VOL. LXII.
HE LANCASTER INTELLIGENCER
POBLISNID IMMIX TITZEO/AYAT NO. 8 NORTE DUEL 8751.117,
BY GEO. SANDERSON.
TERMS
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THE WHISPERING WIND.
Bush !—'tis the twilight hour,
-And the wind whispers to the dancing leaves—
Come to the vine clad bower
And hide ..nd listen, while it laughs or grieves.
g , To the sunny South I strayed,
Where the emerald's glance in the earth's attire
But the rush of a cavalcade
Thrill'd through the strings of my delicate lyre
"And a shunting host I heard,
And storm—as if thunder were in the air;
The robe of the valley I stirr'd,
But found it a pall, for the dead were there.
"Then I spread my zephyr wings
And flew from the revel of hungry death—
The lake where the wild bird sings
I playfully rippled to cool my breath.
"Away to the West I hied,
Where a wealth of gushing water gleams—
And 'scaled the mountain's side,
Where the tempests slept as in fairy dreams
A traveller floated by,
But the giants heard it and hastened forth,
And they raised a battle-cry
Which wakened the guards of the vengeful North
" To the floods they marched in haste—
But the Furies were there and led the van—
The speck which the demons chased
Was freighted with living, but hopeless man
The billows were lashed to wrath,
And hither and thither the atom sped,
But the angels / watched its path,
And drove it back from the gates of the dead
"0 mortal!—thy thoughts are vain,
Old ocean is deep and the winds are strong—
The monarch that rules the main
Would rock thee to sleep with a funeral song.
To the cataract I came,
Where a hardy fool us on nothing oross'd—
But 1 hurried past the shame '
Lest my rage should rise and a soul be lost.
1 have murmur'd to the Rhine—
The lake of Geneia—and many a sea—
The Bosphorus too bath been mine,
For all things in nature pay tribute to me
I have swept through many a plain
Where the summer sunbeams softly glide—
Then over the hills again,
Till I've traversed the world on every side.
'"ln Temple I have played
On my harp of a thousand trembling strings,
And the music my fingers made
Was sweet as the strain that a spirit sings.
"But give me the gleaming West,
' Where the waters like sheets of silver lie—
Where the sword and cannon rest,
And Freedom re-echoes from earth to sky!"
Hush !— l tis the twilight hour,
And the wind whispers to the dancing leaves—
Come to the vine-clad bower,
And hide and listen, while it laughs or grieves.
(N. Y. Journal of Commerce.
Ila" Many a young and gallant hero will lose his
life in the present war, to whom, when moul
dering in the dust, the following poem by the
greatest of American poets, will truthfully apply.—
As an offering of genius at the grave of the soldier
and patriot, it has not its equal in the English lan
guage:
ON TEE DEATH OF A FRIEND
BY FITZ-GREENE RALLECS
Re hath been mourned as brave men mourn the
brave,
And wept as nations weep their cherished dead,
With bitter, but proud tears, and o'er his head
The eternal flowers' whose root is in the grave,
The flowers of Fame, are beautiful and green;
And by his grave's side pilgrim feet have been,
And blessings, pure as min to martyrs give,
Have there been breathed by those he died to save.
Pride of his country's handed chivalry,
His fame their hope, his name their battle cry ;
Re lived as mothers wish their sons to live,
lie died as fathers wish their sons to die.
If on the grief-worn cheek the hues of bliss,
Which fade when all we love is in the tomb,
Could ever know on earth a second bloom,
The memory of a gallant death like his
Would call them into being; but the few,
Who as their friend, their brother, or their son,
His kind, warm heart and gentle spirit knew,
Had long lived, hoped, and feared for him alone;
His voion their morning music, and his eye
The only starlight of their evening sky,
Till even the sun of happiness seemed dim,
And life's best joys were sorrows but with him ;
And when, the burning bullet in his breast,
Be dropped, like summer fruit from off the bough,
There was one heart that knew and lov'd him best
'lt was a mother's—and is broken now.
The Sick Man's Deed of Love.
He was a poor cripple--with fingers
twisted out of all useful shape, and lower
limbs paralyzed so that he had to drag them
after him wearily when be moved through
their locomotion—a poor, unhappy, mur
muring, and at times, ill-natured cripple,
eating the bread which a mother's hard
labor procured for him. For hours every
fair day during spring, summer and au
tumn, he might be seen in front of the
house where he lived, leaning upon the
gate, or sitting on an old bench, looking
with a sober face at the romping village
children, or dreamingly regarding the pas:
sengers who moved with such strong limbs
up and down the street. How often bitter
envy stung the poor cripple's heart! How
often, as the thoughtless village children
taunted him cruel y with his misfortune,
would he fling harsh maledictions after
them. Many pitied the poor cripple ; many
looked upon him with feelings of disgust
and repulsion ; but few, if any, sought to
do him good.
Not far from where the cripple lived
was a man who had been bed-ridden for
years, and who was likely to remain so to
the end of his days. He was supported by
the patient industry of a wife.
If good works were to be the only pass
port to heaven,' he said to a neighbor one
day, 'my chances would be small.'
Well done, good and faithful servant,'
is a part of the language of welcome,' was
replied ; and the neighbor looked at the
sick man in a way that made him feel a
little unocmfortable.
I am sick and bed-ridden,—what can I
do he spoke fretfully.
