.ttt/ctliii./citee
VOL. LIX
THE LANCASTER INTELLIGENCER
PUBLINRED Y.VEIIY TUESDAY, AT NO. 8 NORTII MIKE EITIOIET,
BY OEO. SANDERSON
IMI
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For tho Intelligencer.
A WATCH BY THE DYING.
CHARLES s'. EVANS.
Let joy, let gladness fill our hearts,
This festival of hope to spend ;
Lot fond congratulation soothe
The pangs of our departing friend
What has he lost The giddy throng
Of worldling,s seek his couch no more;
The weak, low plaint, the anghish'd groan,
Repel the gay from misery's door.
What has he lost? An airy cup
Of unsubstantial fleeting bliss :
Still, still in vain--that outstretched hand,
The joy is ever doom'd to miss.
In dreams beneath the moonlight pale,
In dreams beneath the noontide ray,
That vision cup has oft been his,
Yet still relentless dashed away.
Yet he has plied its painted brim,
Nor deemed his rainbow-tinted cloud
Would vanish with his fading dream,
And leave him crushed and spirit-bow'd
'Twos ever thus the witching spell,
Had power to cheat and charm again—
'Twas Fancy, Genius, Honor, Fame,
In one bright hour—but all were vain.
What has he gained ? Immortal joy !
Jamie has promised—who would faint?
And we this night rejoice to share,
The joy of his departing saint.
MORGANTOWN, May, '5B
the Perils of the Border.
While reading recently an account of
the frightful massacre of several white
families by the Black-foot Indians we were
reminded of a thrilling event which oc
curred in the " \Vild West," a short time
subsequent to the Revolution, in which a
highly accomplished young lady, the daugh
ter of a distinguished officer of the Any,r
lean Army, played an important part.—
The story being of a most thrilling nature,
and exhibiting in a striking manner the
'' Perils of the 13ord: r," we have con-
eluded to give an extract froni it, as orig
inally published, as follows :
The angle on the right bank of the Great
Kanawha, formed by its junction with the
Ohio, is called Point Pleasant, and is a
place of historical note. Here, on'the 10th
of October, 1774, during what is known as
Lord Dunmore's War, was fought ono of
fiercest and most desperate battles that
over took place between the Virginians
and their forest foes.
After the battle in question, in which
the Indians were defeated with great loss,
a fort was hero erected by the victors,
which became a post of great importance
throughout the sanguinary scenes of strife
which almost immediately followed, and
which in this section of country \were con
tinued for many years after that establish
ment of peace which acknowledged the
United Colonies of America a free and
independent nation.
At the landing of the fort, on the day
our story opens, was fastened a flat, boat
of the kind used by the early navigators
of the Western rivers.
Upon the deck of this boat, at the mo
ment we present, the scene to the reader,
stood five individuals, alike engaged in
watching a group of persons, mostly fe
males, who were slowly approaching the
landing. Of these five, one was a stout,
sleek negro, in partial livery, and evidently
a house or body servant; three were boat
men and borderers, as indicated by their
rough, bronzed visage and coarse attire ;
but the fifth was a young man, some two
and-twenty years of age, of a fine command
ing person, and a clear, open, intelligent
countenance ; and in the lofty carriage of
his head--in the gleam of his large, bright,
hazel eye—there was something which de
noted one of superior mind ; but as we
shall have occasion in the course of our
narrative to fully set forth who and what
Eugene Fairfax was, we will leave him for
the present, and turn to the approaching
group, whom he seemed to be regarding
with livelyinterest.
Of this group, composed of a middle
aged man and four females, with a black
female servant following some five or six
paces in the rear, there was one whom the
most casual eye would have singled out
and rested upon with pleasure. The lady in
question,was apparently about twenty years
of age, of a slender and graceful figure,
and of that peculiar cast of feature, which,
besides being beautiful in every lineament,
rarely fails to affect the beholder with some
thing like,a charm.
Her traveling costume—a fine brown
habit, high in the neck, buttoned closely
over the bosom and coming down to her
small pretty feet, without trailing on the
ground—was both neat and becoming; and
with her riding-cap and its waving ostrich
plume, set gaily above her flowing curls,
her appearance contrasted forcibly with
the rough, unpolished looks of those of her
sex beside her, with their linsey bed
gowns, scarlet flannel petticoats, and
bleached linen caps.
" Oh, Blanche,'' said one of the wore
venerable of her female companions, pur
suing a conversation which had been main
tained since quitting the npeu fort behind
them, " I cannot bear to let you go ; for
it just seems to me as if something were
going to happen to you, and when I feel
that way, something generally doe s hap
pen."
" Well, aunt," returned Blanche, with a
light laugh, 44 I do not doubt in the least
that something will happen—for I expect
one of these days to reach toy dear father
and my blessed mother, and give them
such an embrace as is due from a dutiful
daughter to her parents—•and that will be
something that has not happened for two
long years at least."
But I don't mean that, Blanche," re
turned the other, somewhat petulantly
and you just laugh like a gay and thought
less girl, when you ought to be serious.—
Because you have come safe thus far,
through a partially settled country, you
think, perhaps, your own pretty face will
ward off danger in the more perilous wil
derness—but 1 warn you that a fearful
journey is before you! scarcely a boat de
scends the'Ohio, that does not encounter
more or less peril from the savages that
prowl along either shore ; and some of
them that go down freighted with human
life, are heard of no more, and none ever
return to tell the tale."
