dear friends, good bye,
Tbe proud ship waits for me,
The gallant bark in which I go
Far o’er the rolling sea.
1 ne’er shall roam again
Beneath my native sky—
So take my last and sad farewell,
• Good bye, dear friends; good bye.
Good bye, old home, good bye,
I ne’er shall see thee more ;
Ne’er play again as I have played
Around thy vine wreathed door.
I go from hence to dwell
Beneath a foreign skr,
Then take my last and sad farewell,
Good bye, old home, good bye.
Good bye, dear one, good bye,
We part to meet no more,
Until wo meet all free from pain
Upon a better shore.
My weary heart is sad — .
The tear drop dims mine eye,
Thy hand —one kiss —and so farewell,
Good bye, dear one, good bye.
Good bye, dear friends, good bye,
The breeze blows off the shore,
The ship’s unmoored, horisails are set,
She rides the wave once more.
The daylight fades away,
Bright stars shine from on high,
My native land fades from my sight,
Homo, friends, dear one, good bye.
COLUMBUS ON FIRST BEHOLDING
AMERICA.
God of my sires! o’er ocean’s brim
Yon bounteous land appears at ld&t;
Kaise, comrades ! raise your holiest hymn
For now our toils are past.
See o’er tho bosom of the deep
She gaily lifts her summer charms,
As if at last sho longed to leap
From dark oblivion’s arms.
What forms, what lordly scenes may be
Secluded in thy flow’ry breast;
Pure is thy sea and oalm thy sky,
Thou garden of the West;
Around qach solitary hill
A richimagnificenco is hurl’d,
Thy youthful face seems wearing still
The first fresh fragrance of the world.
We come with hope, our beaoon bright,
Like Noah drifting o’er the wave,
To claim a world —tho ocean's might
Has shrouded like the grave;
And, Oh! the dwellers of the Ark
Ne’er pined with fonder hearts to see
The bird of hope regain tbeir bark
Than I have long'd for thee. >
Around me was the boundless flood,
O’jer which no mortal over pass'd ;
AboVo me was a solitude
As measureless and vast;
Yet in the air and on the sea
The voice of the eternal one
Breathed forth the song of hope to me,
And bade me journey on.
PLEASANTON’S FIRST
LOVE.
KITTY
I cannot remember tbe time when I was
not in love with Kitty Pleasanton. It
must have-been when we were both babies.
lam sure I loved her as we sat together
by the road-side soaking our dandelin
stems to make them curl. My passion
was in no wise abated, when somewhat
later I climbed cherry trees at her bid
ding ; nor later yet, when at dancing
school I awkwardly made my new learnt
bow, and asked her to be my partner ; nor,
I am sure, was my boyish passion at all
damped, when on my return from collego I
found my sweet little Kitty changed, by
some undefinable alteration, from a lovely
child to a bewitching young woman. She
was almost the same as when I parted from
her three years before—the woman was
very like the child—there was the same
,rosy cheeks, the same pouting, innocent
mouth the same curling hair, but some
charm, grace or sentiment was added,
which made my heart thrill with new emo
tion as I gazed at her.
‘ Kitty,’ said I to her one day, after I
had been at home a week or two, and I
found I could restrain myself no longer,
‘Kitty, I’m very much in love with you, as
you know as well as I do. I’ve always
been in love with you, and I fancy you
are in love with me; but now I want you
to promise to marry me.” I paused,
Kitty made no answer, and I said : ‘You
like me, Kitty, don’t you.’
‘ First tell me,’ said Kitty, with an odd
mixture of delight and bashfulness in her
face, ‘if you’ve made what is called an
offer?’
‘To be sure I have my darling.’ I re
plied ; ‘an offer which I trust and hope you
will accept.’
‘Dont be too sure of that,’ said Kitty de
murely.
‘Kitty, you love me !’ I exclaimed.
‘That’s my secret,’ replied the provok
ing little thing, ‘but at any rate,’ she con
tinued, ‘I should not posssbly think of
accepting the very first offer, I ever re
received—l should be mortified all the
rest of my life if I did. No, indeed ;no
girl of spirit would dream of accepting her
first offer, as if she was afraid she should
never have another. Excuse me, James,
I can’t possibly accept you till I’ve had at
least one other offer.’
‘ But my dearest Kitty,’ I began.
‘Kitty! Kitty! Kitty!’ she exclaimed ;
will Mr Brant learn to call me by my
proper name ? I confess I did hope that
on receiving my ‘first offer,’ the person
making it would address me with proper
courtesy, and in a manner befitting the
occasion, giving me my name of Katharine;
but now you’ve gone and spoiled it all.’
V' ‘Oh, I suppose you want a stiff, eererno
ffious proposal in form” I observed ; ‘ but
I-’m no Sir Charles Grandison, Kitty—
Katherine, I would say; therefore don’t be
foolish ; be content to know in plain words
that my whole heart is yours ; and have
the good sense to accept your first offer,
since your second may not be so good.’
±sut in vain were my arguments and
reasonings. . Kitty was determined not to
accept her first offer, and finding her reso
lute I changed my tone, and acquiescing in
her views, confessed that 1 tool had a cer
tain pride on that point, and should be
rather mortified to know that my wife had
never had any offer but that I had .myself
made her ; and so I promised to suspend
my suit till Kitty should be so -fortunate
as to receive an offer from sonic other q uar
ter.
Now, not far from where Kitty dwelt,
there was a favorite dell, or bower or
something of that kind, to which she daily
repaired with some chosen volume to sit
and read. All my endeavors to persuade
her to allow me to accompany her thither
had always been quite in vain. | Kitty was
firm in preferring her undisturbed solitude,
and I was daily doomed to an tour or two
of the mopes during her romantic woodland
visit. \
In pdrsuance with this custom, Kitty
set out ioon after the conversation I have
sketched', declining as usual my offer of
companionship.
