(321 14/4/tititotet ijrattligen?et VOL. LX 11. THE LANCASTER INTELLIGENCER PUBLISHED HUBBY TUESDAY, AT NO. 8 ISOHTIL DUNE MINI; BY GEO. SANDEBSON. TERMS Elinsmarrum —Tsso Dollars per annum, payable in ad Vance No subscription discontinued until all arrear ages are paid, aide lig at the option of the Editor. ADVERlPMlSNTS.—Advertisements, not , exceeding one square, (1 lines.) will be inserted three times for one dollar, and twenty-five cents for each additional inser tion. Those of greater length in proportion. JOB PRINTING—Ruch as Hand Bills, Posters, Pamphlets, Planks, Labels, dpi., &c., executed with accuracy and on the shortest notice. OUR CHIEF An old man sits in his old oak chair— Full seventy years have crossed the line, Deep ploughed on his ample brow by care, Where torrid and temperate zones combine: Through years, through cares, from first to last, The flag of his country he nails to the mast. His eye glances over the map of the world— For the moment, the war cry in Europe is stilled; While the dark crimson banner at home is unfurled, And the states disunited, with discord are filled : The patriot mourns—but, still true to the last, The flag of his country he nails to the mast, The stars and the stripes are in danger to-day! Carolina's secession the world fills with dread— But the chieftain laments with a deeper dismay ; For his own native state lies like one of the dead! 'Virginia, the mother of states and of men, To the music she taught us will no'er march again! We will fight for our flag with that chieftain corn manding— The southrons are false to the red, white and blue— The "bow in the clouds" that our fathers left standing, We swear to preserve it—mast, pennon and hue! 'Mid Sinai's deep thunders its colors were blended— With those thunders alone shall its glories be ended ! The bonnets of blue to the pibroch will rally— The father-land utters its deep-stirring cry— Green Erin! oh when, to the tip of shillaly, Was Erin e'er wanting when battle was nigh? The blue lilies shake—not with fear—and they may yet (live to treason the lesson once taught by Fayette ! The gauntlet we fling when we fain would unglove— We have shoulder to shoulder in battle once stood— Not lost to our hearts the old national love, When a Sumpter poured forth for his country his blood : That name, if we take, we but keep to restore, Undimmed, when our brother's short madness is o'er. We are Saxon—we cling to the land we inherit; We are Norman—we cling to the lands we have won; Fel' their pet, Annexation, we claim not to merit ! 'But, tho' crooked the bough, straight the arrow went on : They may work at the warp—at the woof—at their will ; But a weaver too mighty is mocking their skill. Then up with the thistle—the shamrock—the lilies— The tri-color gathers the nations in one! Each patriot, armed with the strength of Achilles, Will strike for the flag that floats nearest the sun ! 'Mid Sinai's deep thunders its colors were blended— With those thunders alone shall its glories be ended ! [flume Journal. TIT FOR TAT "Good morning, Miss Katie," cried young Mickie Fee; , 'Good morning again—it's yourself, sure I see, Looking blooming as ever." But Katie turned away, As she said, "Mister Miekie, I wish you good day ; Your're a heartless desaiver; now don't spoke a word; Pretty tales about you and that Norah Ihave heard. You know you•daneed with her the day of the fair, And praised her gray eyes and her very red hair— You e,illed her an angel, said in love you had fell, And at night when you parted, you kissed her as well ;" Then young Mickie gave a sly wink, as he said, "Just whisper, dear Katie, this way turn your head, I desaived her. my darlin'." "sir, you kissed her!" “That's true, But I shut both my eyes, Katie, and fancied 'twos you." • "Well, I've no time to stay; so good-bye, Mickie Fee, You may desaivs'her, but you can't desaive me— I'm not to be blarneyed, Mick, a word in your ear; You had better be off for my Dad's coming here." "0, your Dad's coming, is be ? Is that him I see Just bobbing behind that old blackthorn tree? Why, that's Paddy Maguire." "Oh," said Katie, with a sneer, "You've got your eyes open at last, Mickie dear, Well, he's coming to meet me; now listen, my lad: -If Paddy should kiss me, sure, won't you be glad? For when his lips meet mine, why, what will I do, But shut both my eyes, Mick. and fancy 'tis you? Yes, when Pat kisses me, that's just what I'll do, Shut both my eyes, Mickie, and fancy 'tis you!" MARK WILTON'S INCENTIVE. Marry Clara Preston V cried Mr. Jotham Wilton, with elevated eyebrows, and an astonished look generally. Yes, sir,' replied his son. I wish to make Clara Preston my wife.' Why, Mark Wilton you are crazy. Just look at yourself as you are. Take a careful look if you please. Here you stand, three and twen't'y years of age, and the only child l have living. Think of the money 1 have expended upon your education. Thousands of dollars, sir, thousands of dollars. And see what efforts 1 have made to give you an honorable start in the world. Your legal education has been received under the best of masters, you have been admitted the bar under the most flattering auspices, and Mr. Mathrop assures me that you have the stuff in you to make one of the best lawyers in the State. And sir, you know that your father has the wealth with which to back you up. I could place half a million dollars to your credit this very day, if I were so minded. But, sir, what do : 5 -7 tilf - irrragine will become of you, if you take .u-i• first important steps in life thus? I will select a wife for you, sir !' But, my father, I have pledged my faith to Clara Preston, and I cannot break it. She is all that I