" But why repeat this to me, dear aunt,"
returned Blanehe, with a more serious air,
" when you know it is my destiny, either
good or bad, to attempt the voyage ? My
parents have sent for we to join them in
their new home, and is my duty to go to
them, be the peril what it may."
4 4 You never did know what it was to
fear!" pursued the good woman, rather
proudly. 44 No," she repeated, turning to
the others, 44 Blanche Bertrand never did
know what it was to fear, I believe!"
4 ' Just like her father !" joined in the
husband of the matron, the brother of
Blanche's mother, the commander of the
station, and the middle-aged gentleman
mentioned as one of the party ; "a true
oaughter of a true soldier. Her father,
Colonel Philip Betrand, God bless him for
a true heart ! never did seem to know what
it was to fear---aud Blanche is just like
him."
By this time the parties had reached the
boat; and the young man already describ
ed—Eugene Fairfax, the secretary of
Blanche's father—at once stepped forward,
and, in a polite and deferential manner,
offered his hand to the different females, to
assist them on board. The hand of Blanch
was the last to touch his—and then but
slightly, as she sprung quickly and lightly
to the deck—but a close observer might
have detected the slight flush which
mantled his noble, expressive fea
tures, as his eye for a single instant
met hers. She might have seen it herself
—perhaps she did—but there was no cor
responding glow ou his own bright, pretty
face, as she inquired, in the calm, dignified
tone of one having' the right to put the
question, and who might also have been
aware of the inequality of position between
herself and him she addressed:
"Eugene, is everything prepared for
our departure ! It will not do for our boat
to spring a leak again, as it did coming
down the Kanawha—for it will not be safe
for us, I am told„ to touch either shore
between the different forts and trading
pouts on our route, this side of our de,,,ti
nation,—the falls of Ohio."
"No, indeed !" rejoined her aunt, quick
ly 44 it will be as much as your lives arc
worth to venture a foot from the main cur
rent of the Ohio—for news reached us only
the other day, that many boats had been
attacked this spring, and several lost, with
all on board."
44 No one feels inure concerned about the
safe passsage of Miss Bertrand than myself,'
replied Eugene, in a deferential tone ;
" and since our arrival here, 1 have left
nothing undone that I thought might pos
sibly add to her security and comfort."
"That is true to my pesoual knowledge,"
joined iu the uncle of Blanche ; " and I
thank you, Mr. Fairfax, in behalf of my
fair kinswoman. There will, perhaps," he
pursued, 44 be no great danger, so long as
you keep in the current ; but your watch
must not be neglected for a single moment,
either night or day and do not, I most
solemnly charge and warn you, under any
circumstances, or any pretence whatsoever,
suffer yourselves to be decoyed to either
shore !"
" I hope we understand our duty better,
Colonel," said ono of the men respectfully.
" I doubt it not," replied the command
er of the Point; "I believe you are all
faithful and true men, or you would not
have been selected by the agent of Colonel
Bertrand for taking down more precious
freight than you ever carried before ; but
still the wisest and best of men have lost
their lives by giving ear to the most earnest
appeals of humanity. You under.-tand
what I mean White men, apparently in
the greatest distress, will hail your boat,
represent themselves as having just escap
ed from the Indians, and beg of you, for
the love of God, in the most piteous tones,
to come to their relief ; but turn a deaf ear
to them—to each and all of them--even
should you know the pleaders to be of your
own kin ; for in such a case your own
brother might deceive you—not wilfully
or voluntarily, perhaps—but because of
being goaded on by the savages, them
selves concealed. Yes, such things have
been known as one friend being thus used
to lure another to his destruction ; and so
be cautious, vigilant, brave and true, and
may the good God keep you all from
harm !"
As he finished speaking, Blanche pro
ceeded to take an affectionate leave of all,
receiving many a tender message fur her
parents from those who held them in love
and veneration ; and the boat swung out,
and began to float down with the current,
now fairly entered upon.the most danger
ous portion of a long and perilous journey.
The father of Blanche, Colonel Philip
Bertrand, was a native of Virginia, and a
descendant of one of the Huguenot refu
gees, who fled from their native land after
the revocation of die edict of Nantz in
1665. He had been an officer of sonic
note during the Revolution—a warm po
litical and personal friend of the author of
the Declaration of Independence—and a
gentleman who had always stood high in
the esteem of his associates and con, empo
raries.
Though at one time a man of wealth,
Colonel Bertrand had lost much, and suf
fered much throughßritish invasion ; and
when, shortly after. the close of the war,
he had met with a few more serious reverses,
he had been fain to accept a grant of land,
near the Falls of the Ohio, now Louisville,
tendered to him by Virginia, which then
held jurisdiction over the entire territory
now constituting the State of Kentucky.
The grant had decided the Colonel upon
seeking his new possessions and building
up a new home in the then Far West, and
as his wife had insisted upon accompanying
him on his first tour, he had asseu cd to
her desire on condition that Blanche should
be left among her friends, till such time
as a place could be prepared which might
in some degree be considered a tit abode
for one so ear fully and tenderly reared.