Not mete than half an hour had elapsed
after she had reached her favorite seat, ere
her attention was attracted by a young gen
tleman who was fishing in the brook which
flowed near her. Kitty drew back a little
on seeing him, bnt her curious eye occa
sionally wandered towards the stranger.
The latter no sooner perceived his fair
observer than he bowed with an air of po
liteness, and advancing a few steps, ven
tured to address a few words of common
place greeting. The young man’s words
were indeed common-place, but his eyes
Were far more eloquent than his tongue —
they plainly informed the fair Kitty that
she had found another admirer. Kitty,
highly flattered, received the stranger’s
advances graciously, and the youth being
by no means bashful, half an hour found
them chatting easily and gladly on various
topics of interest. Kitty’s stay in the
woods was something longer than usual
that afternoon.
‘What is the matter ?’ I asked on meet
ing her soon after her return home. ‘Your
eyes sparkle, and you look as pleased as
though you had met a fairy in your after
noon ramble.’
‘lt is better than a fairy,’ cried Kitty,
breathlessly, ‘lt’s a young man.’
‘ Indeed!’ I ejaculated, whistle.
‘ Yes, .James,’ she replied, ‘ and he is so
handsome—so agreeable—so delightful,
that I can’t say how things might go if he
were to make me one of these days my
second offer.’
‘ You can’t impose on mo in that way,
sweet Kitty, so don’t attempt ft,’ 1 ex
claimed. ‘ I’ll be bound the impudent
fellow, whom I won’t object to speaking a
bit of my mind to, is not handsomer or
more enfertaing than I ap myself.
Kitty laughed in derision. ‘ He’s a
thousand times handsomer than you are,’
she cried, scornfully, ‘ and as much more
agreeable than he is more handsome.’
‘ Come, Kitty, don’t be too cutting, too
cruel,’ I began, but Kitty drew herself up
with dignity.
‘ They call me Katherine, who do speak
to me, sir,’ she said.
‘Katherine, fiddlesticks!' I oried. —
Kitty is the prettiest and sweetest name in
the world, and comes more natural to me
—don’t bother me with your Katharines.’
‘ I -dare say you may like it,’ said Kitty,
pouting half angrily, ‘ but I don’t. It’s
too free. llow would you like it if I per
sisted in calling you Jim ? 1 declare I’ll
call you Jim, if you go on calling me
Kitty.’
‘Do so, if you like,’ I replied, ‘ and it
will soon sound to me like the sweetest
name in the world. But may I presume
to beg from my fair and gracious Lady
Katherine a description of this wood-Adon
is she has been encountering ?’
‘ lie is tall,’ began Kitty.
‘Taller than I?’ I interrupted. Kitty
almost annihilated me with a look.
‘ By at least a foot—and of an elegant
figure,’ she continued with marked empha
sis. ‘He was dressed in fishing costume,
which greatly became him.’
‘ I have an old fishing blouse up stairs,
I muttered sotto voice, 1 think I’ll get it
out.’
‘ The young man’s manners were un
commonly easy and gentlemanly, and with
al perfectly respectful and deferential,’
continued Kitty. ‘ Having ascertained
my name,Jne never once forgot himself so
far as to abbreviate it, his conduct con
trasted favorably in that respect with some
of my friends.’
‘ Well Kitty,’said/, ‘what other per
fections has your hero, or have you ex
hausted your list?’
“Far from it,’ said Kitty indignantly.
!‘ He wears his hair parted down in the
middle like a poet, or that charming Sig
nor Pozzolini in the part of the Edgardo’
‘ Or a Methodist person,’ I observed.
‘ And besides all that,’ continued Kitty,
‘ He has a mustache.’
‘A last best gift,’ said I; but Kitty,
that perfection, I hope will not be very
difficult of achievement. I’ll begin to
morrow. Let me see—tall—handsome—
agreeable—good manners—elegant figure,
and a mustache !' On the whole, Kitty, I
think I’m very much afraid of my rival.’
‘You have cause,’ Kitty- replied, with
■grave dignity.
The next day when Kitty reached her
little retreat, she found the stranger again
in its neighborhood; I must do the little
coquette the justice of confessing that she
did look startled, and indeed vexed, when
she saw him, but perhaps thinking it too
late to retreat, she advanced timidly.
The youth met her with many apologies,
and a plausible pretence for his intrusion,
which she oould not gainsay, while some
thing flattering in his manner made her
blushingly divine that the hope of again
seeing her had been the true cause of his
re-appearance. Be that as it might, the
stranger, perhaps to give Kitty time to
recover her confidence, immediately saun
tered off in pursuit of his sport, and Kitty,
fancying she had seen the last of the new
admirer, drew forth her book, and settling
herself in a mossy corner began to read.
She, however, had scarcely succeeded in
fixing her attention on its pages before the
pertinacious stranger re-appeared, and
declaring that fishing was dull work, and
the fish would not bite, he composedly
seated himself at Kitty’s feet, and begged
to know the name of the book she was
reading.
‘Tennyson’s Princess,’ replied Kitty,
curtly.