When little is given, little is required.
Bat if there be only a single talent it must
be improved.
(.1 have no talent,'" said the invalid.
'"Are yon sure of that V
'What can I do ? Look at me ? No
health—no strength—no power to rise
from this bed. A poor, helpless creature,
,burdening my wife. Better for me, and
for all, if I were in my grave.'
If that were so, you would be in your
grave. But God knows best. There is
something for you to do, or you would be
no longer permitted to live,' said the
neighbor.
The sick man shook his head.
As I came along just now,' continued
the neighbor, stopped to say a word to
poor Tom Hicks, the cripple, as he stood
swinging on the gate before his mother's
house,looking so unhappy that I pitied
him in my heart. What do you do with
yourself all through these long days, Tom?'
I asked. Nothing,' he replied, moodily,
6 Don't you read sometimes I queried.—
Can't real,' was his su len answer' Were
you never at school 3' I :went on. No,
how can I get to school ?' Why don't
your mother teach you 3' Because she
can't read herself,' replied Tom. 6 lt isn't tent, and haie•him brought back in the
too late to begin now, • said I enetourag- afternoon.
ingly ; suppose I were to find some • one , It was the 'happiest day in Tom's life
willing*to teach you, what would you say?' when he was helped down from the wagon
the poor lad's face brightened as if the and went hobbling into the school-room.
sunshine had fallen upon it; and he ans- Before leaving home on that morning,
wered, 'I would say that nothing could he had made his way up to the sick-room
please me hater.' I p:dmised to find him of Mr. Croft. , .
a teacher, and:as I prom ised, the thought : 4 I owe it all to you,' he said, as he
of yeti; friend Croft, came into my. mind. i brought the white, thin hand of his bene-
Now, here is something that you can do ; factor to his lips. It was damp with more
a good work in which you can employ your , than a kiss when he laid it back gently on
one talent.' the bed. 'And our Father in Heaven will
The sick man did not respond warmly reward you.'
to this proposition. He had been for so i ' You have done a good work,' said the
long a mere recipient of good offices—had 1 neighbor who had urged Mr. Croft to im
so long felt himself the object toward which prove his one talent, as he sat talking with
pity and service must tend—that he had ,' him on that evening about the poor cripple
nearly lost the relish for good deeds.— ! and his opening prospects, which will
Idle dependence had made him selfish. not I trust be forgotten that day when the
I
' Give this poor cripple a lesson every record of his life is opened. Not because
day,' went on the neighbor, pressing home I of the work itself, but for the true charity
the subject, 'and talk and read to him.— I which prompted the work. It was begun,
Take him in charge as one of God's ohil- ' I know, in some self-denial, but that self
dred who needs to be instructed and led denial was for another's good; and because
up to a higher life than the one he is living. you put away love of ease and indifference
Is not this a good and great work ? 'lt is, and forced yourself to do kind offices, be
my friend.; one that God has brought to cause our Heavenly Father has command
your
hand, and in the doing of which there ed it, God will send a heavenly love of
will be great reward. What can you do ? doing good into your soul, which always
Much ! Think of that poor boy's weary includes a great reward.'
life, and of the sadder years that lie still ' You said,' continued the neighbor,
before him. What will become of him ' only a few months ago, ' What can Ido l'
when his mother dies ? The almshouse and spoke as a man who felt that he was
alone will open its doors for the helpless deprived of all the means of accomplishing
one. But who can tell what resources good ; and yet you have, with but little
may open before him if stimulated by effort, lifted a human soul out of the dark
thought. Take him then, and unlock the valley of ignorance where it was groping
doors of a mind that now sits in darkness, in self-torture,.and placed it on an ascend
that sunlight may come in. To you, it ing mountain path. The light of hope has
will give a few hours of pleasant work each fallen, through your aid, with sunny
day. To him, it will be a life-long benefit. warmth upon a heart that was cold and
Will you do it? barren a little while ago, but is now
' Yes.' green with verdure and blossoming in
The sick man could not say ' No,' though sweet promise of fruit. The infinite years
in uttering that half-extorted assent he to come alone can reveal the blessings
manifested no warm interest in the ease of that will flow from this one act of a bed
poor Tom Hicks. ridden man, who felt that in him wits no
On the next day the cripple came to the capacity for good deeds.'
sick man and received the first lesson ; The advantages of a school being placed
and every day at an appointed hour, he within the reach of Tom Hicks, he gave
was in MY. Croft's room, eager for the in- up every thought of serious difficulty. His
struction he received. Quickly he L 38- bent, stiff fingers could not be made to
tered the alphabet, and as quickly learned hold either pen or pencil in the right po
to construct small words preparatory to sition, or to use them in such a way as to
combining them in a reading lesson. Af- make intelligible signs. But Tom was too
ter the first three or four days the sick much in earnest to give up on the first, or
man, who had undertaken this work with second, or third effort. He found, after a
reluctance, began to find his heart going great many trials,that he could hold a pencil
down into it. Tom was so grateful, that more firmly than at first,and guide his hand
Mr. Croft found the task of instructing some obedience to his will. This was suf
him a real pleasure. The neighbor who ficient to encourage him to daily long
had suggested this useful employment of continued efforts, the result of which was ,
the invalid's time looked in now and then a gradual yielding of the rigid muscles,
to see how matters were progressing, to which became in time so flexible that he
speak words of encouragement. could make quite passable figures , s and
Poor Tom was seen less frequently than write a fair hand. This did not satisfy
before hanging on the gate or sitting idly him, however. He was ambitious to do
on the bench before his mother's dwelling; better, and so kept on trying and trying,
and when you did find him there as of old, until few boys in the school could give a
you saw a different expression on his face. fairer copy.