Blanche would gladly have gone with
her parents ; but on this point her father
had been inexorable—declaring that she
would have to remain at the East till he
should see proper to send for her ; and as
he was a man of positive character, and a
rigid disciplinarian, the mat ter was settled
without argument.
When Colonel Bertrand removed to the
West, Eugene Fairfax, as we have seen,
accompanied him ; and coming of age short
ly after, he had accepted-.the liberal offer
of his noble benefactor, to remain with him
in the capacity of private secretary and
"THAT COUNTRY IS THE MOST PROSPEROUS WHERE LABOR COMMANDS THE GREATEST REWARD."
LANCASTER CITY, PA., TUESDAY MORNING, MAY 18, 1858.
confidential agent. On taking possession
of his grant, the Colonel had almost imme
diately erected a fort, and offered such in
ducements to settlers as to speedily collect
around him quite a little community—of
which, as a matter of course, he became the
head and chief ; and to supply the wants
of his own family and others, and increase
his gains in a legitimate way, he had opened
a store, and filled it with goods from the
Eastern marts, which goods were transport
ed by land over the mountains to the Ka
nawha, and thence to water by the Falls
of the Ohio, whence their removal to Fort
Bertrand became an easy matter. To pur
chase and ship these goods, and deliver a
package of letters to friends in the East,
Eugene had been thrice dispatched—his
third commission also extending to the es
corting of the beautiful heiress, with her
servants, to her new home. This last com
mission had been so far executed at the
time chosen for the opening of our story,
as to bring the different Tiarties to the
mouth of the great Kanawha, whence the
reader has seen them slowly floating oil
upon the still, glassy bosom of "the belle
of rivers."
The day, which was an auspicious one,
passed without anything occurring worthy
of note, until near four o'clock, when as
Blanche was standing on the fore part of
the deck gazing at the lovely scene which
surrounded her, shy saw a seemingly flying
body suddenly leave a limb of a gigantic
tree, (whose mighty branches extended far
over the river, and near which the boat was
then swayed by the action of the 'current,)
and alight with a crash upon the deck o
the boat, not more than eight feet from her.
One glance sufficed to show her what the
object was, and to freeze the blood in her
veins. The glowing eyes of a huge pan
ther met her gaze. The suddennes. , of the
shock which this discovery gave lice was
overpowering. With a deafening shriek
she fell upon her knees and clasped her
bands before her breast. The panther
crouched for his - deadly leap, but ere he
sprang, the hunting knife of Eugene Fair
fax (who, with the steersman, was the only
person on dtntk besides Blanche,' was buri
ed to the hilt in his aide, inflicting a severe
but not fatal wound. The infuriated beast
at once turned upon Eugene, and a deadly
struggle ensued. But it was a short one.
The polished blade of the knife played back
and forth like lightning flashes, and at eve-
ry plunge it tea.; buried to the hilt in the
panther's body, who soon fell to the deck,
dragging the dauntless Eugene with him.
On seeing her protector fall, Blanche ut
tered another shriek and rushed to his aid
Lot asii-itanee from stouter Was at
hand. 'I he boatmen gathered round, and
the savage monster was literally hacked in
pieces with their knives and hatchets, and
Eugene, covered with blood, wa - dragged
from under his carcass. Supposing, him to
be dead or mortally wounded, Blanche
threw her arms around his neck and gave
way to a passionate burst of grief. But he
was not dead—he was not even hurt, with
the exception of a few slight scratches.—
The blood with which he was covered was
the panther's, not his own. But Blanche's
embrace was his—a priceless treasure—an
index of her heart's emotions and affections.
It was to color his whole future life, as will
be seen iu the progress of our story.
Slowly and silently, save the occasional
creak, dip, and plash, of the steersmen's
oar, the boat of our voyagers was borne
along upon the bosom of the current, on the
third night of the voyage. The hour was
waxing late, and Eugene, the only one astir
except the \rivet), was suddenly startled,
by a rough hand beinff placed upon his
shoulder, accompanied by the words, in the
gruff voice of the boatman :
"I say, Cap'n, here's trouble !"
“11 - hat is it, Dick'?" inquired Eugene,
starting to his feet.
'Won't you see thar's a heavN i fog
that'll soon kiver us up so thick that we
won't b 2 able to tell a white man from a
nigger ?" replied the boatman—Dick Win
ter by name—a tall, bony, muscular, ath
letic specimen of his class.
"Good heaven ! so there is !" exclaimed
Eugene, looking off upon the already misty
waters. "It must have gathered very sud
denly, for all was clear a minute ago. What
is to be done now This is something I
was not prepared for, on such a night as
this."
"It looks troublous, Uap'n, I'll allow,"
returned Dick ;" but we're in for't, that's
sartin, and I s'posc we'll Lave to make the
best on't."
"But what is to be done ?—what do you
advise !" asked Eugene, in a quick, exci
ted tone, that indicated - some degree of
"Why, of you war'nt so skeered about
the young lady, and it wasn't so dead agin
the orders from head-quarters, my plan
would be a cl'ar and easy one—l'd just run
over to the Kaintuck shore, and tie up."