The impcrturable stranger declared the
book a great-favorite of his, and began to
entertainingly of books and authors,
that Kitty, warmed by the subject, forgot
to be dignified, and an animated' discourse
of favorite authors ensued. Afterward the
youog man begged permission to read her
a few passages he had selected, which were
the very ones Kitty loved best; he read
them well, too, and Kitty’s bright eyes
sparkled with delight as she listened.—
Turning at last to the exquisite concluding
interview between Ida and the young
prince, the stranger's voice became more
and\m6ru'"£Srnest as he read, till coming
to thWvords—
Indeed I love thee; come
Yield thyself up: mine hopes and thine are one
Accomplish thou my manhood and thyself—
Lay thy sweet hands in mine, and trust to mfr—
he suddenly flung the book aside, ex
claiming. “What words ! what words !
What would I not give for oourage to
utter them to the being I love best on the
earth!” The stranger paused a moment,
“THAT COUNTRY IS THE MOST PROSPEROUS WHKRE LABOR COMMANDS THE GREATEST REWARD.”-
LANCASTER CITY, PA., TUESDAY MORNING, MARCH 10, 1857.
and then broke forth impetuously : “This
forced silence is all in vain—the words I
would repress will come. In vain have I
striven to be prudent —cautious—to allow
yon time—not to startle yon—you are
yourself the object of my secret adoration
—to whom I would say much if I dared,”
and thereupon the youth rather melodra
matically fell on one knee, and forthwith
proceeded to make Kitty a very plain offer
of his hand.
Meanwhile Kitty had risen from her
seat, and, recovering from her astonish
ment, she drew herself up with dignity
and replied, “I hardly know, Sir, what
you mean by your very strange conduct.
The liberty you have taken has made me
very sensible of my own imprudence in
having allowed the advanoes of a stranger
so presuming—an error I shall be careful
not to repeat.’ So saying my proud little
Kitty (never had she looked so handsome)
turned from the stranger with a distant
bow, and walked directly home.
I did not see Kitty till some time after
her return; perhaps she was recovering her
spirits in her room, for when I met her she
was as full of mischief as ever.
‘Well, James, why don’t you ask me
about my adventures to-day ?’ she in
quired.
, ‘Because,’ I replied, ‘I didn’t suppose
you would be so imprudent as to go again
to-day where you would be likely to en
counter the insolent puppy who presumed
to address you yesterday.’
‘I didn’t'in the least expect him to be
there,’ said Kitty, blushing and somewhat
confused, ‘but he was there.’
‘Of course,’ I replied gruffly. ‘Well,
was your Adonis as handsome and agree
able as ever V
‘More so !’cried Kitty, recovering her
composure; ‘he looked more Massaniello
like than ever in his fishing dress, and for
entertainment he first read me all the finest
part of Tennyson’s .Princess, and then
made a marriage proposal, and 1 don’t
think any man could be expected to do
more in one afternoon.’
‘I should think not, indeed,’ said I;
‘pray what reply did you make to the ras
cal ?—that you had a friend at home who
would be happy to kick him well for his
insolence V
‘Far from it,’ said Kitty, ‘what my re
ply was is my secret—and his ; but for
you, my poor James, I’m sorry for you—
its all over with you, and your offer.’ \
‘Why, you good -for nothing little de
ceitful puss !’oried I, losing all patience,
there never wa's a more arrant dissembler
living. Behold, how plain a tale shall put
you! for 10, I myself, disguised merely by
a little paint, a fishing blouse, a false
moustache, and a change in the arrange
ment of my hair, was in my own person
this elegant, captivating, handsome, agree
able stranger whose praises you have been
so lavishly\sounding.’
Poor Kitty was confounded. ‘How
could I have been so stupid V she mur
mured, and the voice, too, which sounded
so familiar all the time!’
‘Yes, Kitty, you’re caught,’ said I, ‘and
to punish you for attempting to palm a
wicked falsehood upon me, I shall impose
a twofold fine. First, you shall kiss me;
and then fix our wedding day, which must
be very shortly, for I’m goiog to Paris in
a month, and you must go with me.’
■Kitty gave a little scream, and declared
that she could not think of submitting to
either of my penalties; but in vain she
struggled and protested—l had her in my
arms, and finding at last all her efforts to
release herself fruitless, 1 her jests and
laughter suddenly changed to earnest
tenderness, and closing her arms around
me, she said, “As you will dear—dearest
Jamie !”
‘One month from to-day then, my own,
sweet, darling Kitty, I began—”
‘Katharine!’ whispered Kitty.
‘Katharine !’ I repeated, smiling at her
pertinacity on this point, “one month from
to-day my Katharine—”
‘You never put any adjectives before
Katharine,” murmured Kitty, evasively,
hiding her blushing and pouting face.
‘My own dear, gracious, winning, be
witching, most kissable Katharine,’ said I,
‘shall it be as I say V
‘lf mamma chooses,’ whispered Kitty.
And so I persuaded the sweetest and
prettiest girl in the country to accept her'
first and only lover; and though to this day
my merry little wife often complains that
I defrauded her, by my tricks, of her nat
ural, womanly right of breaking two or
three hearts at least, ere she made one
mau supremely blest, till she generally
concludes her reproaches in a manner most
flattering vanity, by declaring that she had
two offers after all, and that each of them
was worth a thousand common ones.
A Soft Pillow.—Whitfield and a
companion were much annoyed one night at
a public house by a set of gamblers in the
room adjoining where they slept. Their
noisy clamor and horrid blasphemy so ex
cited Whitfield’s abhorrence, and pious
sympathy that he could not rest.
“ I will go to them and reprove their
wickedness,” said he.
His companion remonstrated in vain.—
He went. His words of reproof were ap
parently powerless upon them. Returning
he laid down to sleep. His oompanion
asked him, rather abruptly :
“ What did you gain by it V’
“ A soft pillow,” said he patiently, and
soon fell asleep.
