(Tlic I'anCitstev ilntdluKnccr.
VOL. LYIII
INTELLIGENCER & LANCASTERIAN.
PUBLISHED EVERT TUESDAY, AT HO. 8 NORTH DUKE STREET,
BT GEO. SANDERSON
TERMS
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For the Intelligencer.
Linas composed on a Beautiful Morning
In June, ’57.
BY INEZ.
How beautiful the balmy morn,
The sun shines bright and olear ;
How. sweetly on the breeze is borne,
The bird-note soft and clear. ••
The perfumed flowers, all bright with dew,
Their fragranoe shed around ;
The budding fruit on bending boughs,
JDoth everywhere abound.
As here in thoughtful mood. I sit,
And gazo upon this scene,
I feel that earth is beautiful,
For here our God has been.
His glory lights this world of ours,
While every field and grove, ’
And budding fruit, and fragrant flower,
All murmur “God is Love l .' 4 ’
The little birds do carol forth,
Their songs of praise sublime,
To Him who gave their little life,
To Him who gave me mine.
Oh ! let my heart in thankfulness
And gratitude sinoere,
,Be lifted unto Nature’s God,
For all his gifts so dear.
And when death’s ioy hand upon
My throbbing heart is laid,
And olosed my eyos, and cold my form,
And in the grave I’m laid,
Oh ! may my spirit upward soar,
To those bright realms above,
Where flowers shall bloom forevermore,
And whisper “ God is Love."
For the Intelligencer.
THE PAST SUMMER.
BY JOSIAH F. PASSMORE
The Summer months have passed away ;
And with them, many a clear, bright eye,
That beamed with love,
Has pass’d from earth, to mingle with
The cherished ones, who dvvolt with us,
In by-gone days.
Our youth like summer months, is pass’d,
And we are nearing very fast
Our final home;
Whether we read) the land of bliss,
Or roach the land of souls distress’d,
Will on us rest.
If we are righteous and obey
The preoepts of King Jesus’ way,
We will reach Heaven ;
Bnt if we follow Satan's friends,
We’ll reaoh the place of fire and pain {
Where sinners dwell.
Oh ! should wo not the passing day,
Improve while yet we’ve time to pray
To God above ;
That He may drive our sina away,
And give to us oternai day,
With those above.
Then let us all improve our time,
And fit our souls to meot our friends
- With God above ;
Where all is harmony and 16ve,
*And all obey the holy word
Of tho most High !
New Providence, 1857.
From Putnam’s Monthly,
SNIP-SNAP.
Cynthia Susan Simpson, age eighteen,
■with the pretty talent of pleasing men, was
the acknowledged belle of the little Mar
row-Squash valley.
This little talent of pleasing men is
sometimes given by nature as a compensa
tion for the lack of every other accomplish
ment, or the means of procuring any; but
this was not the case with Cynthia, who
had good Yankee sense, and a vein of
sprightliness in her composition, which
latter, as I take it, requires several other
talents for its support, otherwise it soon
degenerates into silliness—whence it sours
into vulgar ill-nature in the country girl
—in the lady of sooiety into sarcasm.
Cynthia was pretty, in the freshness of
her ago. American beauty comes forth
like a flower, and is cut down. The love
liness of girlhood rarely ripens in the ma
tron. And Cynthia was afraid to risk her
loveliness, no doubt; for whilest she en
oouraged the attentions of many “beaux,”
who, in the language of her society, “went
to see her” evening after evening, at the
snug farm-house of her father, whenever
any of these swains took the opportunity
to press upon her notice the nature of hiß
case, and urge the necessity of its speedy
oure, she out the matter short with him.
Truth must be said, that amongst all her
admirers there was not one who was a
priori —that is, before a reciprocation of
his love took place—a very desirable
match for her.
The richest was Seth Taggart, who paid
his last visit to her one afternoon, in a
brand new Buit of glossy, fine, black broad
oloth. Pretty Cynthia was alone, and
prepared by previous experience to dis
oern symptoms of an approaching assault
upon the Malakoff of her affections. She
pursed up her pretty little mouth, and
sewed, with nimble-glanoing fingers, on
the sleeve of one of the old squire’s shirts,
of unbleached ootton ; and thought to her
self what a fool Seth Taggart was, and
wondered how he would get out of the fix
in whioh he found himself, and how he
oould dare to think she had given him en
couragement—and looked—very bewitoh
ing. Poor Seth sat on the verge of his
chair, and gazed through the window,
whioh was open, into the woods, but his
was a mind like that of Wordsworth’s Pe
ter,
“ A primrose, on the river's brim, -
A yellow primrose* was to him,
And nothing more."
He did not find any inspiration in the
woods, so he began to look into the ashes.
“ Miss Cynthia,” said he, at length,
“did you ever see a crow V’
“ Yes, Mr. Seth,” said she, folding her
gusset, and looking down at it demurely
as a mouse.
“ Black—ain’t it 1” said Seth.
“ Very.”
Then oame a pause. “ Darn it—l wish
she’d 'help me out,” said Seth in his own
thought. “ The little minx knows what I
want to say, and she might help me to say
What man has not thought this before “This farmer’s life, when there are no
now, at oourting time— and wished to bor- higher interests to aooompany it,; does not
row feminine taot, and the larger experi- draw out tbe best energies of a man. His
enoe of women, to help him out of the nature > like hie thoughts, goes round and
slough of despond he is beginning toj sink
into 1 What man would not give ’ the
world to know how the laßt man, who
offered himself to her, got through ! with
it 1 |
“Ever see an owl 1” said Seth, at
length, falling back upon his own resour
ces. ;
“ Often, Mr. Seth,” lisped pretty iCyn-
thia.