"No, no," said Eugene, positively
"that will never do, Dick—that will never
1 would not think of such a thing for
a moment ! We must keep in the current
by all means !"
"Ef you can," rejoined the boatman ;
"but when it gits so-dark as we can't tell
one thing from t'other, it'll be power
ful hard to do and of we don't run agin
a bar or bank afore morning, in spite of the
best o' us, it'll be the luckiest go that ever
I had a hand in. See, Cap'n—it's thicken
ing up fast ; we can't see eyther bank at
all, nor the water Luther ; the stars is get
in' dim, and it looks as if thar war a cloud
all round us."
"I see! I see!" returned Eugene, ex
citedly. "INlerciful Heaven ! I hope no
ac
cident will befall us here—and yet icy
heart almost rnisgives me !—for this, I be
: lieve, is the most dangerous part of our
journey—the vicinity , where most of our
boats have been captured by the savages.''
Saying this, Eugene hastened below,
where he found the other boatmen sleeping
so soundly as to require considerable effbrt
on his part, to wake them. At last, get
ting them fairly roused, he informed them,
almost in a whisper, for he did not care to
disturb the others, that - a heavy fog had
suddenly arisen, and he wished their pre
sence on deck, immediately.
"A fog, Cap'n ?" exclaimed one, in a
lone which indicated that he comprehended
the peril with the word.
"Hush !" returned Eugene ; "there is
no necessity for waking the others, and
having a scene. Up ! and follow me, with
out a word !"
He glided back to the deck, and was al
most immediately joined by the boatmen,
to whom he briefly made known his hopes
and fears.
They thought, like their companion, that
the boat would be safest if made fast to an
overhanging limb of the Kentucky shore ;
but frankly admitted that this could not
now be done without difficulty and danger,
and that there was a possibility of keeping
the current.
"Then make that possibility a certainty,
and it shall be the best night's work you
over performed!" rejoined Eugene, in a
quick, excited tone.
"We'll do the best we can, Cap'n," was
the response ; "but no man can be sartin
of the current of this here crooked stream
in a foggy night."
A long silence followed—the voyagers
slowly drifting down through a misty dark
ness impenetrable to the eye—when, sud
denly, our young commander, who was
standing near the bow, felt the extended
branch of an overhanging limb silently
brush his face. He started, with an excla
mation of alartp, and at the same moment
the boatman on the right called out:
"Quick, here, boys ! we're agin the shore,
as sure as death !' 3 '
Then followed a scene of hurried and
anxious confusion, the voices of the three
boatmen mingling togethpr in loud, quick,
excited tones.
"Push off the bow ?" cried one
"Quick ! altogether, now ! over wit
her !" shouted another.
"The de'il's in it! she's running aground
here on a muddy bottom !" almost yelled a
third.
Meantime the laden boat was brushing
along against projecting bushes and over
reaching and every moment getting
more and more entangled: while the long
poles and sweeps of the boatmen, as they
attempted to push her off, were often
plunged, without touching bottom, into
what appeared to be a soft, clayey mud,
from which they were only extricated by
such an outlay of strength as tended still
more to draw the clumsy craft upon the
batik they wished to avoid. At length,
scarcely more than a minute from the first
alarm, there was a kind of settling together,
as it were, and the boat became fast and
immovable.
The fact was announced by Dick Winter,
in his characteristic manner—who added,
with an oath, that it was just what he ex
pected. For a moment or two a dead si
lence followed, as if each comprehended
that the matter was to be viewed in a very
rious light.
".I'll get over the bow, and try to get
the lay of the land with my feet," said
Tom Harris ; and forthwith he set about
the not very pleasant undertaking.
At this moment Eugene heard his name
pronounced by a voice that seldom failed to
excite ;I peculiar uwoti,,zi in hi, breast, and
now sent a strange thrill through every
nerve : and hastening below. he found
Blanche, fully dressed, with a light in her
hand, standing just outside of her cabin, in
the regular passage which led lengthwise
through the centre of the boat
"1 have heard something, Eugene," she
said "enough to know that we have met
with an accident, but not sufficient to fully
comprehend its nature,"
"Unfortunately, ;thou• two hours ago,"
replied Eugene, "we suddenly became in
volved in a dense log ; and in spite of our
every precaution and care, we have run
aground—it may be against the Ohio shore
it may be against an island—it is so dark
we can't tell. But. he not alarmed, Miss
Blanche," he hurriedly added ; "I trust
we shall soon lie afloat again ; though in
any even', the darkness is sufficient to con
ceal us from the savages, even were they
in the vicinity.''
"I know little of Indians," returned
Blanche ; "but I have always understood
that they are somewhat remarkable for their
acuteness of hearing ; and if such is the
case, there would be no necessity of their
being very near, to be made acquainted
with our locality, judging front the loud
voices I heard a few minutes ago."
"I fear we've been rasher imprudent,"
said Eugene, in a deprecating tone , "but
in the excitement—"
His words were suddenly cut short by
several loud voices of alarm from without,
followed by a quick and heavy trampling
across the deck ; and the next women• Seth
Harper and Dick 11 inter burst into the pas
sage, the former exclaiming :
"We've run plum into a red nigger's
nest, Cap'n, and Tom Harris is already
butchered and scalped !"