“ Yes, a soft pillow,” is the reward of
fidelity—the companion of a clear con
science. It is a sufficient remuneration
for doing right in the absence of all other
reward. And none knew more truly the
value of a soft pillow than those parents
whose anxiety for wayward children is en
hanced by a conciousness of neglect.—
Those who faithfully rebuke, and properly
restrain them by their Christian deport
ment and religious counsels can sleep qui
etly in the day of trial.
A Good One.—The following is re
ported as having happened in Bristol coun
ty:
A witty Clergyman, acoosted by an old
acquaintaece of the name of Cobb, replied:
“ I don’t know you sir.”
“My name is Cobb,” rejoined tbe man,
who was about half seas over.
“ Ah, sir,” replied the Clergyman, “yon
have so much of the corn oh you that I
did not see the cob.” o
\ZF~ Jack, did you carry that umbrella
home that I borrowed yesterday ?’
‘ No father ; you have often told me to
lay up something for a rainy day, and as
I thought it would rain before long, I have
laid the umbrella up.”
AN UNWELCOME PASSENGER.
THE PEDLAR’S STORY.
A cold winter’s night, several years
since, found a stage load of travelers
gathered around the warm fire of a tavern
bar room, in a New England village.
Shortly after we arrived, a pedlar drove
up and ordered that his horse should be
stabled for the night. After we had eaten
supper, we repaired to the bar room, and
as soon as the iee was broken, the conver
sation flowed freely. Several anecdotes
had been related, and finally the pedlar
was asked to give us a story, as men of his
profession were generally full of adventures
and anecdotes. He was a short thick set
man, evidently of great physical strength.
He gave his name as Lemuel Viney; and
his home was in Dover, New Hampshire.
“ Well gentlemen,” he commenced,
knocking the ashes from his pipe and put
ting it into his pocket, “ suppose I tell you
about tho last thing of any consequence
that happened to me. You see, lam now
right from the far West, and on my way
home for winter quarters. It was during
the early part of last spring, one .pleasant
evening, I pulled up at the door of a small
village tavern in Hancock county, Indiana.
I said it was pleasant, I meant it warm, but
it was cloudy, and likely to be very dark.
I went in and called for supper, and had
my horse taken care of; after I had eaten
I sat down in the bar room. It began to
rain about 8 o’clock, and for awhile it
poured down good, and it was very dark
out doors.
“ Now I wanted to be in Jackson early
the next morning, for I expected a load of
goods there for me, which I intended to
dispose of on my way home. The moon
would rise about midnight, and I knew if
it did not rain I could get along very com
fortably through the mud after that. So I
asked the landlord if ho could not see that
my horse was fed about midnight, as I
wished to be off before two. . He expressed
some surprise, and asked me why I did not
stop for breakfast, I told him I had sold
my last load about out, and that a new
lot of goods was waiting for me at Jack
son, and I wanted to be there before the
express agent in the morning. There
was a number of people sitting around
while I told this, but 1 took little notice of
them—one only arrested my attention. I
had seen that week notices for the detec
tion of a notorious robber. The bills gave
a description of his person, and the man
before me answered the description very
well to it. He was a tall, well formed
man, rather slight in frame and had the
appearance of a gentleman, save that his
face bore those hard marks which an ob
serving man cannot mistake for anything
but the index to a villainous disposition.
“ When I went to my chamber I asked
the landlord who that man was, describing
the suspicious individual. He said he did
not know him ; he had come there this af
ternoon, and intended to leave the next
day. The host asked why I wished to
know, and I simply told him that the man’s
countenance was familiar, and I merely
wished to know if 1 was ever acquainted
with him. I resolved not to let the land
lord into the secret, but to hurry on to
Jackson, and then give information to the
Gheriff, and perhaps he might reach the inn
before the villian left—lor I had no doubts
with regard to his identity:
“ I had an alarm watch, and having set
it to give the alarm at one o’clock, I went
to sleep. I was aroused at the proper
time, and immediately got up and dressed
myself. When I reached the yard I found
the olouds all passed away, and the moon
was shiniDg brightly. The hostler was
easily aroused, and by two o’clock I was
on the road. The mud was deep and my
horse could not travel very fast.
.»“ However on we went, and in the
course of half an hour I was clear of the
village. At a short distance ahead, lay a
large tract of forest, mostly of great pines.
The road lay directly through this wood;
as near as I could remember, the distance
was twelve miles. Yet the moon was in
the east, and as the road ran nearly west,
I thought I should have light enough. I
had entered the woods and had gone about
half a mile, when my wagon wheels settled
with a bump and a jerk, into a deep hole.
I uttered an exclamation of astonishment,
but that was all. I heard another excla
mation from another source.
“ What could it be 1 I looked quickly
around; but could see nothing. Yet I
knew that the sound I heard was very close
to me. As the hind wheels oame up, I
felt the jerk of the hole. I heard some
thing tumble from one side to the other of
my wagon ; and I oould also feel the jar
occasioned by the movement. It was sim
ply a man in my cart I 1 knew this on
the instant. Of course I felt puzzled.—
At first I imagined some poor fellow had
taken this method to obtain a ride ; but I
soon gave this up, for I knew that any
decent man would have asked me for a
ride. My next idea was that somebody
had got in to sleep ; this passed away as
quickly as it came, for no man would have
broken in my cart for that purpose. And
that thought, gentlemen, opened my eyes.
Whoever was in there, had broken in.
“My next thoughts were of the suspi
cious individual I saw at the tavern. He
heard me say that my load was all sold out,
and of course he supposed I had some
money with me. In this he was right, for
I had over two thousand dollars. I thought
he meant to leave the cart when he sup
posed I had reached a safe place, and then
either creep over and shoot me, or knock
me down. All this passed through my
mind by the time I had got a rod from the
hole.