Soon the children, who had only looked at 4 Have you heard the news ?' said a
him, half in fear, from a distance, or come neighbor to Mr. Croft, the poor bed-ridden
closer to the gate where be stood gazing man. It was five years from the day he
with his strange eyes out into the street, gave the poor cripple, Tom Hicks, his first
in order to worry him, began to have a lesson.
different feeling for the cripple, and one ' What news ?' the sick man asked, in a
and another stopped occasionally to speak feeble voice, not even turning his head
with him ; for Tom no longer made queer towards the speaker. Life's pulses were
faces or looked at them as if he would running very low. The strong struggle
harm them if in his power, nor retorted with disease was nearly over.
angrily if they said things to worry him.— ' Tom Hicks has received the appoint-
And now it often happened that , a little ment of teacher to our public school.'
boy or girl, who had pitied the poor cripple 4 Are :you in earnest?' There was a
and feared him at the same time, would mingling of surprise and doubt in the low
offer him a flower or an apple or a handful tones that crept out upon the air.
of nuts, in passing to school ; and he would ' Yes 6 it is true what I say. You know
take these gifts thankfully, and feel better that after Mr. Wilson died, the directors
all day in remembrance of the kindness with got Tom, who was a favorite with all the
which they had been bestowed. Sometimes scholars, to keep the school together for a
he would ask to see their books, and his few weeks until a successor could be ap
eyes would run eagerly over the pages so pointed. He managed so well, kept such
far in advance of his corn prehension, yet good order, and showed himself so capable
with the hope in his heart, of one day mac- as an instructor, that, when the election
tering them—for he had grown all athirst took place to-day, he received a large ma
for knowledge. jority
recommended ' ;recommended teachers, and this
in the neighborhood, who had grown to without' his having made application for
like him and always gathered aro' nd the situation, or even dreaming of such a
him at the gate when they happened thing.'
to find him there, supplied him with books, At this moment the cripple's well
so that he had an abundance of mental known shuffling tread and the rattle of
food, and now began to repay his benefac- crutches was heard on the stairs. He
tor, the bed-ridden man, by reading to him came up with more than his usual hurry.
for hours every day. Croft tPrned with an effort, so as to get a
The mind of Tom had some of the qual- sight q him as he entered the room.
ities of a sponge—gave out freely at every 4 I hive heard the good news,' he said,
pressure. Whenever his mind came in as he reached a hand feebly toward Tom,
contact with another mind, it must either ' and it has made my heart glad.'
absorb or impart. So he was always talk- ' I owe it all to you,' replied the cripple,
ing or always listening when he had any- in a voice that trembled with feeling.—
body who would talk or listen. ' God will reward you.'
There was something about him that And' he caught the shadowy arm, touch
strongly attracted the boys in the neighbor- ed with his lips and wet it with grateful
hood, and he usually had three or four of tears, as once before. Even as he held
them around him, and often a dozen, late ; that thin, white hand, the low moving
in the afternoon, when the schools were ' pulses took a lower beat-Llower and lower
out. As Tom had entered a new world— —until the long suffering heart grew still
the world of books—and was interested in and the freed spirit went up to its reward.
all he found there, the subjects on which 4 My. benefactor !' sobbed the cripple, as
he talked with the boys who sought his he stood by the wasted form shrouded in
company were always instructive. There grave olothes, and looked upon it for the
was no nonsense ; low, sensual talk, to last time ere the coffin-lid closed over it.
which boys are sometimes addicted, found ' What would I have been except for you ?'
no encouragement in his presence. His Are your opportunities for doing good
influence over these boys was therefore of few or limited in range 'to all appearance,
the best kind.
reader? Have you often said, like the
The parents of some of the children bed-ridden man, . What can Ido ?' Are
when they found their sons going so often you poor, weak, ignorant, obscure, or even
to the house of Tom Hicks, felt doubts as sick aslhe was, and shut out from contact
to the safety of such intimate intercourse with the busy outside world ? No matter.
with the cripple, toward whom few were If youl have a willing heart, good work
prepossessed, as he bore in the village the will surely come to your hands. Is there
reputation of being ill-tempered and de- no poo4 unhappy, neglected one to whom
prayed, and questioned them very closely you can speak words of encouragement, or
in,regard to the nature of their intercourse. lift out of the vale of ignorance ? Think !