“ It’s got big eyes—ain’t it, now ?.J’
“ Very big eyes,” said she. |
Seth grew angry. Angry with himself,
no doubt; but anger, like Phoebus Apollo
at sunset, glows brightest in reflection. —
He thought it a “mean shame,’’she wouldn’t
“help him out,” while she sat there, Jook
ing “good enough to eat,” and laughing
at him, as even his blunt perception) told
him, whilst her attention was apparently
bestowed upon the shirt-sleeve. He wished
it were his shirt she was stitching sjo as
siduously. He stirred up the ashes op the
hearth, and almost made up his mindij that
“he warn’t going to give her another
chance at him but Cynthia dropped her
cotton-ball, and Seth, not rising from his
chair, stretched out his long, lank arid, and
picked it up. He touched her harid, as
she took it back, and an eieotric
thrilled through his veins, and madd him
feel “all over—ever so,” as he somej time
afterwards expressed the sensation tip me.
“ Miss Gynthy, may be you-are fond of
maple candy ?” j
“ Very,” said she. j
“Well, now,” said Seth, rising, | “the
next time I come, I’ll try and bring you a
great gob.” jj
But as he rode home, behind hjs old
farm mare, he said to himself, “ I reckon
I ain’t going back to oourt a gal whfa sees
a feller in a fix, and never helps him.”—
And sure enough, he never did return.
Miss Cynthia lost her riohest lovey, and
many folks, even to ’ this day, beliefe she
wished him back again. It is the way of
women to want the thing that oan’t b’d had.
At least, so men say (if not in pract(be, in
theory,) and Cynthia’s mouth watgjred, I
dare say, for many a week after, fob that
gob of maple candy. j!
The Moral. Let every man, oh !;j pret
ty* fd r k pay court to you in his own way,
and not in your way, and help him jjout at
that, being sure, however, that you jbre in
harmony with his mode of procedure.—
Never disturb ice-cream when it isjlgoing
to freese ; nor lift the pot as it begins to
boil ; nor make a false step and getiout of
time, when your partner is meditating a
revers in the deux temps , or the pqlka.—
Many a declaration of affection has been
frightened off by some wrong note sPng in
the treble of the duet, which put it (out of
harmony. |
Cynthia, though so pretty a girl, hnd so
experienced in the art of saying “no,” to
an offer of marriage, had yet a good deal to
learn in her own craft; and, indeed, no
experience ever primes a woman for the
deoisive moment. Bach case must be met
on principle, and not on precedent.! It is
our business to discover, in this story of
“ Snip-Snap,” how far pretty Glynthia
profited by the experience she prided her
self upon in the rejection of her lovers.
It was a mellow autumn morning] and a
russet glow had tinged the woods il at the
back of ’Squire Simpson’s homestead. It
was Seth Taggart’s wedding day. lie was
to marry, | that evening, Susie Chase—a
smiling little rose-bud of a wife, tb whom
he found plenty of things to say, as sweet
to Susie’s ears as to her lips hisjj maplo
candy. Cynthia, ak one of her beßt friends,
was to be bridesmaid ; and as she|wished
to shine that night, in all her bravejry, and
wanted some new ribbons for hebj head
dress, this want tempted her abroad, a
little after noon, when the harvest-fields
were quiet and the yoked oxen sfood re
lieved from labor, leisurely chewihg the
sweet morsel reserved for that soft) sunny
hour of rest, as men of business u£ e to do
the thought of the last letter written by the
hand they love, till the burden of ; jthe day
is laid aside, putting it apart (with) all its
'woman’s nonsense, and half unreasonable
fancies,) pure from the contact of [the pile
of yellow letters lying on their desk, offer
ings upon the shrine of Jupiter Mhmmon.
Our pretty Cynthia tripped alopg her
path, scattering a cloud of grasshoppers
and criokets, as she stepped ; and|i in her
silly little pride of bellehood
held, though she would not have confessed
the thought, that her relative value to her
crowd of beaux, was in the same | propor
tion as that of one woman to many grass
hoppers. i|
At a turn in the path, she camejpudden
ly on one of these admirers—Fraik Han
dy. Frank’s faoe flushed. He hkd been
thinking of her when she surprised him—
thinking of her all that day and -jthrough
a sleepless night; and in those hours tho
Cynthia of his fancy had smiled Son him,
and laid her gentle hand in his, hnd had
been gathered to his heart—it was a shook
to come thus suddenly upon so different a
reality. At the moment he enebuntered
her, he was indulging himself in ail imagi
nary love scene, in which he was| oalling
her, in heart, “My Cynthia, my love,”
and at the sudden sight of her jail such
presumptuous fanoies fled in hastei, and hid
themselves, shrinking like vari-tiffted coral
polypes when danger approaches—eaoh
into the reoesses of its oell.. Jj
“ I beg your pardon, Miss Cynthia,” he
said, stammering before he gathered self
possession, and accustomed himself to her
presence.- “ I was on my way to make you
a oall. If you will allow me, I {will turn
round and walk with you.” j
“ I am not going far, Mr. Frank, only
into the village, for some ribbon for my
hair, and gentlemen dislike shopping,”
(knowing perfectly well that he would go
with her.) |
“ I know where a wild hop-vine grows,”
said he, “it would make a muol| prettier
ornament for your hair than any ribbons
you could buy in the village.” S
“And will you get me some ?”lj
“ Turn this way into the woods, and
spare me half an hour while I twist it into
a wreath. lam going away from here to
morrow, perhaps. I have been it offered a
professorship in a school of agriculture.”