seek for a wife. She, is true and virtuous, amiable and intelligent, and, moreover, she loves me devotedly.' Loves your father's money,' interrupt ed the old man; with a curl of the lip. Mark Wilton started up from his chair, and the deep flush of his face told how deep ly be felt the out. But be was in the pres ence of an aged father, and he controlled himself as well as he could. Don't provoke me,' he said, with his lips almost closed. Hoity-toity ! provoke, indeed ' You should have thought of that before you approached me with such a scheme as this in your mad brain. I tell yon, my son, I will find a wife for you myself.' There is no need, sir,' stoutly persisted the youth, I have found one already. And now, sir, will you tell me why you object to Clara Preston V Simply because she is not what society. judges should be your wife. She is nobody ! Who are her parents V She has none.' Ay—she has none. And when she did have them, I warrant you they were of the poorest class. But I don't want to argue the matter, for my mind is made up. To the husband of Clara Preston I will never give one penny of my property. Do you undersand that I' Mark Wilton arose and walked across the room. He had a light, graceful form, with a bearing of peculiar comeliness, and, when occasion called, he could be erect and proud. His face was rather pale, and the delicately cut features betrayed intel lect enough for any department of active life. If he had a lack, it was in vital ener gy and physical force but this was nothing in his way, if he had an incentive to over comeit, for overcome it he could. As he finally stood before his father, with his arms folded upon his breast, the whole 'pride, of his soul was in action. He told his father that he should. marry with the Uutideti=lif his choice. - The old man's answer was short and firm. There was further arguing—further questioning and answering, but no change of feeling—no change of intent. You have my decision,' said Jotham Wilton. And those who knew that old man could not have doubted him. He was too proud, too firm, too self-willed, to trifle. And,' replied Mark, slowly and solemn ly, you have mine. 1 shall make Clara Preston my wife, if I live. And I tell you now, that I will not barter away my soul for money. You understand me' 4 I understand what you say.' And I only say just what I mean.' Then I understand you fully. And, Mr. Mark Wilton, I would be sure that you understand me. If you marry that girl, look to your father's bank account no more. Not another penny—not another penny !' Mark Wilton had anticipated something of this sort—and yet, when he was once more alone, and realized the full force of his position, he was for a while overwhelm ed with anxious thought. Thus far in life he had never known what it was to depend upon himself. His father's immense wealth had been the source of all his hopes, and the future took color and form from the golden store. Awhile was the youth in trouble, but gradually he rose above the shock, and his pride came to his aid ; for he had pride, and an independent spirit, and now that these qualities had been so loudly called upon, they started up strong and sure. He folded his hands together, and with his head erect, and his thin lips firmly com pressed, he swore that he would be his own master. Clara Preston was as beautiful as the artist's ideal, and those who knew her loved her for her gentleness and goodness. She was an orphan, and had for two or three years supported herself by teaching music. Not a breath was there against her char acter—not a breath could there be, for she was one of those pure, spiritual beings who seem to make pure and holy the very at mosphere about them. In the evening Mark Wilton came, and told Clara the result of his interview with his father. She listened to him attentively, and when be had concluded she reached forth her hand and rested it in his. Mark,' she said, gazing earnestly into his face, I have been fearful of this, and I tell you freely that I have not one word of fault to find with your father. It would be hard for me to give you up, but it would be harder still for me to see you suffer on my account. If, as matters now stand, you would sever the bond between us I shall be content, and I will never blame you while I live.' Clara,' cried the young man vehement ly, you don't know me. Give you up ! I'd sooner give up my life. My father has my answer. I can give up his wealth; but I cannot give up the love and faith of my heart. No, dearest one, no cloud shall come between thee and me. My resolution is taken, and henceforth I am my own master, subject only to such bonds as love and duty to thee shall impose.' The maiden regarded her lover for some moments in silence. She saw how proud and determined he looked ; how bold and dauntless was the light that flashed in his dark eyes ; how hopefully and trustingly he turned his soul's aspirations towards her self ; and she felt that she did no wrong in sustaining him.' Mark Wilton,' she said, giving him both her hands, • if you can love and trust me thus ; if you can give up so much for me ; if you can now, in the first flush of manhood, turn from the hopes of other years, and link your fate with mine, I will love and cherish you to the end. My best efforts ehall be yours, and with all my power of heart and soul will I serve you.' 4 Before Heaven, I am content,' respon ded the youth ; and, as he spoke, he seemed to summon all his energies for the battle of life before him. He drew the fair one upon his bosom, and as he held her there, he resolved that he would show to his father and the world that he could sustain himself as became an honorable and independent