And even as he spoke, as if in confirma
tion of his dreadful intelligence, there arose
a series of wild, piercing, demoniacal yells,
followed by a dead and ominous silence.
So far we have followed the lovely he
roine and her friends in this adventure ;
but the foregoing is all that we can publish
in our columns. The balance of the nar
rative can only be found in the New York
Ledger, the great family paper, which can
be obtained at all the periodical stores
where papers are sold. Remember to ask
for the "Ledger," dated May 22nd, and in
it you will get the continuation of the nar
rative from where it leaves off here. If
there are no book-stores or news-offices con
venient to where you reside, the publisher
of the Ledger will send you a copy by mail,
if you will send him five cents in a let•er.
Address Robert Bonner, Ledger Office, 44
' , Ann street, New York. This story is en
titled, "Perils of the Border," and grows
more and Inure interesting as it goes on.
OLD FRIENDS TOGETFIEF
0, time is sweet, when roses meet,
With spring's sweet breath around them
And sweet the cost, when hearts are lost,
If those we love hare found them ;
And sweet the mind that still can find
A star in darkest weather;
But nought can be so sweet to see,
As old friends 'nod together.
Those days of old, when youth was bold,
, And time stole wings to spend it,
And you ne'cr know how fast time flew,
Or, knowing, did not hear it;
Though gray each brow that meets us now—
For ago brings wintry weather—
Yet nought can be so sweet to see
Ae those old friends together.
The few long known, whom years have shown,
With hearts that friendsh p blessoi ;
A hand to cheer, perchance a tear,
To soothe a friends distresses ;
Who helped and tried, still side by side,
A friend to face hard weather ;
0, this may we yet joy to see,
And meet old friends together.
GRA,snoPPER. PLitwe.— A frimrtl Ott
Imva, writr , H that
"'U he g,tashennerr, er locusts. have, again
made their appeal:dire in ear midst in Geom.-
less millions, and already eenamened destroy
ing nor Spring wheat. Fears are entertained
that they will destroy everything in their way
this season."
-BUOILA.NA.N
TEE NEWSPAPER.
The old farm-house wore a quiet, pleas
ant look, as the setting sun gilded its small
window, over which the luxuriant grape
vines were carefully !rained. In the open
door sat the farmer, with a little morocco
covered book in his hand, on which his
attention had been fixed for the last hour.
He was a man of method and order—old
Richard Heath—and aside from his regu
lar account books, which he always kept
with scrupulous care, he always set down
in this little book, in the simplest manner
possible, all his expenses (no very compli
cated account by the way,) and all he had
received during the year, in the metal, as
he said, not by the way of trade.
The last account he had just reckoned
up, and the result was highly satisfactory
if one might judgefrom the pleasant ex
pression of his face as he turned to his wife
and addressed her by her pretty, old-fash
ioned name.
" Millicent," said he, " this has been a
lucky year. How little we thought when we
moved to this place, twenty five years ago,
that we should ever get five hundred a
year out of the rocky, barren farm."
"It does pay for a good deal of hard
work," slid she, " to see how different
things look from what they did then."
"Now I am going to figure up how
much we have spent," said Mr. Heath ;
" don't make a noise with your knitting
needles, 'cause it puts me out."
The wife laid down her knitting in per
fect good humor ; and gazed over the
broad rich fields of waving grain which
grew so tall around ;he laden apple trees,
that they looked like massive piles of foli
age. Hearing her own name kindly spoken
led her own thoughts far back to the past ;
for after the lapse of twenty-five years. the
simple sound of the name she bore in youth
means more to a wife than all the pleasant
epithets of dearest love, and darling, so
lavishly offered in a long past courtship.
Very pleasant was the retrospect to Mil
licent Heath. The picture of the past had
on it some rough places and some hard
trials, but no domestic s rife or discontent
marred its sunny aspect. There were smil
ing faces on it—happy children's faces,
without which no life picture is beautiful.
Soft blue eyes shone with unclouded glad
ness, and wavy hair floated carelessly over
unwritten foreheads. She forgot for a mo
ment. how they were changed, and almost
fancied herself again the young mother,
and tiny hands stole lovingly over her
bosom, and young heads nestled there as
of old.
The illusion vanished quickly ; and she
sighed as she thought of her youngest born
the reckless boy who had left her three
years before for a home on the sea. Once
only had tidings reached her of the wan
derer. The letter spoke of hardships and
home sickness, in that light and careless
way that reached the mother's heart more
surely than repining and complaint. To
know that lie suffered with a strong heart,
with noble and unyielding resolution, gave
her a feeling of pleasure, not umningled
with pride.
1 , Ile will surely come back," murmured
the affectionnte mother to herself; and I
read the paper so carefully every week,
that if it says anything about the ship Al
fred sailed in, I shall be sure to see it."
4 4 Mrs. Heath," said her husband, inter
rupting her meditations somewhat rudely,
" we have spent thirty dollars more than
usual this year ; where can it have have
gone to 1"
" The new harness," suggested Mrs.