The report of these boys took their parents cast around you. You may, by a single
by surprise ; but on investigation, it proved ' sentence, spoken in the right time and in
to be true, and Tom's character soon rose the right spirit, awaken thoughts in some
in t h e public estimation. dull mind that may grow into giant powers
Then came, as a natural consequence, in aftertime wielded for the world's good.
inquiry as to the cause of such a change I While you may never be able to act di
in the unfortunate lad ; and the neighbor rectly on society to any great purpose, in
of the sick man who had instructed Tom o msequence of mental or physical disabil
told the story of Mr. Croft's agency in the i ities, ydu may, by instruction and guid
matter. This interested the whole town ' ance, prepare some other mind for useful
in both the cripple and his bed-ridden in-' work, which but for your agency might
structor. The people were taken by sur- I have wasted its powers in ignorance or
prise at such a notable instance of the great , crime. ' 11 around us are human souls
good which may sometimes be done where ; 1 that ma be influenced. The nurse who
the means look discouragingly small. Mr. I minister to you in sickness may be hurt
Croft was praised for his generous conduct, or helps by you; the children who look into
and not only praised but helped by many your file and read it daily—who listen to
who had until now, felt indifferent toward your sp oh and remember what you say
his case—for his good work rebuked them' —will g w better or worse, according to
for neglected opportunities. I the spirt of your life as it flows into them;
The cripple's eagerness to learn and , the negl oted son of a neighbor may find
rapid progress under the most limited ad-1 in youi t e wise counsellor who holds him
vantages, becoming generally known, a ' back fo vice. Indeed, you cannot pass
gentleman, whose son had been one of a sing ,
day, whether your sphere be large
Tom's visitors, and who had grown to be a , or sm 11, your place exalted or lowly,
better boy under his_. influence, offered to without abundant opportunities for doing
f
send him in his wagon every day to the ! good. i Only the willing heart is required.
schoolhouse, which stood half a mile dis- lAs forl harvest, thet hat is nodding ripe
T
" THAT 00 UNTILY la THE MOST paospxsous WHXIIII LABOR 0 011:111ANDB.,THR GarATIR NAVAILD."---1117011ARAlf
LANCASTER CITY, PA., TUESDAY MORNING, JUNE 25, 1861
for the sickle in every man's field. What
of that time when the Lord of the harvest
comes, and you bind up your sheaves and
lay them at his feet? -
MARRIED FOR A LIVING-
BY HARRY PLUME.
'Tis an important step towards another world,
This matrimony: mayhap they'll both awe
To downward go most pleasantly together'
Or one may upward soar, till by the other ' dragg'd
Down to perdition ; or, (though, alas'. 'tis seldom,)
The one may draw the other up to Heaven :
But 'tie a blessed sight when two unite,
In purest love to tread life's path together,
To seek the peace of God in pure religion,
And pass this life that Death may be to them,
The gateway to eternal happiness.
You talk about 'marrying for love,' as
though nobody ever married for love .but,
yourself, said Charles Bronson to his
young wife, as he rose from the breakfast
. _
table, one morning.
These words grated harshly upon the
ears of Mrs. Bronson, and sank deep into
her heart, as additional proof, that, how
ever it might have been with herself, _love
—true love for her, certainly, never had a
place in the heart of him who was now her
husband.
We say additional proof, for it was not
the first time that she had been made to
feel that he had married her merely for
a living.' She was far from being rich,
however, for she possessed no more than
the proceeds of her own industry ; now
considerably reduced by his idle and waste
ful habits.
It may be thought strange that such a
man would care to procure for himself a
wife so comparatively poor, when a rich one
would, at any rate, have the means to keep
him in idleness and luxury to his heart's
content. Strange as it may seem, it is
none the less very common. A damsel
with money is fore-warned by the very fact
that she possessed it; but what innocent,
confiding, poor, young girl who works for
her own livelihood, would ever dream that
any man would ever think of marrying her
merely g for a living And what mean,
skulking rogue that's looking for a wife to
support him does know all this So it was
with Mary and Charles Bronson.
Mary was too guileless to suspect guile,
too confiding to distrust any one ; and so
she became an easy prey to the wily words
and artifices of her pretending. lover.
Often, often is it the case, that thus the
purest . of earthly beings is sacrificed lin
consciously at the hymenial altar, to a life
of wretchedness and woe.
Charles was a careless, good-for-nothing
fellow, with a soul so nearly lost that it
was only on very rare occasions that he
showed any signs of having any. And yet
he could act the hypocrite to such perfee
tion that the world thought Mrs. Bronson
had a very good husband ; and even she,
sometimes, fondly thought so, too.
The morning to which we have alluded
was a fine one, heralding just the kind of
a day one would like to choose for a day's
gunning ; and Charles Bronson, after
uttering the words above quoted, forthwith
went to prepare his gun and accoutrements
for that purpose.
You need not wait up for me to-night,
Mary,' said he, as he held the door ; it is
most likely I shall find company.'
And what company ought any man to
prefer to that of a loving and faithful
wife ? asks every true man who reads this
sketch. Nevertheless it is so.
But little over one short year had passed
since their marriage, and yet Charles was
absent from his fireside, his wife and his
babe, nearly every evening, and oftentimes
far into the night.
Mrs. Bronson passed the day all alone,
in hard, hard work ; rendered still harder
by the necessary care and trouble oc
casioned by her sick infant. Night came,
but it brought no relief, for a burning fever
had spread its glowing symptoms over her
darling child ; and farther, her husband
had— , by mistake,' she said to herself—
taken with him the little purse that con
tained her all of worldly store. Not three
cents had she, nor could she by any means
obtain wherewith to purchase the well
known remedy that would allay the intense
buntings within the darling little sufferer's
trembling frame ; no one near to go for a
physician, .or to comfort and console her ;
but there she sits,' alone, amid this bitter
experience—a wife !—better by far a
widow. It was at this moment that she for
the first time entertained, what she after
wards called, ' the diabolical intention
of leaving him.'