man. The day was finally set for their mar riage. We cannot be married in my father's house,' said Mark. No,' returned Clara, I had supposed that ; and I have planned that we will be married at the house of an old friend of mine. Will it please you to have it thus V The young man consented, and the ar rangements were made accordingly. The evening came, and Mark was usher ed into the house of Clara's friend, whom be had beard called Mr. Sampson. This Mr. Sampson was an old man of patriar chial appearance ; quaintly dressed, his hair and beard white as snow, seeming never to have suffered the approach of razor or shears. Be received Mark with touching kindness ; it was he who gave the blushing bride away. Now, my children,' said Mr. Sampson, after the ceremony had been performed, and Mark and Clara were man and wife, you are about to commence the ascent of life's hill together. Be true to each other ; be true to honor and duty ; and,' he added, to his hands while the big tears started to his eyes, 'may God guard, guide and bless you!' Mark loved that old man—he learned to love him at once ; and he promised himself much pleasure in visiting him. I never knew before that you had such a friend,' he said to Clara, 'when they were alone. Oh,' she replied, with a warm light breaking through the moisture of her eyes, he has been my friend since my father died. He has never been called upon to serve me much, but still I love him as a father. And you will love him, Mark, as you come to know him.' There was much wonderment in society when it came to be known that old Jotham Wilton, the retired banker, had disinherit ed his son ; and the gossip-mongers had a busy time about it for a while. Some said that old Jotham had done just right; others said that he had done just wrong, though they could not fully exonerate the son. Others there were who, knowing Clara, sided with the youthful couple, and denounced old Jotham as a monster of the first water. The more sober and rational ones—those who had known Jotham Wil ton through his long and useful career— were at a loss how to understand the mat ter. At first they were unwilling to believe that he could have done such - a thing as disinherit his only child. It did not seem "THAT 00IINTBY 18 TH3 MOST PILOSPIBOOS WHIZ tenon COMMANDS TEI ORNATZST ILIWAIID."-BIIOIIANAN. LANCASTER CITY, PA., TUESDAY MORNING, NOVEMBER 5, 1861. reasonable. g Of three promising children,' they said, Mark is the only one left to him, and it cannot be that he has thus cast him off.' But, finally, when they found that it was really so, they shook their heads and slid that Jotham Wilton was deranged. In the meantime, how was it with Mark Wilton 2 Like a new being he stepped forth from the old inheritance, and put forth his hand to work for himself. He remembered his solemn pledge, and he was determined to redeem it. He said that he would show to the world, and to his father, an independent, self-sustaining man, and he meant to do it. And then in his new home he had an angel to sustain him. By every word and deed, by every look and thought, did Clara seek to sustain and encourage him. • For the first six months Mark made but little apparent headway. Yet he was dili gent and hopeful, and faltered not. He was punctual at his office, attending to suoh business as was left with him with prompt faithfulness, and devoting all his leisure moments to study. In his office and at home he studied, and the harder he worked the more did he find to work for. His pride—his pride was leading him on —pride sharpened 'and intensified by re sentment ; the most powerful incentive that could have been given him ; and he was determined to rise to distinction. He attended the courts, listened to the best pleaders, and then, when alone with his wife, he tried impromptu cases over again. At the expiration of six months he was engaged to defend a party who had been sued for trespass in removing a building belonging to the plaintiff from land be longing to the said defendant. It was a case involving some nice points of law, but Mark Wilton proved himself equal to the emergency, and gained a verdict for his client. Mark had now gained the first round of the ladder, and he kept his gaze fixed eagerly upon the top. Another case was soon gained by him, in the conducting of which he displayed such marked ability as to call forth the encomiums of the court. When it became known that Mark Wil ton was a rising man, he had business enough ; but he would not put , his hands to all that was offered. It was soon known in the courts that he was a conscientious man. And, furthermore, it was discovered, as he did more business, that he was punc tual, faithful and honorable. It was an enviable reputation for a young lawyer, but he had worked hard to gain it. Aye, he had worked without ceasing. At home and in his office, over his books and over his thoughts, he had been busy, with an eye to the one idea of his life. Step by step he worked himself up, feeling, at every advance, that he was coming nearer to the station from which he could demand of his father such recog nition as one man is bound to give another, who merits it in honor. Ah, that was the high goal of his pride—to reach a station in life equal to the one his father had reached before him. 0, how proud would he be when he had gained it. But, when he had gained it, what would he be ? How would be meet his father 1 —how present the crown he had con quered ? He could not tell. He would wait until the time came. And did be see his father during these years of struggle 2 Yes, he saw him oc casionally. They met sometimes in the streets, and sometimes in the courts.