Heath, that don't come every year, you
know."
Well, there's twenty dollars accounted
g‘ We had the carriage fixed up when
you bought the harness," continued the
" Well, that was eight dollars, that's
twenty-eight we don't spend every year—
but the other two, where can they have
gone ?"
Glancing his eye over the pages of the
memorandum book, he continued—
" I'll tell you what 'tis, the newspaper
costs just two dollars, and We can do with
it. It isn't anything to eat, drink or wear.
I don't do anything with it, and you only
lay it away up in the chamber. It may as
well be left out as not, and Pll stop my
subscription right away.'
" Oh," said his wife, " you don't know
how much I set, by the newspaper. I al
ways have a sort of glad feeling when I
see you take it out of your hat and lay it
on the kitchen mantlepiece, just as I do
when some of the children come home ; and
when I'm tired I sit down with my knit
ting work and read. I can knit just as
well when I'm reading, and feel so conten
ted. I don't believe Queen Victoria her
self takes more solid comfort than I do
sitting by the east window, on a summer
afternoon, reading my newspaper."
" But are you not just as well off with
out," answered her husband, for want of
anything else to say.
" 1 never neglect anything else for read
ing, do I V' asked Mrs. Heath, mildly.
" No, I don't know as you do," answer
ed her husband ; << hut it seems an extra
like—l shall stop it ;" he added in a tone
that shoNyed plainly enough he wished to
stop the conversation.
4 . I shall take the paper," remarked his
wife, "if I have to go out washing to pay
for it."
This was not spoken angrily, but so
firmly that Mr. heath noticed it, though
by no means remarkable for discernment
in most matters. It sounded so different
from her usual quiet, " as you think best,"
that he actually stopped a moment to con
sider wheal° it was at all likely she would
do as she said.
Mr. Heath was a kind husband, as that
indefinite description is generally under
stood'; that is he did not beat his wire, and
always gave her enough to eat. More ,han
that,he had certain regard for her happiness
which already made him feel half ashamed
of his decison, but like other men who have
more obstinacy than wisdom, he couldn't
bear to retracted anything, and above all to
be convinceu he was wrong by a woman.
However, with a commendable wish to
remove Ihe unhappiness he caused, he sug
gested that as the papers were carefully
saved, and she had found them interesting,
she could read them over again, beginning
at January and taking one a week clear
through the year—they would just come
out even, he concluded, as if it were a sin
gular fact that they should do so.
Notwithstanding this admirableTroposi
tion he still felt some uneasiness. It fol
lowed him as he walked up the pleasant
lane to the pasture, and it made him speak
more sharply than was his wont, if the
cows stopped while he was driving them
home, to crop the grass where it looked
greenest and sweetest on the sunny slope.
It troubled him till lie heard his wife call
ing him to supper in such a cheerful tone,
that heioonoluded she did'nt care much
about the newspaper, after all.
About a week after this, as Mr. Heath
was mowing one morning, ho was surprised
to see his wife coming out, dressed as for
a visit.
" I am going," she said ; " to spend the
day with Mrs. Brown 3 1 leave a plenty for
you to eat," and so saying she walked
rapidly on.
Mr. Heath thought about it just long
enough to say to himself, "she don't go vis
itin' to stay all day once a year hardly, and
it's strange she should go in hay time."
Very long the day seemed to him; to go
in for lucheon, dinner and supper, and have
nobody to speak to; to find every one so
still. The old clock ticked stiller than
usual, he thought ; the brood of pretty
chickens, that were almost always peeping
round the door,had wandered off somewhere,
and left it stiller yet ; he even missed the
busy•click of the knitting needle that was
apt to put him out so, when he was doing
any figuring.
" I am glad," he said to himself, as he
began to look down the road, at sunset,
" that Millicent don't go a visitin' all the
time, as some women do ; there she is just
cowing."
, 4 How tired you look, said he, as she
came up ; "why didu't you speak about it,
and I'd have harne,sed up and come after
you?"
«1 atn not very tired," she answered ;
but her looks belied her ; indeed, her hus
band declared she looked tired like for a
day or two after.
What was his amazement to see her go
away the neat Tuesday in the same man
ner as she before started.
To his great dissatisfaction, everything
seemed that day to partake of his wife's
propensity for going from home. 44 A man
don't want cold feed in hay time," he said,
as he sat down to dinner. In the same
grumbling mood, he recounted the mis
haps of the morning, which seemed to be
much after the manner set forth in certain
legends of olden time ; for he embellished
his recital by allusion to
"The sheep's in the meadow,
The cow's in the corn,"
adding that they wouldn't have been there
if Mrs. Lleath had been at home, because
she'd have seen them beforethey got in, and
hallooed. She would have seen the oxen,
too, before they got across the river. ;slid
saved him tLe trouble of getting them b Lek.
But after tracing all these untoward events
to her absence, he said to hitnself conso
lingly, I guess she won't go any more
she always was a home body.'
Mrs. Heath did go again, though, and
again, and the day she went for the fourth
time, her husband took counsel with him
self as to what, he should do to stop her
gadding.' Seated on the door-step in the
shade of the old trees, he spent an hour or
two in devising ways and measures, talking
aloud all the time, and having the satisfac
tion of bearing nobody dispute him.