Bnt retiring from the scene of the
wretched woman with her dying child, let
us search out the whereabouts of Charles
Bronson, at this same hour. At the edge
of a forest, about fire miles distant, there
are seven men si ting and lying around a
glaring fire, while an eighth is standing up
in their midst in a talking attiude ; every
one of them too much intoxicated to look
for night accommodations, more in accord
ance with civilized life. Charles was not
in the habit of getting inebriated ; it
would be too serious breach of his
hypocrisy, and yet it was none other than
he who was standing up, swaying to and
fro, addressing a drowsy and drunken
speech to his drowsy and drunken com
rades, on the subject of matrimony. It
consisted chiefly in eulogies on his own
smartness in ' netting' such a wife as • he
had, and upbraidings of -them for not being
so , smart' in this respect as himself.
Bronson found his home the next day,
but his child suffered no more—the burn
ing fever had gone—cold, cold death had
bound his little limbs in its icy grasp, and '
his cherub spirit gifted with angelic intel
ligence was, perhaps, looking down with
surprise upon the strange incongruity ex
hibited in the characters and dispositions
of his earthly parents.
Still, worse and worse grew Bronson,
and many were Mary's resolves, as often
broken as made, to leave him to his course,
and to his own resources. Abject poverty
and pitiable wretchedness had long ago
overtaken her, and temptations, of various
kinds, to sin for gain, now pressed her sore.
Many may ask, if she had no friends.
He is a very superficial surveyor of the
world and of men and things, who does not
know that poverty is a great estranger. In
the days of our great-great-grandfathers,
relatives were friends under all circum
stances, and in proportion as fortune
frowned, friends rose up who were not rela
tives. Bat the, world, it appears, has been
turned up-side-down in this respect, as
well as in the matters of mowing machines,
steam, and the telegraph. Whoever has
fortune has friends in exact proportion;
and there is seldom an exception to the
general rule that relatives are first to prove I
false. In regard to the poor, however, the
mocking world has of late years invented
a proverb, cruelly aPpropriate to its prao
, tice, and most cruelly true—c Kick . Writ
down, he has no friends.' It is not strange
then, that such was the case with Mary
Bronson.
Three years of wedded life had now
passed, and she had become somewhat
reconciled to the wretched life she led ;
and, wife-like, chiefly for the sake of him
who was the sole cause of all her wretoh
ness. Yet she would sometimes endeavor
to make an impression upon his stony
heart ; at least, whenever she could get
him to oonverse, which, indeed, was very
seldom. •
One evening, when he happened to be
at home--the last evening of his life, as
it turned out to be—Charles sat watching
for some time, the busy fingers of his wife,
as she nimbly plied the needle. At length,
as though a feeling of shame, or something
of that sort had come over him, he ventured
to remark that he was afraid she worked
too hard, it would injure her health.
Not too hard, Charles,' said she,' 'that
perhaps, would be my own fault; but it
really seems to me that I work a little too
much to no purpose.'
And whose fault is that eagerly in..
quired he.
If you don't know, Charles, I'm sure
I can't tell you.'
Charles colored, it would be difficult to
say whether with shame or rage, most
probably the latter ; and after a long
pause he blundered out.
You don't mean to say it's my fault,
Mary I—however, you're not so kind as
you used to be, whatever is the reason.'
I'm sure yon have no occasion . for
thinking so, Charles; what cause have you
to complain 1'
Oh, you think I married you for a liv
ing,' said he, or, rather it was his con
science that spoke in spite of himself, for
his manner showed it.
It was you said that, not me,' replied
Mrs. Bronson.
But you -think so, and it's no such
thing ; it's only among the rich that folks
marry for money.'
That may be, as you say, of the rich ;
but, indeed, Charles, you talk strangely, I
never breathed what you suspect to a liv
ing soul.'
Well, well, perhaps not—but let us
have no more of this dull talk—do you
know I am engaged to go out on the river
to-morrow '1 What a nice time we shal
have !'
A meek response was given him; and,
on the morrow, he went out upon the river,
and was brought home at about that same
hour in the evening, a corpse.
That morning, he and his comrades had
procured a boat and were enjoying them
selves finely, when the messenger of death
came to take him and some nine others
from among the living. For some cause
they were unable to manage their craft as
dexterously as was needed,and consequent
ly became involved in a collision accident
between two steamers, which occurred that
day upon the river. The huge vessels
struck each other while the boat of the
pleasure party was in so close, proximty to
one of them that the shook of the blow
capsized it, and then ensued a scene of
mixed up horrors, impossible to keep either
from sinking. An aggregate of six hun
dred passengers, as it was stated in the
newspapers, were on board. Parents and
children, sisters and brothers, all anxious
for each other's, and their own safety; and
evidently but an hour between them and
the eternal world. Six hundred souls,
staring death in the face, and the dread
King of Terrors, staring at them with a
ghastly grim, and overpowering their minds
with the awful expectation of a watery
grave. But deliverance came. Boats, well
manned, were soon present at the scene ;
and death could grasp but ten of the multi
tude of despairing victims. But ten, and
among these was Charles Bronson.
The bodies were all recovered, and ex
posed in a suitable place for recognition.