“ Indeed, Mr. Handy.” |
There was a pause, and Cynthia re
sumed, a little hurriedly : ■ “ j should
think you would liko going away from
here. There is nothing to tempjt a young
gentleman to remain among ua.”i{
“ I shall like it, in some respects, bet
ter than my present life,” said Handy.
« TTTAT, COUNTRY IS THE HOST PROSPEROUS WHEELS LABOR COMMANDS THE GREATEST REWARD.”—BUCHANAN.
LANCASTER CITY, PA., TUESDAY MORNING, DECEMBER 29, 1857.
round in the routine, lilt* a squirrel in its
cage, and makes no progress.”
“ This man thinks higher things than I
think,” was Cynthia’s thought as he said
this, and, for a moment, she felt humbled
in his presence ; but she rallied her pre
tensions, remembered her bellehood and her
oonquests, and the light in which she al
ways had been looked upon by all her lov
ers, and was almost disposed to revenge
upon Frank Handy the passing feeling of
inferiority. Frank stood in silence, twin
ing the hop-wreath for her head. He did
not speak. His thoughts were busied with
the words that he would say to her when
he broke silence. He was satisfied to have
her waiting at his side—waiting for the
hop-wreath, with its pale green bells, that
he was twining leisurely; and Cynthia
grew impatient as she found he did not'
speak to her. She addressed him several
questions, whioh he answered with an air
of pre-oooupation. She wandered from his
Bide a few yards among the rocks, turning
over with her foot some pebbles covered
with gray and orange moss, and disturbing
all the swarm of bußy insect life, whioh
made its home there. The influence of the
day stole into her heart, and made ,her
answers more soft and natural.
At last Handy broke silenoe, oalling her
to him, as she stood watching the stir which
the point of her foot had produoed in an
•mt-hi 11.
“ Miss Cynthia.”
“ Is it “finished 1” she said, quiokly.
“ Not the garland—but the struggle in
my breast id finished. I have been ques
tioning myself whether I should say to you
what I am about to say.” *
Cynthia gathered a leaf, and began
slowly to tear apart its delioate veins and
fibres.
“ Miss Cynthia, is it pleasant to you to
havo a man say he loves you!”
“I don’t know, Mr. Handy. I suppose
so. That is, I think it is very embarrass
ing sometimes.”
“ Why embarrassing, Miss Cynthia 1”
Tie was taking her on a new taok. It
was different from anything she had ever
before experienced. She did not like this
way of having his offer.
“It is embarrassing when I know that
my only answer can be'No,” she said,
looking him in the face for a moment,
and then casting her eyes upon the lime
leaf she was dissecting.
“ It would be more embarrassing, I
think, if you were not so sure,” he said,
“ and if you took the matter into consider
ation.”
“It never wants any consideration with
me,” she answered.
“What! did you never place before your
mind the subject of marriage ? Have you
been satisfied with the vain triumphs of a
belle 1 And did you never look beyond, to
see what the happy duties of a wife, and the
sweet, ties of home might be 1”
Cynthia laughed, but the laugh was af
feoted and constrained. “ What nonsense,
Mr. Handy!”
“It is not nonsense,” he replied ; “such
thoughts are fit for maiden meditation
they are womanly—and womanly, above
everything else, I should wish my wife to be.’
“1 hope she may be all you wish her, Mr.
Handy. We will go now, if you please, if
you have finished my garland.”
“Itis not ready for you yet,” said Handy,
passing it over one arm while he took her
hand. “ Cynthia, beloved ! you must listen
;o me.”
She drew her hand away, but he took it
again, and resumed. “ You must let me
feel its pulses beating against my hand,
while I tell you the seoret of my life—of
my love, for I have always loved you. I
loved you when you were a blooming little
girl, and we both went to school to Ezekias
Reed, dear Cynthia. I have loved you
against hope—at times against my better
reason. I have hesitated to tell you this
because encumbrances on my farm made
my position less than that which I thought
ought to be offered to you. I have watch
ed you with your other admirers ; and, in
some moments, have not thought that any‘
other had your preference, so that other
men have taken their chanoe before me.
This offer of a professorship, which adds a
thousand dollars to my income, makes it
possible for me to address you/ Cynthia !
there are depths of tenderness whioh no
human eye has ever fathomed, in many a
strong man’s heart—depths which, perhaps,
are never, by the shallower nature of your
sex, entirely reciprocated or understood.
It is not alone my heart, it is my very na
ture—heart and soul, mind and strength—
that I offer to you. The love of you, like
things which plants absorb and assimilate
into their own growth, has beoome part of
me. This is a tried and true affection,
Cynthia. It has waited patiently until the
moment came when it might be offered to
your aoceptanoe. Cynthia, if you will lay
this little hand in mine” (and he let it fall,
but stretched out his hand towards her,)
“ I will strengthen you, and elevate you,
and guide you. You shall be a woman of
higher rank (as God ranks woman), for
your union with a man’s stronger, steadier,
and more single-minded nature, and, Cyn
thia, your influence for good on me will be
incalculable. Who can estimate what a
man owes to the affeotion of a woman !