“In a very few moments my resolution
was formed. My horse was knee deep in
the mud, and I know I could slip off with
out noise. So I drew my pistol, and hav
ing twined the reins about the whipstock,
I carefully slipped down in the mud,- and
as the cart passed on, I went behind it
and examined the hasp.
“ The door of the cart lets down, and is
fastened by a hasp, which slips over a sta
ple, and then is secured by a padlock.—
The padlock was gone, and the hasp was
secured in its place by a bit of pine, so
that a slight force from within could break
it. My wheel wrench - hung in a leather
bucket on the side of the cart, and I quick
ly took it out and slipped it into the staple,
the iron handle just sliding down.
“Now I had him. My eart was.almost
new, made in a stout frame of white oak,
and made on purpose for hard usage. I
did not believe any ordinary man could
break out. I got on my car a 3 noiselessly
as I got off,"and then urged my horse on,
still keeping my pistol handy; for I knew
that at the distance of half a mile farther,
’ —BUCHANAN,
I should come to a good hard road, and so
I allowed my horse to pick his own‘way
through the mad. About ten minutes af
ter this, I heard a motion in the oart, fol
lowed by a grinding noise, as though some
heavy force were being applied to the door.
I said nothing, but the idea struck me that
the villian might judge where I sat and
shoot up through the top of the oart at me,
so I sat down on the foot board.
“ Of course I knew that my unexpected
passenger was a villian, for he must have
been awake ever since I started, and noth
ing in the world but absolute villiany would
have caused him to remain quiet so long,
and then siart up in this peculiar place.—
The thumping and pushing grew louder
and loader, and pretty soon I heard a hu
man voice.
“ Let me out of this,” he cried, and he
yelled pretty loud.
“ I lifted up my head so as to make him
think I was sitting in my usual place, and
then asked him what he was doing there.
“Let me out and I’ll tell you,” he re
plied.
“ Tell me what you are iu there for,”
said I.
“ I got in here to sleep on your rags,”
he answered.
“ How did you get in ?” -I asked.
“ Let me out or I’ll shoot you thro’ the
head,” he yelled.
“ Just at that moment, my horse’s feet
struck the hard road, and I knew that the
rest of . the route from Jackson would be
good going. The distance was twelve
miles. I slipped back on the foot board
and took the whip. In fifteen minutes we
cleared the wood, and away we went at a
keen jump. The chap inside kept yelling
let me out.
“ Finally he stopped, and in a few min
utes came the report of a pistol, one, two,
three, four, one right after the other, and I
heard the balls whiz over my head. If I
had been on my seat, one of these balls, if
not two of them, would have gone through
me. 1 popped up my head again and gave
a yell and a deep groan, and then I said,
“0 God save me, I’m a dead man !” Then
I made a shuffling noise, as though I were
falling off, and finally settled down on the
foot-hoard again. I now urged up the old
mare by giving an occasional poke with the
but of. my stock, and she peeled it faster
than ever.
The man called out to me twice more,
pretty soon after this, and as he got no re
ply he made some trfemendous endeavors
to break the door open, and this failed
him he made several attempts upon the top.
But I had no fear of his doing anything
there, for the top of the oart is framed
with dovetails, and each sleeper bolted to
the posts, with Iron bolts. I had made it
so I could carry heavy loads there. By
the by, after all else had failed, the scamp
commenced to halloa “whoa” to the horse,
and kept it up until he became quite
hoarse. All this time I kept perfectly
quiot, holding the reins firmly, and kept
poking the beast with the whip stock.
“ We were not an hour in going that
dozen miles—not a bit of it. I had’nt
muuh fear, perhaps I might tell the truth
and say that I had none, for I had a good
pistol, and more than that my passenger
was safe ; yet I was glad when I came to
the old flour barrel factory that stands at
the edge of Jaoksou village, and in ten
minutes hauled up iu front of the tavern,
and found a couple of men in the barn
cleaning down some stage horses.
“ Well, old fellgr,” says I, as I got
down and went round to the back of the
wagon, “you have had a good ride, hav’nt
ye?”
“ Who are you ?” he cried, and he kind
of swore a little, too, as he asked the ques
tion.
“ I’m the man you tried to shoot!” I
replied.
“Where am I? Let me out!” he
yelled. '4
“ Look here, we’ve come to a safe stop
ping place, and mind ye, my pistol is ready
for ye the moment you show yourself. Now
lay quiet.”
“ By this time the two hostlers had come
up to see what was the matter; and I ex
plained it all to them. After this, I got
one of them to run and rout out the sheriff,
and tell what I believed I’d got for him.
The first streaks of daylight were just com
ing up, and in half an hour it would be
broad daylight. In less than that time
the Sheriff came, and two men with him.—
I told the whole in a few words, and then
he made for the cart. He told the chap
inside who he was, and if be made the least
resistance he’d be a dead man. Then I
slipped the wrench out, and as I let the
door down the fellow made a spring; I
caught him by the ankle and he came down
on his face, and in a moment more the
officer had him. It was now daylight, and
the moment I saw the chap I recognized
him. He was marched off to the
lockup, and I told the Sheriff I should re
main in town all day.
“ After breakfast the sheriff came down
to the tavern and told me that I had caught
the very bird, and that if I would remain
un-til the next morning, I should have the
reward of two hundred dollars which had
been ofiered.