— They bowed, and passed the bare compli ments of recognition, but nothing more. And how was it in Mark Wilton's home ? Go ask the angels of Peace and Love, for those were the angels that guarded the spot. A t etter wife man never had.— Mark never regretted the step he had taken—never. And yet, sometimes, when the memories of childhood came, back to him, his heart would go forth in yearning after a parent's love. And in these mo ments he prayed that his father might live to bless him. But he suffered not. His wife read all his thoughts, and she minis tered to all his needs ; and when she saw that the old recollections were upon him, she wound her arms about his neck, and whispered to him of the bright promises of the future. Five years had passed—five years of up hill toil—and yet how rich in result, how freighted with reward, that toil, had been. It had been most truly up-hill—and far, far up the bill had he worked his way. On the 15th of March, 18—, the large court room was packed in every part ; and all over the country, where the newspa pers were read, were anxious people, wait ing to learn the result of the day's trial. It was an act of giant monopoly against the rights of the people, and Mark Wilton was for the defence. During three days the trial lasted—and during those three days Wilton fairly outdid his own hopes and expectations. He knew that his father was in the court-room, and that his fath er's friends were there. He knew that thousands were watching him, and that great interests hung upon him. And, furthermore, he knew that in his ham; was one whose prayers were going up continu ally for him. There was one thing more —he felt that this was a round far up the ladder, and he resolved to reach it. And so he went at the work. Into it -be threw his whole soul ; and so nobly did he bat tle ; so ably did he reflect the rights of his clients ; so powerfully did he appeal on behalf of right and justice ; and so keenly and clearly did he open up the merits of his own case, and expose the numerous wrongs of the opposition, that he carried all the disinterested hearts with him. He gained his case—gained it against the power of money and numbers—gained it by such powers of his own as few among his peers could have put forth. As Mark Wilton turned to leave the court room, after he had received the con gratulations of the bench and bar, he saw his father away in cne corner, and he saw that' he was weeping. For an instant-- but for an instant only--there was in his soul. a spirit of exultation over his weeping parent ; but a better feeling quickly came, and, in the flush of that proud hour, he felt that it would be a crowning joy to have that old man's hand laid with a bless ing upon his head. That evening, as Mark Wilton sat with his wife, his clients, who had come to con gratulate him, having taken their leave, and his children having been put to bed, the door-bell was rung, and presently Mr. Sampson was ushered into the parlor.— Mark had not seen the old man to converse with him for a long time. He knew that Mr. Sampson had been a frequent caller at the house, aud that he had spent much time with the children ; but he himself had been so busy that he had no opportunity to share his company. Now, however, he was glad to see him, and his welcome was warm and free. Of course the conversation turned upon the events of the great trial ; and once more Clara heard how the people were praising her husband. My son,' said the old man, you are at the top of the ladder ; but your work is not done. Your labor of climbing may be over, but there is a high, broad mountain of honor and fame before you. Up its slop ing side is one path that will surely carry its follower to the summit. It is the path of usefulness. 1 would not tench you with advice, bat I speak from the fulness of my heart. I understand you, my good sir,' repli ed Mark, and your hint pleases me. It pleases me most because it is the reflection of my own feelings, and the sum of my own reflections. I may have reached a proud station ; but I have only just begun to taste the sweets of successful labor.— There are rich rewards in the future, and I am resolved to gain them if I live.' Mr. Sampson was deeply affected ; but he subdued his emotion, and then spoke to the young man of his father. I saw your father this evening, Mark; and he is proud and happy.' Proud and happy V repeated the lawyer, in a low, meditative tone. Yes ; indeed he is.' Mark Wilton rested his brow upon his hand and thought. They were no t 'new thoughts that came to him then—no, they were thoughts that often occupied his mind —thoughts given him by his blessed wife in their seasons of oalm,hopeful communion. And yet,' he said, as though arguing with himself, my father cast me off, and that too, for all time.' No, no,' quickly interposed the old man. He did not do that. I know he did not.' You are wrong, returned Mark, with a sad shake of the head. My father bound himself by a solemn pledge.' To what That not one penny of all his property should ever go to the husband of Clara Preston; That, that, was cruel. I care not for his money now—God knows I do not—but it is painful to think that this barrier still remains.' The tears started to Mark's eyes as he spoke, and the old man, when he essayed to reply, broke only in sobs. My dear father—my dear husband— listen to me,' cried Clara, starting from her chair, and standing before the two men.— ' The hour has surely come, and the cloud must be swept away.' She seemed like one inspired. Her beautiful face was radiant with a halo of glorious enthusiasm, and from her large, lustrous eyes beamed the light of joyous, holy effulgence. 