All that I have in me that is good will be
doubled by your influence. You must
draw forth—perhaps oreate—the gentle
ness, delicacies, and the tendernesses that
complete the manly character.”
He paused, and Cynthia stood with her
hand hidden in the folds of her mantle.
“ No,” she said Blowly; “ I am sorry,
Mr. Handy, but I cannot be what you wish
to you.”
There was an embarrassed silenoe be
tween them for a few moments, and then
Cynthia, gathering oourage with her rising
pride, oontinued :
“ I am not good enough to answer your
expectations, Mr. Handy. You must look
elsewhere for the kind of woman who will
satisfy you.”
Handy started, and his faoe flushed ea
gerly. He was about to speak. Cynthia
oaughtthe lightning of his eyes ; but when
they rested on her faoe, he said that her
words were not wholly sinoere, and the
look faded.
“ You are not dealing fairly with me,
Miss Cynthia, nor yet with your own
heart,” he said, a little bitterly. “ You
are not convinced of what you said this
moment. You think in your heart lam a
foolish fellow, and that I ask too muoh.— l
You do not think that Cynthia Simpson
falls short of the reasonable ideal of any
man.”
“ I don’t know why you should say suoh
things,” said Cynthia, grdwing angry and
nearly ready to cry. It was file first time
any offer had been made to her whioh had
not left behind it a self-satisfied feeling of
triumph ; and yet here was Frank Handy,
as incomparably superior to any other sui
tor she had ever had as ... . Well, no
matter
“ Miss Cynthia,” said Frank, “when a
man loves a woman, as I have long loved
you, he singles her out from the whole
world as his representative of womanhood ;
and there is that in her before which he
bows down, doing homage to the woman’s
nature within her. But this does not im
ply unconsciousness of her faults. He
may see where she comes short of her own
capability. And that marriage is true
union in which the husband, up to whom
she looks, and on whom she should lean,
strengthens her bet-er in its struggle
against her worser nature.”
They were walking towards the home
stead, and walking fast. Cynthia was an
gry, disturbed, and mortified. Was this a
time to dwell upon her faults ? She ad
mitted that she had some. Vague confes
sion ! by no means implying that Cynthia
knew that, at that moment, she was proud,
vain, insincere, and petulant, and that she
was crushing down the better feelings of
her heart, to give the victory within her to
the worst. If Handy wanted her, she
thought, ho might woo her with more res
pect to her pretensions. And he should
woo her. If he loved her as he said he
did, she knew her power was great. He
should bring his homage not coldly to the
womanhood within her, but to herself—to<
Cynthia Susan Simpson, in spite of the full
display of all her faults, and even in oppo
sition to his better reason. She was not
to be defrauded of her triumph, and it
would be a great one, indeed, if she forced
him, by her faults themselves, to surrender
at discretion.
They reached the steps over the stone
fence which, led on to the highway. In
their path lay a disabled grasshopper.—
Frank set his foot on it and crushed it
firmly. “ Miss Cynthia,” said he, “few
women have the courage to treat rejected
suitors thus. It is the true humanity.”
He helped her over the steps, and paus
ed. He took the hop-wreath carefully
from his arm, and gave it into her hands.
She took it with an indifferent air, and, as
she took it, crushed some of the green blos
soms. She would have treated him with
more courtesy (had Frank but known it),
if she had been entirely indifferent to his
admiration.
“ Miss Cynthia,” said he, now in a grave
and measured tone, which, in spite of her
self, impressed her with a sense of the
powerlessness of her little arts when
brought into conflict with his self-posses
sion and sincerity, “I know very well how
you have dealt by many men, and I am
not disposed to fall into the ranks, and
take my chance ainong your many other
patient suitors. It is true, that the wound
that you inflict on me, will leave its scar
for. life ; but I cannot make my self-res
pect an offering even to you. And if you
have the feelings of true nobleness, whioh
I have always fancied 1 discerned in you,
you would respect me, esteem me, love me
less, for such a sacrifice. I shall never of
fer myself again to you. Cynthia started.
Slight and rapid as her movement was, he
saw it, and repeated, “ I shall never offer
myself again to you; and I leave this place
to-morrow, never to return to it, till I have
subdued this love for you. To-night I
shall be at the wedding. I am grooms
man to Seth Taggart, and shall stand up
with you. lam going home to consider
fully what has passed, to convinoe myself
(if I can) oalmly, whether my love for you
has been an error in my life, for which my
judgment is responsible, or only its mis
fortune ; whether the Cynthia 1 have loved
is really capable, as I have dreamed, of
scattering the clouds that dim her beauty,
and shining forth in her sweet queenliness
upon the lonely darkness of the man who
can teach her what it is to love. Ido not
know what I shall think. To-day has
shaken my confidence in you. As I said
before, I shall make you no further offer ;
but, if I make up my mind to renew the
one I have just made you, I shall say Snip!
during the evening ; and, if you answer
Snap ! I shall understand it is favorably
received by you. Mind,” he added, “ I
think it doubtful whether, notwithstanding
my love for you, I shall ihink it right to
»ay it. lam going into the fields to ‘med
itate till eventide’ upon my course, and I
may bring back the oonviction that for the
present rejection of my suit I ought to be
muoh obliged to you. Nor shall I say
Snip! more than once. In this uncertain
ty I leave the matter to your considera
tion.”
“ What impertinence !” thought Cyn
thia. “ I never heard of such a thing !”