It is hard to think of her getting to be
a visitin' woman,' said he ; 6 and it's clew•
it ain't right. Keep her at home, I've read
in the Bible, (old Richard's 13ible knowl
edge was somewhat confused, and his quo
tation varied slighlty from the scriptural
phrase, keepers at home,') but it says too,'
he added, like a true, sincere man, that
husbands must get great store for their
wives and treat them well. I won't scold
_Millicent; I'll harness up and go for her
to-night, and comin' home, talk it all
over with her, and tell her how bad it makes
me feel, and if that won't do, I'll—some
thing else.
In accordance with his praiseworthy res
olution, lie might have been seen, about
sunset, hitching his horse at Mr. Brown's
door; for strangely enough, Mrs. heath's
visits had all been Made at the same pla.co.
Going up to the door, he stopped in amaze
ment at seeing his wife in the kitchen, just
taking off a great woollen wash-apron, and
puttiug down her sleeves, which had been
rolled up for washing. lie listened and
heard her say, as she took some money
from Mrs. Brown,-41t won't be so that I
can do your washing again.'
'lt has been a great favor to have you
do it while I have been poorly,' said Mrs.
Brown, and I am glad to pay you for it.—
This makes four times 3 and here's two dol
lars. 'T:s just as well that you can't come
again, for I think I shall be well enough to
do it myself.'
'Two dollars—just the price of the news
paper,' exclaimed Mr. [loath, as the truth
flashed across his mind. Rather a silent
ride home they had, till at length he
said—
'I never was so ashamed iu my life !'
'Of what !' asked the wife.
'Why, to have you go out washing ;
ain't so poor as that comes to.'
'Well, I don't know,' replied his wife ;
'when a roan is too poor to tak ea newspa
per, his wife ought not to feel above going
out washing.'
Nothing more was said on the subject at
that time, though some ill-feeling lingered
in ,the hearts of each. The making up was
no mawkish scene of kissing, embracing
and crying, such as romantic writers build
their useless fabrics with, but as Mrs.
Heath was finishing her household duties
for the night, she said quietly—
"l don't think I did quite right, Rich
ard."
" I don't think I did either," responded
the husband ; and so the spark was quench- -
ed which might have become a scathing
flame, blighting all the domestic peace
under their humble roof.
"At last the long voyage is almost
ended, and the sailors talk only of home
now." They talk of those they are to
meet, of their wives and children, to whom
their thoughts have so often wandered
during these three years' absence. They 1
wonder if the young sailor, Alfred Heath,'
who lies so sick, will ever see his home
again; and with their i ough tones sub
dued almost to gentleness, they speak of
his anxiety to see his mother.
He is so hopelessly ill that his heart is
now where the worn spirit ever turns in
its hours of bitterest sorrow on its approach
to the unseen land—io God and his mother.
Faintly as his heart beats,it still throbs
with earnest desire for life. Dim as his
keen eye has become, he fancies it would
brighten once more at the sight of his
mother, and his failing mind become clear
ed, could he lean on her breast. .
With folded hands the young sailor
prays ; his words are confused and indis-
tinot to those who listen, but all clear and
earnest are they to the Great Listner above.
Aud when the ship has reached her distant
port, and mingling voices are all around
the sick sailor, his comrades bear him
comfortably to a home--a miserable home—
but bettor to him than the rocking vessel
in the midst of the sounding sea. " Now
if 1 could see mother," ho murmured to
the strangers around him.
She is sitting by the vine-covered window
patiently reading the shipping journal, and
thinking, it was time for hiar boy to return,
and hoping that he will never go to sea
again. How quick the words catch her eye
Arrived, ship Banner, Lovel."
And it was a week ago : he could have
been home by this time : " he will come to
morrow night," she said joyfully, as she
went to communicate the good news to her
husband.
They watched for him in vain that night,
and then Mrs. Heath suggested what no
uwe her ever failed to suggest when the
long absence of a child was unaccounted
for—he must he sick ; when night after
night passed, and they neither saw nor
heard anything of Alfred, her anxiety
would let her rest no longer.
" We will go for him, or at least go
where we may hear of him," said Mr.
Heath, who now, as well as his wife,
readily assented.
Their simple preparations for the journey
were soon made, and with heavy hearts
they proceeded in search of their son,
with little hopes of gaining more satisfac
tion than definite intelligence of his death.
It was a dark and rainy evening when
they entered the city, and after an hour
spent in fruitless inquiries, they found the
place where Alfred had been carried.
Little care had he received in the crowd
ed boarding house. There was none of
the neatness and order that shows better in
a sick room than anywhere else. Rough
hands had roughly tended him, and pale
and deathlike as he looked it seemed as if
it mattered little what care he had now. In
the agency with which the parents bent
over the unconscious sleeper, and marked
the sunken cheeks and wasted form, there
was but one ray of comfort ; they could
watch over him—they should not hear of
his death with the sad thought that none
but a stranger had soothed his dying
pillow.
The sufferer awoke from a taoubled
dream, to find his aching head supported
by his father, and see his mother's eye
resting on him with a look of unutterable
tenderness. So' faint was the smile of
recognition with which lie greeted them,
that only a parent's eye could have caught
the fluttering expression.