I found my goods all safe,, paid the ex
press agent for bringing them from Indian
opolis, and then went to work to stow them
away into my cart. The bullet holes were
found in the top of my vehicle just as I
expected. They were in a line about five
inches .apart, and had I been where I usu
ally sit, two of them would have hit me
somewhare in the small of the hack and
passed upward, for they were sent with a
heavy charge of powder,- and his pistols
were heavy ones.
On the next morning, the sheriff called
upon me and paid me two hundred dollars
in gold, for he had made himself sure that
he’d got the villain. I afterwards found
a letter in the post office in Portsmouth
for me from the sheriff of Hancock county
and he informed me that the fellow who
had tried to kill and rob me had been sent
to prison for life.
Never marry for a fortune. We
overheard a poor unfortunate get thq fol
lowing sookdolager, the other day, from
his better half: '
“You good for nothing fellow, what
would you be had I not married you 1
Whose was the baking kiver, whose the
frying pan and the iron-hooped bucket,
but mine, when you married me ?”
05?* Hood never made a better pun than
of Hook, who was walking with a friend,
when they came to a toll bridge.
<• Do you know who built this bridge,”
said he to Hook.
“jNo,” replied Hook j “but if you oross
over you’ll be tolled 1”
A SHORT STORY WITH A MORAL.
“ Honor thy father and thy mother,”
is the first commandment with promise—
promise as beautiful in its exemplifications,
as glorious in its conception. A mother’s
lips first breathed into our ears those
words of Holy writ, and explained their
general import; and from the time when
the story of gray haired Elijah and his
youthful mockers first excited my young
imagination, the respect then inspired for
white hairs of age, has grown with my
growth and strengthened with my strength.
We sigh when we think of the days when
the young were wont to bow before the
hoary head, and by gentle uncalled-for as
siduities strew roses in the old man’s tot
tering path.
But those kindly customs have passed
away. The world grows selfish as it grows
old ; and age-dimmed eyes must turn
homeward for stays to their trembling
hands and. tottering limbs. Here they
shall find fulfillment of their first command
ment with promise.
No true womanly soul ever withdrew
her gentle hand from her poor old father
and mother; no manly heart ever forgot
the home loves of his wayward childhood,
or ceased to hear the echoes of a fond
mother’s prayer. Often the eares of this
world and the deoeitfulness of riches may
choke up the inborn affections of narrow
souls; but few and far between is the
fondly loved child, who can be so untrue
to himself or his Maker as wholly to forget
the mother who bore him.
Yet qven with the holiest dictates of
our reasons and souls, as with the wider
application of the commandment, has Fash
ion insinuated her poisonousriufluence ; and
the son, perchance, who left his fond pa
rent’s home reluctantly and tearfully, to
make his way in the world, forgets, when
fortune favors, to welcome his rustic moth
er to his own luxury with the same cordial
embrace with which he left her in his
childhood home. Her dim old eyes, per
haps, do not catch readily the meaningless
courtesies of life, but they look none the
less lovingly upon her child, than when
they watched over his helpless infancy.—
Her withered hand may be large and bony,
and never had known a jewel, but none the
less gently did they smooth the weary
pillow, or bathed the heated brow, in the
dependent days of boyhood. Ah! she’s
the same fond mother still—her aged and
work-bent form, clad in rustic garb, con
ceals a heart full.of never dying love, and
ready for a new Sacrifice.
And, thanks to the Great Being who
gave us the commandment with promise,
and now and then there stands up a noble
man, true to his inborn nature, who throws
off the trammels of Fashion, however wide
the gulf which separates, iu the world’s
eye, from the humblest poverty of his boy
hood—who is not ashamed Fto love, before
his fellows, the humble mother who gave
him birth.
“ My Mother . permit me to present her
to you,” said an elegantly dressed, noble
looking young man to a friend, for whom
he had crossed a crowded drawing room,
with his aged parent leaning on his arm.—
There was a dead silence for full five
minutes.
The moral beauty of the picture pervad
ed every soul, and melted away the frost
work of world-word hearts. ’Twas tho old
foreground of a fashionable summer resort,
whither hosts had come, with all their sel
fish passions to seek iu vain for health and
pleasure. But here was variation—a bit
of truth to nature—in the motley mingling
of colors.
From a little brown farm house, pent in
the forest, away up in the Granite State,
that young man had gone forth with brave
heart and stalwart arm-—strong, like his
native hills he had already mtide a name
for himself. fPolished circles opened for
him, and gentle lips bade him welcome.—
Yet none the less carefully did his manly
arm support his homely, tottering old
mother; none the less softly and tenderly
did he call her, queer though she looked,
“my mother,” amongst the proud beauties
who had striven for his favor. Her dress
was antiquated, for the gifts of her- son
had been mutilated by rustio hands ; yet
only one heartless girl tittered, despite the
broad filled cap and well kept shawl. Her
voice was rough, and often her expressions
coarse and inelegant. Used to the social
mug at home, she asked for her neighbor’s
goblet at the table, and was guilty of many
vulgarities. She was an uninteresting
woman, save in her vigorous age, and her
beautiful love for her son.
Yet, for a week, the son watched over
that mother, and gained for her kindness
and deference, in the very face of fashion ;
walked with her, drove with her, helped
her, like an infant, up a difficult mountain
side of twenty miles, humored her every
caprice, and each day found some new
friend, whose heart he might thrill by those
gentle words “my mother.” To him she
was the gentle mother who rocked him to
sleep in childhood; and, true to the com
mandments she had taught him, he was
making the path smooth to her dependent
years.
One there was in the gay throng, whose
eye flashed haughtily, as they Tested on the
homely, toil-worn woman, but she was a
noble soul, and truth and right gained an
instant victory over life long prejudices.—
Quickly and elegantly she crossed the room
laid her hand with such a gentle, thrilling
touch on the arm of her lover, whispered
a word in his ear.