And she began to cry, standing alone upon
highway, holding her hop-wreath in
her hand.
“ I don’t know what I had better do. I
wish he had taken some other way of speak
ing to me. Oh! why should he be so
very unkind 1 I don’t care. It is his loss
a great deal more than mine, if he is really
in love with me.”
The evil spirit was coming back, and it
whispered, “ He will certainly say Snip !
but you had better not say Snap! too read
ily.” V
She walked on thinking, imagining a tri
umph, when suddenly the thought came to
her, that she was confessing to herself she
wanted to say Snap ! —and why! It was
not possible that t.he tables of her pride
were turned upon her; that she was in
Frank Handy’s power, to refuse or to take ;
that she loved him! “I don’t care for
him at all,” was the suggestion of the bad
angel. “ I only want to teaoh him for the
future to behave. He is a presuming, ex
acting, self-oonoeited fellow.”
“ Have you over, in the oourse of your
experience,” said the good angel, “ seen
any other man like Frank! Has not the
conversation of this very day raised him to
high in your esteem .... whioh is ... .
whioh must be ... . That is, he stands
before you in a light in which no other man
has ever stood before ! ”
“ I don’t believe he loves me,” said her
perverse heart, “or else he would have
taken a great deal more pains to win me.”
“ Ah! ” said the good angel, “ what
better love can a man give, than that whioh
sees your faults and strengthens you
against them! True, he has set his ideal
of womanhood so high, that you do not
oome up to it; but he sees in you capabil
ities for good, beyond those of other women,
though to the height of your capabilities
you have never attained.”
“ Oh ! I shall be a worse woman, and an
unhappy woman, if I do not love Frank
Handy, and if Frank Handy does not love
me,” said her heart, now turning to its
better instincts, as she threw herself upon
her little, white, dimity-covered bed in her
own chamber, and, shutting out the light
from her eyes, thought what life would be
if Frank never said Snip!—Frank, who
was even then walking in the fields, trying
to think all the harm he could of her.
Here she day, and cried, and disquieted
he.rself in vain. And she thought over all
the good Bhe had ever heard of Frank
Handy, and—strange ! —that though it
seemed to her he had the good word and
good opinion of every man who knew him,
no one had ever quite seemed to appreciate
him to his full value. Perhaps ho had
never shown his inmost heart to other peo
ple as he had to her. Her wounded feeling
seized upon the balm she found in such a
thought. Frank was not a man to put
forth his pretensions. She had wronged
him very much in calling him conceited
and presuming. He had spoken only what
he had a right to think about his own sin
cerity ; and oh ! how she wished he could
think a great deal better of her.
During the burst of tears that followed
this reflection, the great farm tea-bell rang.
Cynthia sprang from her bed and wiped
her eyes. If she looked as if she had been
orying, might not some one say she was
fretted to lose Seth Taggart ! Seth Tag
gart, indeed ! She wasn’t going to cry for
losing any man. And the evil spirits re
sumed their sway.
So Cynthia went down stairs towering
in pride and wrath. She had half a mind
not to go the wedding. No, she could not
do that. People would certainly say things
she would not like about her and Seth Tag
gart, if she staid away. It was delicate
ground with her, this matter of Seth Tag
gart’s, because he had never made her any
offer. “I think men treat women shame
fully,” said Cynthia in her thoughts, sum
ming up all her wrongs at once, as she sat
at the tea-table, priming herself with pride
against the weakness before whieh she felt
her courage giving way.
“ Cynthy, I reckon you’d best go and
dress you,” said her mother, as she was
clearing away the table after tea; “ you
leave the things, and I’ll wash up and put
away. It will take you some time to fix
yourself, and you ought to be there early,
if you are going to stand up with Sue.”
“ Who’s the groomsman, Miss Brides
maid 1 ” said her father.
“ Frank Handy, sir,” said Cynthia, with
a toss of her bead.
“ Ha ! Handy 1 ” said her father, “ a
right clever fellow iB Frank. It’ll be a
lucky woman he stands up with to be mar
ried to.”
Cynthia escaped to her own room, and
she began to cry again. There ! her father
spoke well of Frank; but nobody could
know him as well as she knew him. Oh !
if he only would come back. Why hadn’t
she known the state of her own heart that
morning ? But he took her so by surprise,
and all her evil feelings had got uppermost
at the moment. It would be very cruel of
him—very—not to try her again.
Thus she thought, until she was suffi
ciently advanced in her toilet to put her
wreath on. Should she wear it 1 Would
it not be confessing too much, if he were
to see it in her hair! She looked for some
“ribbons in her drawer, but at this moment
her father called her, and said, if she came
quick he would drive her over to Susie’s
before he unharnessed his old, mare. So
she put on the hop-wreath in a hurry, giv
ing it the benefit of her doubt, and its
trembling green bells mixed with the light
curls of her pretty sunny hair.
“ Where did you get that from ? ” said
her father. “ It’s mighty tasty, I declare.
Give me a kiss, Cynthy. I hope your
beaux will think you look half as pretty as
I do. And it’s better, my child, to be ad
mired by your old father, who loves you,
than by a orowd of foolish fellows, half of
whom get round a pretty girl just like my
flock of sheep out yonder, one following
because another is making up to her.”
Foolish fellows! ” they were “ foolish
fellows.” But Frank Handy was not one
of them. Frank had never followed in her
train sufficiently to be accounted one of her
suitors. It was this very 1 foolish ’ flock
whose ranks he scorned to enter. All that
her father said, Beemed to justify her nas
oent feeling, hhe kissed the old man’s
ruddy cheek, and felt as if the callow love,
that fluttered at her heart, had almost
been made welcome by his approbation.