" Can't live, can',t live," said the'doetor,
with a professional carelessness, as he
entered the house the next morning.
" But his mother has come !" said the
landlady.
"'('hat alters the case; he may get up
again," answered the doctor, than whom
none knew better how much a mother
could do.
But how frail seemed the thread that
hold that young and promising life. For
days it quivered and trembled with the
slightest breath, and the mother tearfully
prayed that it might not bo broken. A
guntl : care and kindly watching as r ever
blessed a sick bed, and young Alfred
Heath, was not in vain ; gradually he grow
better, and was able to talk with his par
cuts, and asked them how theyoed to
r enru
come to hiw in an hour of n .
'lt was the newspaper,', id Mr. Heath;
"just three words in th paper told us
your ship had come. Yob. didn't arrive at
home, and so we came to see if you were
sick. You'll soon be well enough to come
home, my boy. God be thanked,' ho
added fervently, , for sending us to take
care of you.'
At length Alfred was pronounced well
enough to ride, and in a few days the
pleasant old homestead gladdened his
sight How beautiful it looked as the
sun shone on the vines in which it was em
bowered, with their wealth of grapes, just
purpling in the autumn sunshine.
No one ,o joyful as Mr. Heath, who,
after being gladdened by hearing Alfred
say lie would never go to sea again, expres
sed his opinion of newspapers in general,
and his own newspaper in particular on
this wise :
I am so glad, Millicent, that you took
that paper, for I count a paper just the
most necessary thing in a family. We
should never have had a boy here strong
and well, if it had not been for it. It is
an excellent thing, and I shall subscribe
for it as long as I live.'
CARDS.'
I .11
) M 0 V A L.--WILLIAM S. AMWEG,
,111-3 . at Lug, r,nov,”l his o@ce from hilt
1,111, - p 1.,. into S•mtli Hike stret, nearly oppnglte the
Trinity Lutheran Church
Am uEL 11. REYNOLDS, Attorney at
Olner. N , .. 14 N.Jrth Duk,. street, opposite the
Crout.ll.,u.e. may 6 tf 16
fl ‘ TIT T. Me P 11,/11T IL, ,RN EY AT LAW,
ryllr 31 1y 11 STRASBURG. Lancaster Co., Pa
IR. JOHN DUCAL'. A, DENTIST.--0111ce
J N.,. 4 H hti . ...• 1, Linc Aster, apr 18 tf 13
E TON LIGIITNER, ATTORNEY
_ r ti AT LAW. )I,tH Duke street, nearly
the ('curt
I,:enc.,to•r, tf II
LDUS J. NEFF, Attorney at Law.--
A ()nice with it. A. Sl,A.timr, Esq., mouth-west comor of
root, Square, Lancaster. luny 15, '55 ly 17
1: 4 , It F. D E t R T I C T
!C' ,
I S t . N P E T I F: E A R '? LAW.
II NW:T. DUKE STREET, WEST SIDE, LAN
TELL, Pa. npr 20 tf 14
[REMOVAL. --WILLIAM B. FORDNEY,
rt d Attorney at I.siv, has removed his ofilm. from North
Queen street to the taiihlin.s In the couthnamt corner of
Centre Square, forinetly known aw Ilubloy's Hotel.
LaoraNter, rgirll U 7
EDWARD In'GOVERN,
ATTORNEY AT LAW,
N,. 5 NORTH DUgo ~purr—WEAR TUE COURT HousE,
LANCA^TER,
J - ESSE. LANDIS, Attorney at Law.”Ofm
flee one 0 0 ,,r e,ef of I,..llbeti HotOi, Erik King street,
in in ca 9 ter,
toy,. All ..f :ierivonirlz—such na writing Wllle,
Ac,-nunta. ,kr., will be attended to with
may 15,'55 tf-17
`V I.LLIA.III W GITESIDE, SURGEON
DEN'AST.-oflice in North Qll.ll street, 9d door
from Orang, and lirortly over Sprenger & Westheaffer's
ISM. k Storo.
Lane:aid tr, may '27, IMO
JHIESBLACK, Attorney at Law.--Of.
lice in East King street, two doors east of Lechler's
Howl, Lancaster, to.
d'ir" All husiness connected with his profession, and
all kinds of writing, such ne preparing Deeds, Mortgages,
Wills, Stating Accounts, dm., promptly attended to.
may lb. tf.l7
JOHN F. BRINTON,
ATTORNBY APHT LAW
ELP,
ILADHIA, Ps.,
Iles removed Ids office to too residence, No. 249 South Bth .
6trei•l, ftbeve Spruce.
Itofere by permisaion to Lion. H. G. LONG,
A. L. LIAYEB
Franaz -
nov 24 ly. 45 " THADDEUS &TIMM
EMOVAL.--DR. J. T. BARER, EIOR..
II HIPATIIIC PHYSICIAN, has removed his offlce to
Lime street, between Orange and East %lug streets, west
elde.
Reference—Profoseor W. A. Gardner, Philadelphia.
Calls from the couutry will be promptly attended to:
aim 6
NO. 18
npr 8 tf 12