0, Mark, Mark—my own dear hus band—your father did not cast you off— he did not hate me. He loved me, tender ly, truly and trustingly. He hoped and prayed that I might be your wife ; and when he knew that your heart was turned towards me, he came and taught me how to cherish and honor you. Before I be came your wife, he took the great bulk of his property and made it over to you; and yours it is this day, safely deposited, and bearing interest upon interest to your ac count. He did not give it to my husband, but to my lover. 0 Mark, my husband, be blind no more. It was your own father who placed our hands together for the uniting of the sweet, sacred bond—and he it was that blessed us both when the union was complete. Your own father, Mark, has often been beneath your roof, and your children love him fondly, and call him by the name he so proudly bears to them. o—my husband—my father—' The long white hair, the flowing beard, and the bushy eyebrows, had dropped from the old man's head and face ; and as Mark now turned towards him the veil was re moved. It was his father—his own father —standing before him, with throbbing breast and outstretched arms. My son,' said Jotham Wilton, do you see and understand it all 1 I think it must be plain you. If the trial has cost you some bitter moments, be assured it has cost me no less. - You were all the child that was left to me. Your two brothers older than you, and in all respects your equals in mind and intellectual endow ments, had grown up and faded away. They had faded and died because they had not the energy to live. As you grew to manhood, I saw how it was with you. I saw how certainly you would fail, if some powerful stimulant were not given to your energies. I saw you leave college—l saw you admitted to the bar; and I knew that you had the material within you from which to fashion a valuable citizen; but I knew, also, that the will was wanting. You had been reared in affluence ; you had the prospect of an independence before you, and hence you were in danger. You needed exertion—needed it for your very life—arid yet you had not the incentive thereto, and lacking the incentive, you would not move. You had pride enough, and independence of spirit enough ; and I knew if I could bring some adequate force to bear upon these elements, your salvation might be worked. cAt length the opportunity presented itself. When I knew that you loved Clara Preston, I made up my mind upon the coarse I would pursue. Not until I be came assured that Clara had promised to be your wife, did I dare to take her into my secret.; but 1 did so at length, and she joined me cheerfully. She had a double incentive, for she not only proved her de votion to your good, but she also proved how willing she was to forego the charms of wealth, and labor for her home. As she has told you, I was very careful how I proceeded. I would never give one penny to her husband ; but, before you became such, I had made you possessor in law of the bulk of my property—and what else I may have to give, I can bestow upon your wife and children, without breaking my promise. And now, my son, the work is done, and I feel that I have done well. Tell me —am I forgiven for the deception I have practised ?' And,' cried Clara, 4 toll me, too, am I forgiven 1' How did Mark Wilton answer? He answered as -the redeemed answer. He answered with joy and thanksgiving. And from that hour he felt stronger' than ever before. And what did society say, when it heard this wonderful story Never mind. VI OP II 1131111 0;4'14 Who does not love a child Certainly not the man who has ever had one. And who that has ever had one has not loved the whole race, for the sake of his own little pet at home? There is some thing strangely bewitching in parental pas sion. With most persons it is, of its kind, the strongest of all passions. And it is so, naturally enough, because it has in it a large element of self-love and pride. We see in our offspring a reflection of our selves. indeed, we might more correctly say, a reproduction of ourselves, as we were in the best, purest and happiest part of our lives. Then there is a peculiar fascination in the thought that a creature which is only a brief remove, in innocency of character, from an angel—a creature of whom Christ said, of such is the kingdom of heaven'—calls us continually by those tenderest of all names, mother,' father,' whose love is altogether ours; whose life is an of-shoot of our own, and is, possibly, to perpetuate our name and memory, when the grave has closed over our ashes, and we would otherwise be forgotten. But this is not all. Whatever we bestow special care and affection upon ; which is daily in our thought and in our sight ; which we first bring into being and then nurse and cherish with such exclusive concern as to make us feel that, whatever goodness it has, is due to our devotion, becomes to us an object of the keenest and gentlest solici tude. The commonest experience • attests this truth. We love a dog, if we have raised him from birth. No one can tell the love with which a girl regards the bird she has fed and carressed for months, or the flower which she has daily refreshed with water and nurtured with sunshine. But how much deeper and stronger and nigher is the love for one's child ! It is. sensible of our kindness, it gives us, every moment, the most touching evidences of its grati tude, of its yearning trust in our fondness, and it takes our whole heart captive by a thousand winning ways. There is no such music in the world as the familiar patter of the little feet on the stairs, or the cheery, crowing voice which salutes our ears as we enter the door of home after a long weary day of toil, and care, and struggle