“ What time shall I come for you, -Cyn
thia? ” said he, as she alighted at Susie’s
door.
“ Oh! not till late, father,” she said,
hurriedly. “Stay—not at all. Some of the
young men will walk with me ; or, if they
don’t, I’ll come with Tommy Chase. He’s
only eleven, but he’s tall of his age.”
Aqfi now Cynthia found herself in the
bride’s ehamber. The pretty little rose
bud, blushing in her wedding muslin, and
going to be very happy, because .... well,
it takes a good deal more sense than Susie
had to be unhappy in life when one is
blessed with a sweet temper and a good
digestion. A super-added power of suffer
ing is a proof of an advance in organiza
tion, and we submit the argument to the
skeptic : whether this truth does not imply
the necessity of some power or influence
which shall counterbalance and adjust this
sensitiveness to suffering in the highest
natures 1
Cynthia was waited for to put the finish
ing toflohes to the bridal toilet, for Cyn
thia had taste, and Cynthia among her
‘ girls ’ had a reputation for good nature.
Her fingers failed her as she pinned the
wedding wreath, and she trembled more
than the bride did when the buggy that
had been sent for the minister stopped at
the end of the briok path which led up to
the homestead. She saw Frank Handy in
his bridal suit going down to receive the
minister.
“ Cynthia, you go and tell the gentle
men they may oome in.”
Cynthia shrank baok. But as the brides
maid it was her offioe, and the others
pushed her to the door.
“ She didn’t want to see Seth Taggart,
I reokon,” said one of the girls in a half
whisper. Don’t you see how pale she has
grown.”
Cynthia falsified this speech by looking
scarlet before "the girl addressed could
turn her head; and she opened the door
of the room, where the bridegroom and his
men were oagod, with an air in which as
sumed indifferenoe was strongly marked,
and said, “ Gentlemen, we aro ready,”
with a toss that sent the hop-bells dancing
in her head.
Seth, long and lean, and shiny, in his
wedding suit, as a snake in a new skin,
took little Sosie on his awkward arm:
Frank Handy, quite collected, and self
possessed, offered his to the bridesmaid,
and they followed the bride and bride
groom into the best parlor. Cynthia and
Frank were parted, when they took their
places for the ceremony. It was only a
moment that she leaned upon his arm, but
that moment gave her a new sensation. It
was a pride, such as no woman need be
ashamed of,in resting upon manly strength.
His arm did not tremble, though all her
nerves seemed twittering like wires stretoh
ed, and suddenly let loose. He seemed so
strong, so calm, so self-collected, and, so
dignified, that she began to feel her own
unworthiness, and to mistrust her power.
She cast her eyes down during the ser
vice, tried to bring her rebel nerves under
control—she heard nothing, and saw no
one. The minister had blessed them both,
and kissed the bride. Everybody came
round the pair with salutations. The kiss
ing was rather indiscriminate. Seth claim
ed the privilege of kissing all the girls,
and, of course, he kissed the bridesmaid.
His former sensation of “ all over—ever
so ” transferred itself to her in a different
way. She would as soon have kissed a
clam.
“ Cynthy, you and Frank bring in the
cake. You seem to forget all you have
got to do,” said one of the young girls of
the party.
“Frank! Hero! Your
waiting, and I declare, I don’t believe you
have taken the privilege of the kiss you
are entitled to.”
Frank was called away from the side of
a lady in blue, a stranger from the city,
who had been brought by some of the
guests. She had no other acquaintances,
and Frank seemed to be attentive to her.
“ I beg your pardon, Miss Cynthia,”
said he, turning from the lady, and taking
no notice of the latter part of the speech
that was addressed to him, “let us do all
that is expected of us.”
They went together into the pantry, and
were there alone. Cynthia thought, “if
he intends to say Snip! now is the moment.”
But Frank was intent on arranging the cake
on plates, and disposing them on a large
waiter. Cynthia felt ready to cry. She
took refuge in silenoe, and the cake. It
may have been the sweet, unwholesome
smell of wedding cake which made her
head ache violently.
“Itis a foolish custom,” said Frank,
as they arranged the cake. “Foolish,
that persons, because they are happy,
should want to make other folks sick.—
But there is a great deal of selfishness in
the display of newly married happiness, as
that essay by Elia tells us.”
Frank sighed, and that sigh revived the
courage of Cynthia. "Now she thought he
will say “ Snip !” Can I say “ Snap !”
Oh! no.
She put on a little coquetry. “You
will not have any oake at your wedding,
Mr. Frank,” she said. “ Everything about
that will be the perfection of good sense
and reason.”
She had not intended to
but as the speech fell from her lips, it
sounded so. It .was trifling—unworthy.
She wished she had not said it. Its tone
was out of harmony with what she felt.
“ Come,” said Frank, “ let us feed
them.” He took one of the handles of
the tray, and the bridesmaid took the other.
The room was very merry. The cake was
served with plenty of noise, and the wine
after it. Frank seemed to be quite self
possessed, and attentive to everybody.,—
Cynthia’s beaux could make nothing of
her. She answered their questions wrong.