Will she ever forget the look of love
triumph in his eyes, or the smiling gentle
ness of his tones, as he presented his beau
tiful high-bred betrothed to his gray haired
doting mother.
A Good One. —A respectable but poor
young widow was recommended to ihe at
tention of a fashionable would-be charita
ble lady, and at a benevolent meeting, of
which the lady was President the poor
widow was introduced.
The lady threw a hurried glance at her,
and asked—
“ How many children have you V’
“ Three, madam.”
The president turned to talk to some of
her fellow members, and forgot the waiting
applicant. About a quarter of an hour
afterwards she turned suddenly and asked
“ have you many children V’
The woman looked at her a moment and
replied—
“ Madam, sometime ago I had the honor
of informing you that I had three, and
since that time no more have been born to
my knowledge ”
And with a polite, but indignant bow,
the woman quitted the room, leaving the
lady patroness horxor-strioken at her bold
ness
CEP* Occupation ! what a glorious thing
it is for the human heart. Those who work
hard seldom yield themselves entirely up
to fancied or real sorrow. When grief sits
down, folds its hands, and mournfully
feeds upon its own tears, weaving the dim
shadows that, little exertion might sweep
away, into a funeral-pall, the strong spirit
is shorn of its might, and sorrow becomes
our master. When troubles flow upon you
dark and heavy, toil not with the waves—
wrestle not with the torrent! —rather seek,
by occupation, to divert the dark waters
that threaten to overwhelm you, into a
thousand channels which the duties of life
always present. Before you dream of it,
those waters will fertilize the present, and
give birth to fresh flowers that may bright
en the future—flowers that will become
pure and holy, in the sunshine which pen
etrates to the path of duty, in spite of every
obstacle. Grief, after all is but a selfish
feeling : and most selfish is the man who
yields himself to the indulgence of any
passion which brings no joy to his fellow
man.
05?“ “Have you,” said a young lady,
entering a musio store in which we were
standing and leaning over the counter,
and addressing the young man—“have you
heart that loves me only V’
“Yes, Miss,” was the reply, “and here
is A Health to thee, Mary.”
Mary took the songs, and was leaving
the store, when suddenly she returned.
“Oh, I forgot! I want One sweet kiss
before we part.”
We left and can’t say whether she ob
tained it or not.
CARDS.
Dr. John. M’CaUa, DENTIST—OffIi»-No 4 East
King street. Lancaster, l*a. (apl 18 tf-13
JUNIUS B. KAUFMAN, ATTORNEY AT LAW,
has removed his office to his residence, in Duka stroot,
first door south of the Farmers' Rank’ near the Court House,
ap 1 _ ly U
T)E3IOVAL.—WILLIAM S. AMWEG, ATTORNEY
JCi/AT LAW, has removed his Office from his former place,
into North Duke street opposite the uow Coart Iloase.
aprS _ tfl2
Dr. s. welchens, surgeon den-
TIS T.—Office, Krninph's Buildings, Becond Door, North
hast corner of North Queen and Orange streets, Lancas*
ter . Jan 20 tf 1
Newton ligiitner, attorney
AT LAW, has' removed his Office to North Duke stroot,
to the room recently occupied by IXon.'J. E. Hiestor.
Lancaster, apr 1 ' tfll
T>emoval.—lSAAC K. lllESTER—Attorney at Law.
XV Has removed to au Office in North Duke Btreet, nearly
pposite the new Court House, Lancaster, Pa,
apl
Aldus J. Neff, Attorney ai Law.— Office with
B-A. ShinfTer, Esq., south-west cornerofCentre Square,
next door to Wafer’s Wina Store, Lancaster, Pa.
may 15, 1555
Jesse .Landis, —Attorney at Law. Office one dooi
east of Lechler's Hotel, 10. King St., Lancaster Pa.
All kinds of Screening—such as writing Wills,
De>*ds, Mortgages. Accounts, &e., will be attended to with
oorrectness and despatch. may 15, *55 tf-17
WILLIAM WHITESIDE, SURGEON
DENTIST.—OfIIco in North Queen street, 8d door
from Orange, and directly orer Sprengor & Westhaoffer’i
Bonk Storo.
Lancaster, may 27, 185 G.
Removal. —WILI.AM B. FORDNEY, Attorney at
Law has removed his office from X. Queen gt. to the
building in the South East corner of' Centre Square, for*
merly known as Jlubley’s Hotel.
Lancaster, april 10
Dr. J. T. Baker } Llomepathic Physician, successor
to Dr. M’Allister.
Office iu E. Orange St., nearly opposite the First Qer*
man Reformed Church.
Lancaster, April 17
TYailroad House, European style Hotel
JLVind Restaurant, No. 4-8 Commercial and No. 8 7 Clay
Streets, SAN FRANCISCO.
EALEY & THOMPSON,
Proprietors.
jin 2 ir-so
James Black.—Attorney at Law. Office in B.
King street, two doors east of Lechler’s Hotel, Lan
caster, Pa.
All business connected with his profession, and
all kinds of writing, such as preparing Deeds, Mortgages,
Wills, Stating Accounts, Ac., promptly attended to.
OAMUEL H. REYNOLDS, Attorney at
O Law, Real Estate Agent and CoU&jyancer. Office, No.
4 North Duke street, opposite tho Court House.
REFERS TO
Ex-Gov. W. F. Johnston, Pittsburg,
“ William Bigler, Philadelphia,
lion, (h W. Woodward, “
“ Alex. Jordan, Smbary.