in the rough tug and tussel with all that lies outside of that quiet and secure haven of rest. And then, when the little arms are wound about your neck, as if they would cling there forever, and the dear little lips are pressed to your cheeks in that unselfishness, that purity of affection, with which no lips but a child's can ever press them, what a rapture of feeling thrills all your body and soul ! Then indeed, the crosses of the day are forgotten. The rough words spoken, the mean acts done, the evil returned for good and the hard strife for bare subsis tence, are all, for the moment, blotted out of memory, and in their place comes a sense that there is one spot, at least, in all the earth, where we are supremely loved, loved for ourselves alone, and where we can repose in the midst of perfect faith and peace. Oh ! what a heaven that man enjoys who has a home that is happy— happy, not in the affluence of that comfort and luxury which wealth can purchase, but in that which love alone can bestow, and above all, a home in which a child creates a felicity and a harmony which only his presence can afford. Alas ! for the wretch who goes through life without a child's love and the love he elects. The strength of the affection is most marked by its expansiveness. It is distinguished by a sympathy that takes in all children. The man who has a baby has a sort of in voluntary interest in, and affection for, every other body. The very sight of it, anywhere, recalls the image of his own little baby, and he cannot pass it without a caress. It reminds him of home, of all its blest peace, and trust, and love ; and he cannot resist patting the little rosy cheeks and saying a volume of tender things, in baby dialect, out of the very passion he feels to fondle and prattle with his own little cherub at home. But we have made a long introductory to a very pretty little anecdote of natural emotion, which is related in the following paragraph taken from an exchange paper. The writer says : While standing, a few days since look ing at the debarkment of that splendid com pany, the Lafayette Light Infantry, pre— paratory to their march to the military camp, a stalwart soldier passed by, and looking at two little children standing near me, said to their father, Let me kiss these children, if you please ; I left two just like them at home ; let me kiss these for them ; and a tear stole down his bronzed cheek. The little ones quietly submitted to his fond-embrace, and all the bystanders felt that a soft spot in their hearts had been touched by the tender little scene. There was a noble, affectionate heart-throbbing beneath the crimson vesture, and the sight of these little ones stirred up the tenderest emotions of his patriotic soul. I do not know who he was, but there and then I sent up a prayer for his safe return to the loved ones left behind.' BALD HEADS.-It was not long ago that a French writer announced and proved the dominion of the bald-headed men' in France, and showed them to be really the ruling spirits in every department of life— in politics, finance, poetry, art, science, and even in gallantry ! In all of these there was a bald-headed man at ' the head of the heap,' and the young fellows with flowing locks and Hyperion's curls' were quite thrown in the shade by the middle aged gentlemen, whose nobs were as bare and smooth as billiard-balls. Quilp, who, by the-bye, is getting a little bald himself, says. the same thing is true in all civilized countries, whatever the fact may be among savages; and the reason lies, not certainly in the superior beauty of the bare poll— though a bald-head may still be a very handsome one—but in the fact that a man rarely comes into the perfection of his man hood before the period at which baldness ordinarily'begins. Accordingly, as a gen eral rule, the less hair the more brains— and vice-versa. Kit North,'—a compe— tent judge of the case—wrote in Black— wood, that No stratg-bodied, strong— minded, strong-hearted man readies his true prime until he is turned of forty ; and he keeps on till he is sixty ; being proba—. bly aLseventy threatened with a small family, by a second or third wife'.— Bos— ton Post. 10 — g Don't you mean to marry, my dear air g No, my dear widow, I'd rather lose all the ribs I've got than take another.' TAKING A MAN TO PrEcEs.—Captain Evans was an old naval veteran, of sixty seven ; he had lost an arm and an eye years before the battle of Navarino, which last action unsettled his understanding, both legs being carried off by a chain shot. Cork legs were coming into fashion ; Cap tain Evans had a pair of the first quality made for him ; he could screw a fork or hook, as occasion reqttired, and being gloved, the deficiency wait not easily per ceived. As increasing years rendered him infirm, his valets took advantage of him, ' so that he wrote to his brother, a Somer setshire squire, to send him up some ten ant's son as a body servant. No matter how stupid, if but honest and taithful,' he wrote. His brother was absent, and sent his steward to select a lad. This the steward did, but merely mentioned`, that Captain Evans was infirm, not apprizing the lum kin of his master's defioienoies, and - sent him to London at once, where the Captain lived. At ten at night he arrived and was im mediately shown to Captain Evan's sitting room. 6 What is your name ?' , My name be John, am.: c Well, John, my rascally valet is absent again, without leave ; help me to bed, as it is late ; then you can go down to your supper.' Adjourning to the bed-room, the old gentleman said : John, unscrew my leg.' Zur,' said John. Unscrew my leg ; this way, see.' John did so, tremblingly. John, unscrew my other leg.' Zur,' said John. Unscrew the other leg, sir !' John did so, now in a state of bewilder ment. John, unscrew this arm.' Trembling still more, to the Captain's great amusement, he obeyed. John, put this eye on the table.' John took hold of it as if it would have bitten him. c Now, Jghn—no, I won't take the other eye out—lift me into bed.' This done, the waggish Captain contin— ued. John, beat up the pillow; it is not com fortable.' It was done. Beat it up again, it is quite hard.' John again shook the pillow. That won't do; John, I can't get my head comfortable. John unscrew my head !' No, by thunder, I'll unscrew no more.' John fled from the room to the kitchen, swearing his master was the d-1, taking himself to pieces like a clock. No USE FOR TRIMS ERS.