A woman, poorly but neatly clad, is soon
seen hurrying, breathless and pale, to the
spot. We need not say who it is. Mary
Bronson has heard of the accident—of the
steamers only—but she fears for the safety
of her worthless husband. What is it but
something of a divine nature in woman
that can thus prompt her to care for and
to love, in spite of a life-time of insults
and injuries, the vile being who inflicted
them '1 Every one who saw her tears and
heard her moanings as she recognized his
lifeless body, surely thought, what a good
husband he must have been ; never think
ing that he was one, who, because, he had
married for a living: had thus justly met
with an untimely death. That evening, as
we have before stated, the body of Charles
Bronson was carried to his home ; and
Mary, herself found means to have him
decently buried. No wife ever mourned
more for the best of husbands, than mourn
ed Mrs. Bronson for him.
Shortly after this, a -stranger became
acquainted with the young widow, and as
she had impoverished herself to bury her
unworthy husband, lent her a helping
hand. With this aid, she soon improved
her circumstances, and the stranger, when
he left the town, had the satisfaction of
knowing that she was not only comfortably
situated, but rapidly gaining that position
in society, to which her industry and ac
complishments had long ago entitled her.
Three years passed, and the stranger re
ceived a letter written in a delicate, lady
like hand, announcing that she had once
more ventured upon a marriage life. This
time, she had made a better bargain, and
for the short period that they were spared
to each other, smoothed 'the thorny road
to Heaven and to God,' with mutual
endeavor.
It was but fifteen months after her second
marriage that the stranger received a let
ter from her husband, bordered with black
in which he found that she had gone to
that world where sorrowing and sighin g
are no more, and where, he hoped through
the merits of his Saviour, he might some
day meet her.
It may, perhaps, be well to say that
this narrative ends infinitely better than
many that may be told about being 91ar
ried for a Living.'
GOOD NEWS FOE THE POOH I—lt is stated
that a committee of New York merchants, to
whom Mr. Chase, Secretary of the Treasury,
referred for advice on the revision of the tariff,
have recommended a duty on tea, both black
and green, of ten cents per pound ; on coffee
three cents-per pound, and .on sugar two and
a half cents per pound—and it is vCry:gener—
ally believed in mercantile circles. that this
revised tariff will go into effect on the let of
Angrustnext. ' •
Sweet iteveg r -A
_Comedy of
On Olive street, in St. Louis, lives - a
gushing maiden of coquctish proolivities,
who cheers the _declining years of a fattier
who owns several. nice corner lots, and
carries desolation into the hearts dill the
miserable bachelors who - wear..tight• boots
and yellow glotres on her account. Until
recently the devastating • Hebe managed
to keep•all heratimirers in such 'a delight
ful fog of uncertainty that no one could
consider himself 'the men ;' brit at a pri
vate party, a short time since,she bestowed
special smiles on two infatuated swains,
and the rivalry for -her hand at once'• nar
rowed down to this brace of knights. One
of theie favored individuals is the posses
sor of a very 'loud' plantation of Sentimen
tal whiskers ; and so effeotive did those
prove in his snit that it soon became evi
dent that he would handsomely defeat
his rival and win the prize. None perceiv
ed this sooner than the aforesaid rival,who
is so unfortunate as to be fearfully beard
less, and 'tremenjous' was his agony in
consequence. He made a gallant fight of
it. He had his hair curled daily by a
gifted artist in that line, regardless of
expense ; he bloomed into vest patterns
of deafening brilliancy, and mortgaged his
salary six months ahead , that he might
flourish sundry gorgeous rings and breast
ping. But all was of no avail ; the whis
kers still bristled in easy triumph, and the
defeated lover became as desperate as a
oat with snuff in her eyes. He had been
trifled with by a heartless' ooviette ; he
had been put to expense involving bank
ruptcy ; his heart had been turned into a I
desert, and a hated rival had 'accomplish
ed his hellish designs.' What was left
for him but revenge ? There was a charm
in the word—a paradise in the thought.—
He would send his rival and the faithless
one to the other side of Jordan, and
magnanimously make the same trip himself
He had been invited to a highly respecta
ble tea-party, at which 'the perjured pair'
would also be present, and there the terri
ble sacrifice must be Made. When that
fatal evening arrived, he made himself as
gorgeous as a first-class sun-flower, and
stalked dramatically into a funeral drug
store. 'Arsenio—two ounces,' he whispered
to the attendant clerk, in a manner that
would have made his eternal fortune and
brought down the galleries, had he tried it
at the theatre. Being familiar with horrors,
the clerk blandly smiled an assent, and
furnished the poison, like a genuine Borgia.
Crowding the package into a very small
watch pocket, the unflinching minister of
vengeance repaired to the festive gathering,
and was immediately driven to the verge
of lunacy by the spectacle of the whiskers
and the maiden waltzing together—
, Like a pair of scissors
Whirling round a spindle.'
As the hour for 'taking tea' approached,
he stole darkly into the salon a manger and
divided his arsenic between three particular
cream pots. Then he returned to the
parlor and hypocritically joined the pair
he devoted to death, just as the sentimen
tal young woman who officiated at the piano
had struck up 'The Bold Privateer' for a
march to the tea-room. As though by
accident, he had led his unsuspecting vic
tims to that part of the beaufet where the
fatal cream pots glittered, and commenced
operations by modifying his own cup of
bohea from one of them. They unwittingly
followed suit with the others, and were
nicely poisoned in about five minutes !