Peter McCall, Esq., Phuwi-Iphla.
Joshua W. Comly, Esq., Danville.
Hon. James T. Hale, Bellfonte.
Henry BrockerbofT, “
LANCASTER COUNTY
EXCHANGE AND DEPOSIT OFFICE.
Corner of East King and Duke Streets,
BET. TIIE COURT HOUSE AND SPRECHER’S HOTEL,
Lancaster City.
JOHN K. REED A CO. pay interest on deposits at the fol
lowing rates:
5% per cent for one year and longer,
ft dn. “ 30 days do.
J®“Also, buy and sell Real Estate and Stocks on com
mission, negotiate loans, collect claims, Ac., Ac.
<Bs"Tho undersigned aro individually liable to tho oxteni
of their estates, for all tho deposits and other obligations of
John K. Reed A Co. „
JOHN K. REED, AMOS S. lIENDERBON,
DAVID SHULTZ, I3AAC.E HIESTER,
dec 25 tf 49
rrtHE Omcc of tile Lancaster Savings in.
_L stitutiou is open dally from 9 o’clock, A. until 4
o’lock, I*. M.
Those depositors who have not exchanged certificates
are requested to call at the Office with as little delay as
possible and receive the new certificates now being is
sued iu exchange for those issued prior to June Bth, 1855,
In order that the Institution may proceed In the regular
transaction of business.
B y Order of the Board of Truateea.
E. SCILEAJTER, President.
octSOtffl
A. E. Roberts, Bec’y.
J MARTIN.] BTR-ABBimo. [j. XJJJKXAD
Dentistry —martin a kinkead, having
associated together In the practice of DENTISTRY,
will endeavor to render entire satisfaction In all opera
tions entrup*cd to their care. Being prepared for the Man
ufacture 6f TEETH, we will be enabled to suit all cases,
w-ith Block, Single Guni or Plate Teeth, either on Gold,
Silver or Gutta Percba.
-flSF*Offlcc —Maia Street, 3 doorß East of Echternacht’a
Hotel, Strasburg, Lancaster county.
N. B.—l take this method of tendering thanks for the
yberal patronage herotofuro received, and hope by the
present urrangemcnt to bo enabled at all times to attend
to those requiring our services,
jnly 22 ly 27
JOSEPH A. NEEDLES, MANUFACTU
RER OF WIRE. SILK AND lIAIR-CLOTH SIEVES,
Coarse, medium and fine In mesh; large, middle flize and
small in diameter.
METALLIC CLOTHS OR WOVEN WIRE, of the best
qualities, Tarioua sizes of mesh, from Nos. 1 to 80 Inclusive
and from one to six foot in width. '
They are numbered so many spaces to a lineal inch, and
cut to suit.
The subscriber also keeps constantly on hand, SCREENS,
for Coal, Sand. Ore, Lime, Qrain, Gravel, Sumac, Sugar,
Suit. Bone, Coffee, Spice, Drugs, Dye-Stuffs, Ac. Together
with au assortment of BRIGHT AND ANNEALED IRON
WARE.
All of the aboTe sold wholesale or retail, bj
J. A. NEEDLES,
61 N. Front st., Philadelphia.
june 3 ly 20
ftREAT BARGAINS IN FURNITURE,
\JT at the HOUSE KEEPER’S EMPORIUM, North Queen
Streot, near Orange. Lancaster.
The undersigned hare on band a very extensive assort*
ment of Parlor, Chamber, Dining Room and Kitchen Fur
niture, of a quality equal to any that can be procnred in
Lancaster or Philadelphia, which they will sell (porrxadt
cash) at prices Csr below the usual rates. Window Shades
of every variety for almost nothing. "A word to the wise
is sufficient,” come and see.
N. B. —Splendid Cottage Chamber Bettsjust received,
dec 9 tf 47 KETCHUM k VICKERY.
Blinds T Blinds !t—VENETIAN BLIND MANN
FACTORY. The subscriber takes this method of In
forming the citizens of Lancaster county, that he still
continues to manufacture Blinds of the most beautiful
and fashionable styles, at the shortest possible notice, at
his new establishment in East German Street, (one door
below tbe Public Schools.)
Any person desiring to look at his different fjatterns, can
do so by calling as above, where he will at' all times be
pleased to wait npon them. He has received some beaut!*
ful patterns from Philadelphia. Also, Walnut Blinds
made to order, of which specimens can be seen at his
dwelling; these blinds are warranted not to fade or draw.
Window Shades hung. Hair, Husk, Palmleaf, Straw and
Cotton Mattresses made to order and taste. Also, Cush
ions, Curtains and all kinds of Upholstery made and re*
paired. Carpets cut,'sewed and laid. All kinds of, Fund*
tore made in the latest fashion and style. Old Furniture
repaired and varnished to look as good as new.
Orders can be left at the Ben Franklin Printing Office,
North Queen street, next door to Shober’s Hotel,. Jacob
King’s Grocery store; Wltmeyer k Barnes’ Furniture
Warehouse; D. Bair’s Dry Good Store; Erben’s Dry Good
store; T. J. Wentz’s Dry Good store; at the Bed Lion Hotel,
West King street; Helnltsh ACarter, Painters, Orange at,.
D. Herr, Colombia; and.T, Gould* Sub Harbor.
QONRAD ANNB,
Agent
June 19 6m-22
JOHN L. EEFFERi . ...
SION PAINTER* ■ ■/. ......
Will alirayi t» found at* nil roddanaajln Nartli Prtuaa
atugt, osiwita.Uu McqtUh QuoaMcfv
NO 8.
J. MARTIN.