—On the morn ing of the meteoric shower, in 1833, Old Peyton Roberts, who intended making an early start to his work, got up in the midst of the display. Un going to his door, he saw with amazement the sky lighted up with falling meteors, and he concluded at once that the world was on fire, and that the day of judgment had come. He stood for a while gazing in speeeohless terror at the scene, and then with a yell of horror, sprang out of the door into the yard, right into the yard, right into the midst of the falling stars, and here in his efforts to dodge them, he commenced a series of ground and lofty tumbling that would have done honor to a rope dancer. His wife be ing awakened in the meantime, and seeing old Peyton skipping and jumping about the yard, called out to him to know what in the name o' sense was he doin' out thar, dancing round without his clothes 'P But Peyton heard not; the judgment and long back accounts he would have to settle, made him heedless of all terrestial things, and his wife by this time becoming alarmed at his behavior, sprang out of bed and run ning to the door, shrieked out at the top of her voice, Peyton ! I say Peyton, what do you mean by jumpin' about out thar ! Come in and put on your trowsers !' Old Peyton whose fears had near overpowered him, faintly answered; as he fell sprawling to the earth. Trousers, Peggy ! what's the use o' trowsers when the world's on fire 'l' PARTINGTONIAN.— , What are you going to do, you bad woman's boy !' said Mrs. Partington, as Ike passed through the kitchen into the garden. Down with the seceshers !' he shouted, and she looked out just in season to see the top of a beautiful plant fall before the artillery sword of Paul that the youngster held in his hand. You'd better go to Molasses Jugtion, if you want to do that,' she said, restrain ing his hand a$ it was lifted against her fnschia, ready to decapitate the plant that she had watched with almost a mother's care for three winters. Dear me !' she murmured half to herself, what a terrible thing war is when even the children show such signs of consanguinity, and brother is pitied against brother. I can't bear to think of it. Isaac, dear, go down and buy me an extradition of the paper.' Ike de parted with half a dime, and from the fact that no change came back, Mrs. Parting ton supposed the price was raised. Jennie,' said a venerable Camer onian to his daughter, who was asking his consent to accompany her urgent and savored suitor to the altar, Jennie, it is a very solemn thing to get married.' know it, father,' replied the sensible dam sel; but it is a great deal solemner not to.' No HOPE FOR PRINTERS.—When Dr. Franklin's mother-in-law first discovered the young man had a hankering after her daughter, that good old lady said she did not know about giving her daughter to a printer ; there were already two printing offices in the United States, and she wasn't certain the country would support them. It was plain young Franklin would depend far his support upon the profits of the third, and this was rather a doubtful chance. If such an objection was urged to a would be son-in-law when there were but two print ing offices in the United States, how can a printer hope to get a wife now, when the census shows the number to be 15,1367.-5 P;inter's News Letter. 117" A greenhorn standing by a sewing machine, at which a young lady was at work, looking alternately e at the ,machine and and at its fa ir operetor, at length' glivi vent to his admiratiOttWitN by golly ;'A purty, specially the' part inih'dalikert"' THE LANbA.STER. INTELLIEENCEE JOB PRINTZATO ESTABLLSELYENT, No. 8 NORTH DUES. STREET, LANCASTER, PA. The Jobbing Department is thoroughly Ambled with new and elegant type of every description, and is under the charge of a practicsd and experienced Job Printerr- The Proprietors are prepared to PBINT CHECKS, NOTES, LEGAL BLANKS, CARDS AND CIIRCIILARS, BILL HEADS AND HANDBILLS, PROGRAMMES AND POSTERS, PAPER BOOKS AND PAMPHLETS, BALL TICKETS AND INVITATIONS, PRINTING IN COLORS AND PLAIN PRINTING, with neat:tea, accuracy and dispatch, on the moat reasona ble terms, and in a manner not excelled by &aped:Wish. meat in the city. W Orders from a distance, by mall or otheriles, promptly attended to. Address GEO. SANDKREION A' SON, Intaillgeneer No. 8 North Duke etreet, Lancaster, A TTEINTION III I ELTAr 0001i3 FOR HARDER'S RIFLE AND INFANTRY TACTICS. BAXTER'S VOLUETBER'S MANUAL—English and Ger- mart. lILLSWORTHT 7.OIIAVE DRlLL—with a akotoh of Us life. THE VOLUNTEER'S TEXT BOOK, containing most valu able information for Officers, Volunteers, and Militia, in the Camp, Field, or on the March. BEADLE'S DIME SQUAD DRILL BOOK. BEADLE'S SONGS BO c TEE WAR. STARS AND STRIPES SONGSTER. All the above, and a variety of Union Paper, Envelopes, &c., &c., for sale at J. AL WESTHARPFER'S' june 4 tf 21] Corner N. Queen and Orange atreete. CBO O K S S All the