A rumor ran that she was wearing the
willow for Seth Taggart. She declined to
dance, on the plea that she must keep her
self disengaged for her duties as a brides
maid, and, indeed, her head ached so she
feared the motion. Agonized by her self
consciousness, and with too little spirit left
to make head against the reports that were
going about, she could not but perceive
that Frank seemed not to remember her.
“ Who is that lady in blue, Mr. Handy
is so taken up with ?’ she said to one of
the party. Cynthia had always called him
“Frank ” before, but consciousness made
her now rejeot the old familiarity.
“ Oh ! that is somebody very wonderful.
Everybody else is afraid to speak to her.
She has written a book. Frank seems to
be right down flirting with her—doesn’t
he ? I declare, now, he always wanted
somebody out of the way. Nobody here
was good enough for Frank. Have you
heard he has been offered a professorship,
and is going away 1 He is going to live
in the same place she does. I shouldn’t
wonder at his courting her—should you ?”
“ I don’t care,” said Cynthia in her
heart, “ I don’t care. Oh ! yes I do. I
oare that he should have weighed me in the
balances so calmly this afternoon, and
found me so unworthy, that he takes back
the love he has offered me. Has he judged
me very cruelly 1 Or am 1 quite unworthy
of his attachment ? Oh! think that this
morning I had it in my power to be happy
all my life, when I refused him ! Oh 1 how
can any one compare any other man with
him ! And he loved me only to-day—and
now, to-night, his reason says I am not good
enough to be his wife ; and he is afraid of
being unhappy with me. Indeed, lam not
good enough—but I would try to be.” "
“ . . . .If you would snip it.”
It was Frank Handy’s voice. She caught
the word, and looked up eagerly. Frank
saw her,, and stopped embarrassed. He
was holding up a torn fold in the dress of
his partner in blue.
“ If I knew where to find a needle and
thread,” said the authoress, with a half
look at the bridesmaid.
“ I know. Let me sew it up for you,”
said Cynthia.
Her pride had left her. Sho felt hum
bled to the dust. It would be a relief to
do something for this woman—better than
herself—whom Frank preferred to her.
< Lot me do it,’ she said earnestly.
‘ Mr. Handy, I shall depend upon your
esoort.’ "
Frank Handy bowed, and the girls went
together into a bed-room.
Escort I—was it his esoort to the oity 1
He had told her he should go there.—
Cynthia sewed up the hole in the blue
dress, very sadly and quietly.
The animation faded from the young
authoress’ face, as she looked down on
Cynthia’s quivering lip, and saw a big tear
fall upon her sewing. She had heard some
one say, she had been the viotim of false
hopes raised by Seth Taggart; and had in
her heart despised her for it; but now she
felt as if the Bad, heart-broken love be
stowed on him, endorsed him as far better
than he looked. It was a woe, however,
to whioh she oould not openly allude. —
Bat, as Cynthia set the last stitoh in her
dress, she stooped down and kissed her.—
‘ Every sorrow has its lesson,’ she said,
1 as every weed has a drop of honey in its
cup. Blessed are they who sunk that drop,
and store it for good uses.’
She had gone, and Cynthia was left alone.
Yes, she had much to learn. This night’s
experience had taught her that her reign
was over, and her oareer of bellehood run.
She, who was not good enough to keep a
good man’s heart when she had won it,
would set herself to her new task of self
improvement. She would have her dear
old father’s love, and live at home, and lit
tle children, too, should learn to love her.
And then, perhaps, some day, when they
both grew old, Frank Handy might, per
haps, see that he had judged her hastily 1
and not be glad, as he was now, that she
had rejected him. At least, every im
provement in her would be due to his in
fluence, though unseen; and so, even in
her lonely life, he would not be altogether
dissociated from her. She sat in the dark,
with her hands clasped tightly over her
burning forehead.
She heard voioes in the passages. The
party was breaking up. People were be
ginning to go. Oh ! why had she staid
alone so long ! Perhaps during that hour
Frank might have changed his mind. She
had deprived herself of the opportunity.
She started up and hurried out amongst
the company. They were all getting their
cloaks and shawls on. Frank, in his great
coat, was standing impatiently at the house
door.
‘ Please to tell her that my buggy has
come up first,’ he said to some one, as
Cynthia presented herself in the passage.
‘ I am ready,’ said the lady in blue, pre
senting herself.
Frank raised his hat to the oompany ;
and took her on his arm.
‘ Shut up that door,’ said somebody;
‘ and don’t let tho night air into the house.’
So the door closed with a jar that went
to Cynthia’s very heart. She turned aside
and tried to help some of the girls to find
their shawls and hoods. ‘ Every lassie
had her laddie,’ Cynthia only had no one
to take her home. She asked Tommy
Chase to walk home with her, and he said
he would as soon as he had had some more
cake and some more supper.
Cynthia went back into the empty
parlor, and sat down by an open window
looking on the yard. She hid her face in
her hands. All sorts of thoughts went
singing through her brain; but the one
that presented itself oftenest, was an hum
ble resolution that she would try to be
such a woman as Frank Handy wisely
might have loved.
There was a stir among the vines that
draped the window frame. She did not
look up. It was the wind. She heard it
sigh. -> She felt its warm breath near her
cheek—warmer, surely, than the night
wind. She lifted her Lead quickly.
‘ Snip !’ said Frank’s voice at her side.
It trembled; and he trembled as he stood
with a great hope and a great fear con
tending in his breast. His self-possession
was all gone. The struggle had unnerved
him.
‘Oh 1 Snap!’ cried Cynthia suddenly.