The poisoner chuckled fiendishly as he
witnessed the success of his plot, and went
back to the parlor with his victims without
a doubt that all three of them would be in
kingdom come in less than half an hour.—
At the door of the room he quitted them,
for there came upon him suddenly a half
regret that he had included himself in the
devoted category. The regret grew into
absolute remorse in about five minutes ;
and, as the perspiration oozed out upon
his forehead, he grew 'much worse.' A
momentary pause in the music o rased him
to look up, and he beheld the hated whis
kers leading the faithless one to a sofa.—
The unhappy man could bear no more.—
He dashed toward the pair, and blurted
out : 'Stomach pumps—quick ! all poison
ed !' and then darted through the hall into
the street. The effect of his announce
ment may be imagined; ladies fainted pro
miscuously, and the attendant cavaliers
grew pale and asked 'what was the mat
ter In the meantime the author of all
this trouble flew through the streets like
a secessionist with creditors after him' and
tore into the drug store before mentioned
with little regard to the proprieties of the
place. In broken accents he confessed his
guilt to the clerk from whom he had pur
chased the arsenic, and gave an immedi
ate order for 'three stomach pumps quick !'
The clerk was observed to smile immedia
tely, and whispered something like—l
knew how it was ; perfectly harmless, I
assure you ; white sugar, you know.. In
another instant the would-be poisoner was
dashing along the street again in the
direction of the tea-party establishment,
minus his hat, and giving three cheers at
short intervals. Charging through an army
of physicians who had been suddenly call
ed in, he re-appeared before the -horrified
assemblage in the parlor and announced
the 'joyful intelligence' in very bad gram
mar. Of course there was an immediate
'resotion,'as they say in Baltimore ;and,in
the general happiness over the innocent
termination of the poisoning business, the
poisoner was forgiven. On the following
morning however, he left St. Louis with
out paying his board bill, and is said to
have gone South with the secession troops
from Frankfort
SMITH, THE EVERLASTING.—Mrs. Han
son chanced to live in the vicinity of a
theological seminary, and some of the stu
dents found her bright home a very agreea
ble change from theizdreary bachelor rooms
A certain youth was accustomed to bore
her with rather long visits ; and as she saw
him approaching one day, she exclaimed to
her sister :
'Oh, there comes that everlasting
Smith !'
In he came, and soon tried to ingratiate
himself with her little son.
'Yon don't know who I am, ' said he, tak
ing Master Edward on his nee.
•Oh, yes, I do,' said the child, with a
very positive air. -
sWal, who am I, then!'
'Oh, you are the everlasting Smith
[l' . The nerve which never relaxes—
the eye which never blanches—the thought
wiheh never wanders, these are the mai&
tern of victory. • ; •
"That's Just My Luck."
How often have we heard this expression,
and 'how many times isit made a sort of
comforter for the evils which befall those
who should attribute their ill success to
their lack of foresight, energy, , or persever
nue.. Many events, doubtless, occur which
.no, human . wisdom can guard against, or
human circumspection foresee, but the dis
asters of life are mainly attributable - to
ignorance and carelessness, and luck has
nothing to do with them. Many persons
seem through their whole lives to be bat
tling with ill luck, but their ill luok, when
analyzed, is only a want of energY,econolny
and foresight. Any other person than the
unlucky one sees how and why he does not
succeed. He observes a - man in a goods
and growing business neglecting that'
business and indulging in recreations and •
amusements, while - his customers are going
to other and more attractive traders. Busi
ness thuo falls off, and the trader continues •
his devotion to amusements to compensate
for the anxiety and trouble which the decay
of his business produces. He finally fails,
and then says, That's just my luck.' How
could this have produced any other vault
Whit has luck to do with it 3 A merchant,
not satisfied with the "gains of legitimate
business, goes into the stook market or
becomes a shaver of notes. He comes in con
tact with sharpers who are glad to be able
to dispose of decaying stocks or doubtful
pecuniary notes, and he comes out of the
market not only minus profits, but also
with- his capital stock diminished. Then
he says it is just hie luck,- he can never
make anything ; but his misfortune simply
is that he forgot to attend to his legitimate
business. Those who go in crowds on
public days with well filled pocket boots
which they frequently expose, find to their
chagrin that some adroit person has re
leived them of their burden ; and they
nurse their luck when their stupidity is the
only thing to; blame. A young man has a
good situation but allows his companions
to allure him from business, and instead of
taking care of his employer's interests he
neglects them until, after repeated remon
strances, he is disoharged without a
recommendation. Then he whines about
his bad luck, but there is no luck at all
about it ; he has only reaped the reward
of his negligence and inattention. The
young neglect their studies, and when they
enter upon the duties of active life they
find themselves incompetent to perform
them. However they may talk of bad luck,
they may trace all their trouble to misspent
time in their youth. Then again a parent
imagines that his child is blessed with ex
traordinary capacity, and allows his mind
to be so crowled and overworked that
disease finally prostrates it, and then the
parent talks of the bad luck he has in
rearing his child. Bat he, the parent,
only lacked common sense. A. lawyer
who has a good list of clients becomes tired
of the monotony of the legal business, and
imagines that he is fitted to shine in the
arena of politics. He joins some strong
party, and when he is convinced that tney )
are about to succeed he thinks lie has at- •
tained the end of his .reward. But the
party is not victorious, and the lawyer finds
that while he has not gained a political
position he has lost the majority of his
clients ; and this is bad luck. We might
go on in this manner and should find, after
all, that there is but little bad luck in the
world. Misfortunes are generally the
result of certain causes , and those who ,
carry out their plans with prudence and
energy can generally control these causes.