different School Books now in nee In the Pub lic and Private Schools of the City and County, are for sale at LOWEST PRICES, At the CHEAP BOOK STORE, N 0.32 North Queen et. HOLBROOK'S MOTTOES for the School Room (cheap.) A SYSTEM OF SCHOOL GOVERNMENT, New and very cheep, by Joan Arwmaa. WRITING PAPER, SLATES, INK, J.RA I) PENCILS, STEEL PENS, COPYBOOKS, NUMERAL FRAMES, GLOBES. SANDERS' ELOCUTIONARY CHARTS, SANDERS' PRIMARY CHARTS, WEBB'S CARDS, AND PELTON'S OUTLINE MAPS. This series of six superb Maps is now adopted in almost every school of note In the Union, where Geography is taught, and has no equals. In fact, thing in we in the Schools. Give us a call and you will be satisfied. JOAN SLIEAFFEIII3 Cheap Book Store, sep 17 tf 38] No. 32 North Queen street. SOMETHING FOR THE TIMES I I A NECESSITY IN EVERY HOUSEHOLD!! I JOHNS & CROSLEY'S AMERICAN CEMENT GLUE, THE STRONGEST GLUE IN THE WORLD FOR CEMENTING WOOD, LEATHER, GLASS, IVORY, CHINA, MARBLE, PORCELAIN, ALABASTER, BONE, CORAL, &c., &c., &e. The only article of the kind ever prndnced which will withstand Water. EXTRACTS Every housekeeper should have a supply of John's Crosley's American Cement Glue."—New York Times.' "It is so convenient to have in the house.". Express. "It is always ready; this commends it to everybody.". N. Y. Independent. We have tried it, and find it as useful in our house as water."— IV ilkes' Spirit of the Times. PRICE TWENTY—FIVE CENTS PER BOTTLE. Very Liberal Reductions to Wholesale Dealers. TERMS CASH. 1Q...F0r sale by all Drugglets and Storekeepers generally throughout the country. JOHNS & °ROBLEY, (Sole Manufacturers,) 78 WILLIAM ST., (Corner of Liberty St.,) NEW YORK july 9 ly 28 N EW FALL GOODS. THOS. W. EVANS & CO. invite attention to their Large, Varied and Handsome as sortment of NEW FALL G00.D3, embracing all the Newe-t Styles In SILKS, DRESS GOODS, CLOAKS, EMBROIDERIES and FANCY DRY GOODS. • Also, a full assortment of MOURNING GOODS. • WHITE GOODS, HOSIERY, - - - - - GLOVES, MITS, &d, &c. This stock is principally T. W. EVANS & CO.'S own (M. portatiou, having been selected in the best European Markets, expressly for their own retell trade, and will be found' unsurpassed for Style, Quality and Reasonable Prices. Nos. 818 AND 820 CRESTNIIT STRUT. BELOW CONTINENTAL HOTEL, N. B.—Wholesale buyers will find it advantageous to examine this Stock. [oct 8 2m 39 1861 NEW F ALL GOODS, NOW OPENING AT WENTZ BROTHERS, CORNER EAST KING AND CENTRE SQUARE. NOW IS THE TIME TODIIT AND SAVE AT LEAST 25 PER CENT BEAUTIFUL FALL DRESS GOODS OF EVERY DESCRIPTION EMBROIDERED OASHAIERE, EMBROIDERED REPS MOUSE DE LANES, PLAIN AND FIGURED BEAUTIFUL SILKS LADIES' AND GENTS' KID GLOTES, ZXTRA QUALITY, FALL OOLORS We are now opening GREAT BARGAINS every day Notwithstanding the great advance of prices of all kinds of DRY GOODS we continue to give our ctudomers BARGAINS. seplo] WENTZ BROTHERS. (tf 85 GREAT WESTERN INSURANCE AND TRUST COMPANY OF PHILADELPHIA. CHARTER PERPETUAL. Fire Insurance on Stores, Dwellings, Public Buildings, and Merchandise generally, limited or Perpetual. lire Insurance on Houses, Barns and amtents, Implements, de. Also Inland Insurance on &Dods to all parts of the Country. OFFICE IN THE COMPANY'S BUILDING, No. 403 WALNUT STREET, CORNER OF FOURTH. Statement of the amtpany's Btuineu for the year ending October 314, 1858. 4523,800 00 51,453 08 258 $91,585 45 5275, 03 7,825 49 Received for Premiums - Received for Interest, Bent, kc Paid Losses Expenses, Commis sions, Re-Insurances, Returned Premiums, he Increase of Fire Premiums over last year's 514,699 69 Decrease Marine Premiums 10,428 74 0=!! A9B/11 . 13. Real Estate, Bonds and Mortgages, $141,240 00 Stocks, (Par, $80,310,) 47,915 00 Bills Receivable 69,885 73 Unsettled Premiums and other debts due the Company Cash on hand, and in the hands of Agents =l= CHARLES 0. LATHROP MX PRESIDENT. WILLIAM DARLING. OLOSZTART AND mamma& JAM:I3B . WRIGHT. DIRiCTORS. Charles C. Lathrop, 1423 Walnut street Alex. Whildin, Merchant, 18 North Front street. Win. Darling, 1338 Pine street. Isaac Haziehurst, Solicitor. John 0. Hunter, firm of. Wright, Hunter & Co. E. Tracy, firm of E. Tracy & Co., Goldsmith's HaIL Jno. It. McCurdy, firm of Jones, White k McCurdy. Thomas L. Gillespie, firm of Gillespie k Zeller. - James B. Smith, Ann of Jame' B. Smith k Co. John B. 'Vogdes, corner Seventh and Sansom streets. Daniel L. Collier, firm of-0. H. Grant & Co. Thomas Potter, 229 Arch street. Charles Harlan, corner Walnut and Sixth streets. Jonathan J. Slocum, 164 South Fourth street- GEO. CALDER & Co., Agents, East Orange st., Lancaster, Pa. mar 221 y 10 HOOGILAPAY T Y, IN ALL ITS BRANODDP3. - - Executed in the beet style known in the art, et C. G. CRANE'S GAL LE .1? b 32 Axon Smarr, Etas or Sixxn, PHIGADAPIAL LIFE SIZE IN OIL AND PAI3TIL STEREOSCOPIO P0R.T.224.17i5,' Ambrotypes, Dagturreotypea, kc., for Casts, Medallions Pins, Rings, Ac. fmar 10 21y _A TTENTION I HOME. OMAJAMibiII A Book for every one. “BAXTER'I3 MANUAL," inatrated, and only 26 cents—the beet' book•'ent-4oeeele at J. M. wasiltexinems,, N.o: corner of Nbith'Qideettind-Oringe ste.--• VOLUNTEERS' MANUAL:L, for the ruisof all:Volunteers and Home Onarde, with 100 illustrshorus, by Lieut. Col, D. W.: O. Baxter. 0n1y:26 tents; - at- t' - • . J. M. WEEITHAXMILIM • • • No. 44; corder of North Qtieed and Ore* Ste: rtlin sciitinca , oulttna, Oki; "i • 1. • ma. , 4. OtalWaterManual. add Dinll3o4l4t thing In it is brought up to the Army eeqq mm present day. At J. M. rir mu 14 018] No. 44, Corner N. Queens Orange der ;No. il3. '—New York VALENTI& REPS 999,390 94 $70,363 00 $ 4,272 85 8,389 28 8 2 76403 08
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