And then, drooping her bead, crowned
with the hop bells, lower and lower—more
and more humbly, till it rested on the win
dow sill, —she said in a broken voioe : ‘ I
know I am not worthy, Frank; but you
must teach me.’
CARDS.*
DR. JOHN M'CALLA, DENTIST.—OffIo.
No. 4 feast Kiug street, Lancaster, l*a. aprlB tf 13
pEMOVAL.-WILLIAM S. AMWEG,
lv Attorney at Liw, has reinuvud bis office from hia
loi tner place into South Duke afreet, nearly opposite the
Trinity Lutheran Church. apr 8 tf 12
CAMUEL H. REYNOLDS, Attorney at
O fea w . Office, No. 14 North Duke street, opposite the
Court House. may 6 tf 16
Dr. s. welchens, surgeon den
tist.—Office, Knttiiph'u Buildings,second floor,North
Kaat corner of North Queen and Orange streets, Lancas
ter, I’a. jan 20 tf 1
WT. ItlcPH AIL,
. ATTORNEY AT LAW,
mar 31 1 y 11 • Strasborq, Lancaster Co., Pa.
Newton lightner, attorney
AT LAW, has removed his Oliice to North Duke street,
to the room recently occupied by lion. I. E. Iliestor.
Lancaster, apr 1 tf 11
ALDUS «X. NEFF, Attorney at Law.--
Office with B. A. Shaffer, Esq., south-west corner of
Centre Square, l-ancaster. may 15, '65 ly 17
REMOVAL.- WILLIAM B. FORDfiEY,
11 Attorney at Law, has removed hia office from North
Queen street to tlie building in the south east corner of
Centre Square, formerly known os ilubley’s Llotol.
Lancaster, april 10
WILLIAM WHITESIDE, SURGEON
DENTIST.—Office in North Qneen street, 3d door
from Orange, and directly over Spronger & Weßthoefier’f
Book Store.
Lancaster, may 27, 185fi,
JESSE LANDIS) Attorney at Law.—Of
flee one door oast of Lucbler'a Hotel, East King street,
Lancaster, Pa.
Ail kinds of Scrivening—such as writing Wills,
Deeds, Mortgages, Accounts, <tc., will be attended to with
correctness and despatch. may 16, '66 tf-17
DR. J. T. BAKER, Homceopathle Phy
sician, huccnKai<r to Dr. McAllister.
Office l‘J E. Orange st., nearly opposite the First Qer<
man Reformed Church,
Lancaster, April 17
JAMES BLACK, Attorney at Law.--Of
fice in East King afreet, two doors east OfLechler’s
Hotel, Lnucaster, Pa.
■B5“ All business connected with his profession, and
all Rinds of writing, such as preparing Deeds, Mortgages,
Wills. Stating Accounts, Ac., promptly attended to.
jb tf-17
Alexander Harris, / Attorney at
LAW. Office South Queen at., West side, near Vine
3t. References :
Governor James Pollock, Harrisburg.
Hon. Andrew G. Curtin, do.
lion Joseph Casey, do.
non. Andrew Parker, Mlfflintown.
Hon. James M. Sellers, do.
A. K. McClure, Esq., Chambersburg. apr7lyl2
T)ETER D. MYERS,
j_ REAL ESTATE AGENT,
PHILADELPHIA,
will attend to the Renting of Houses, Collecting House
and Ground Kents, Ac. Agencies entrusted to nls c&rr
will bo thankfully received, and carofnllv attended to.-*
Satisfactory reference given. Office N. E. corner of
SEVENTH and SANSOM streets, Socond Floor, No. 10.
fob 17 ly 6
CIOACH MAKING.—The aabgorlber re
j sport fully informs his friends and the publio generally,
that ho still carries on the ftESJEs
COACH MAKINO,
in all Its various branches, at bis shop, In tho alley run*
nlng oast from tbo Court House, roar of Sprecber’s and
Koehler's Hotels,Lancaster, whore ho continues to make to
order, and at tho lowost possiblo prices, CARRIAGES of
every description, of tho host materials and In the most
substantial manner.
All now work warranted.
Repairing also attended to with dispatch. He respect*
fully solicits a share of publio patronage.
my 6 iy 10 WILLIAM COX.
STATES’ UNION HOTEL.—NO* 900
Market street, above 6th street, Philadelphia, Pa.—
The undersigned, late of the American House,
Columbia, Penn*., takes pleasure In informing his
friends, and the public generally, that he has taken the
above woll-known and popular HOUSE, (long known
as the Red Lion Hotel,) which he has filled up with
entirely New Furniture and Bedding of a superior
quality. The house has also been renovated and lmpro
ved in a manner which will compare favorably with any
of the Hotels In the City, and cannot foil to give satisfhe*
tlon to those who may patronize this establishment.
The TABLE will always be supplied with the cboioest
Provisions the market affords; and the Bar with the PU
REST AND BEST LIQUORS. Nothing shall be left undOM
to make his Guests comfortable, and be flatters hlmselX
that by strict attention to business, he will merit and re
ceive a liberal share of public mNKT lg
Proprietor.
may 22 tf-18
Stereoscope si-«theie wonderful
and universally admired pictures, which appear ae
onnd and solid as sculptnred marble, are taken dally at
JUHKSTON’B SKY-LIGHT GALLKKY,
corner of North Queen and Orange sta.
Daguerreotypes of every Hm and style, taken »
the lowest prices. ■
L&nscater, June 19
NO 50.