Delays and disappointments no doubt will
fall to their lot, but in the long run proper
means directed to proper ends are almost
certain of producing good luck to those
who use them. This talk about bad leek _
has an evil effect upon young people.—
When they become negligent and things- '
go wrong, instead of looking at the errors
they have committed and resolving to
remedy them, they complain of their bad
luck and try to enlist the sympathies of
those around them. This sympathy should •
never be extended, for it will confirm those
who receive it in their indolence and in
discretions, and make them always the
victims of ill luck. Let those who imagine
that they have had bad luck hitherto only
determine that they will not have bad
luck in the future, and they will find that
this very determination will relealie them
from the prerience of their enemy.
THE LANCASTER -INTELLIGENCER
JOB PRINTING ESTABLISHMENT.
No. 8 NORTH DUKE STREET, LANCASTER, PA. .
The Jobbing Department Is thoroughly furnished with
new and elegant type of every description, and is under
the charge of a practical and experienced Job Printer.—
The Proprietors are prepared to
PRINT CHECKS,
NOTES, LEGAL BLANKS,
CARDS AND CIRCULARS,
BILL HEADS AND HANDBILLS,
PROGRAMMES AND POSTERS,
PAPER BOOKS AND PAMPHLETS,
BALL TICKETS AND INVITATIONS,
PRINTING IN COLORS AND. PLAIN PRINTING,
with neatness, accuracy and dispatch, on the most reasons.
ble terms, and in a manner not excelled by any eatabllih
went in the city.
Alit" Orders from a distance, by mail or otherwise,
promptly attended to. Address
GEO. SANDERSON & SON,
Intelllgencer Office,
No. 8 North Duke street, Lancaster, Pa.
TIRE OLD CENTRE SQUARE 47
BOOT AND SHOE STORE. of u
We beg leave to Inform our friends and customers
that we still keep a very large assortment of our own male,
made out of the best of materials. It consists of
FINK CALF AND KIP BOOTS,
GAITERS,
WALKING SHOES, .
MON ROES,
OXFORD TIES.
Also, LADIES' (MITRES OF ALL KINDS,
KID AND MOROCC B /OTTERS,
MISSES AND CHIDREN'S GAITERS AND BOOTS.
FANCY SHOES OF EVERY DESCRIPTION.
All RIPS mended for nothing.
SM. Prices to suit the times.
Please give ns a call, and don't forget theplace—No. 6
North-east corner Centre Square. Lancaster.
mar 12 Sin 9] CAMPBELL A MARSHALL. •
TRADE SALES t TRADE SALES!:
Tke subscribir, haying Just returned from the Phila.
delphia Trade Bales, offers at the lowest prices all kinds of
Books, embracing LAW, FICTION, MEDICAL, BELTS,
lOUS, BIOOItAPIIY, MECHANICAL, and any other kinds..
These books will be sold at the lowest prices, as we bad the"
advantage and were the only Bookseller from Lancaster at
the Trade Bales, and, as a consequence we can sell lower
than any other Store. A few of the B ooks amlutre. men
tioned:
Webster's Unabridged Dictionary,
Woreester's Unabridged Dictionary,
American Christian Record,
In and Around Stamboul,
Gottbold's Emblems,
-
Photographic Albums, European Life, Legend and Lamdenim
--
Notes on Blueing,
Soldiers' Text Books,
The Bible and Social Reform,
The Days and Ways of the Cocked Hats
BIBLES In great variety, from Twenty five Cents - to
Twenty-five Dollars, some of them having the finest Bind
ings and Illustretloniever received in town.
' SUNDAY SCHOOL BOOKS—Methodist, Lutheran, Spin
copal, Presbyterian, American. Valet Society, ...otteer!tem
Sunday School Union. .
SCHOOL BOOKS—Sanders', 'Towers'. Sargent's, 'Nikes' ••
Wanton's
,Iteadem :Monteith's, ..,Idltchere,: Warren'4
Smith'i Neograpkies. . Also, Algebras, Arithmetic*, Cram-
man, Histories, Dietlonsties, &e. Stationery, Copt and
Composition Mooks,•Cap, Note and letter Paper.
Broke, 'Slates, Lead and Slate Pencils. • Rene and I/01443M.;
Ink and Ink Stands, Riders, Envelopes; The belt Inktrtn....
the market &resold here; Tie:. Maynard - 4 NOTse&Astlithrtto ,
HoseekLaughlings k Hoehn/Adis, Biackiroodliortch .4t;
the Cheep Book , Btore JOHN NELNAIPEttIf,-
may 3.4•Yißj. • N 0432 North.Queenstreetilla
[County papers copy.] ,
rfRYSTA.L PALACE
1.. j. BRAVING AND HAIR CUTTING SALOON,
II *us A a rszo ass , s_H otiL t .11,1EING 13.Tazat , '" -
L A NOA T PA-. , ;t 1 sort
S. J. 80. WILLIAM, PropNetow ci
•EL J. B°B " N oSuppriptandekti., - • • •
IL JAltaix, • - • Elie 1
C. = 1 " .
1 .