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VOZ. LXIII.
fSfi^-LANOASIEII.INTEitLIGEUCEiLi
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. - LAMBS ALL GONE
I loved-them so, ...
That yrhen the elder Shepherd of the fold
Came, covered ty ith the storm, and pale and cold,
And pegged for one of my sweet iambs to hold,
r.,. . I bade him'go.
He claimed the pet,
A little fondly thing that to my breast
Clanjg always, either Id quiet or unrest;
I thotightof all my lambs I loved him best.
i- .Andyet—and yet—-
I laid him down,
In those white, shrouded arms, with bitter tears;
For some voice.toid me that in after years
He should know naught of passion, grief or tears
As I had known.
And'yet again ~ '
That elder: Shepherd came: my heart grew faint.
He daUned another lamb with sadder plaint.
Another ( she who gentle as a saint’
.'!/ ' Ne’er gave me pain.
Aghast I turned away,
There she sat, lovely as an angel’s dream,
Her golden looks with sunlight all agleam,
Her noly eyes with heaven in their beam;
- I knelt to pray:
. “ItisthywillT
My father, say, must this pet lamb be given ?
Oh! Thou hast many such, dear Lord, in heaven;”
And a-soft voice said, “ Nobly hast thou striven;
But—peace, be still!”
Oh! how I wept!
I clasped her to my bosom, with a wild
And yearning love—my pleasant child.
Her; too, £ gave—the little angel smiled
And sweetly slept.
“Go! go!” I cried,
Foronce again that Shepherd laid his hand
Upon, the noblest of our household band;
Like a pale spectre there he took his stand,
. Close to his side.
And yet how wondrous sweet
The loot with wbioh he heard my passionate cry :
“Tqnch not my lamb—for him, oh! let me die!”
“ ATittle while,” He said, with a smile and a sigh,
’ “Again to meet.”
Hopeless I fell;
And when I rose the light had burned so low
So faint I.ooutd not see my darling go—
He had not bidden me farewell, but, oh !
I felt farewell.
More deeply far
Thau if my arms had compassed that slight frame ;
Though could I but have heard him call my name—
“ Dear mother ” —but in heaven ’twill be the same;
There burns my star.
He will not take
Another lamb, I thought, for only one
Of the dear fold is spared to me; my son,
Mygaide, my mourner, wbo this life is done—
My heart would break.
Oh, with what thrill
I heard him enter, but I did not know
(Fox it was dark) that he had robbed me so.
The idol of my soul! —be could not go—
Oh! heart be still.
Come morning—can I tell
How this poor frame its sorrowful tenant kept ?
For waking tears were mme—l, sleeping wept,
And duys and months and years that weary vigil
kept.
Alas, “ Farewell.”
How often it is said!
I sit, and think, and wonder, too, sometime,
How it will seem when in that happier clime
It-Will never ring out like funeral
Over the dead.
, No tears! no tears !
Will there a day oome when I shall not weep ?
For X bedew my pillows in my sleep;
Yes, yes, thank tiodl no grief that clime shall keep
No weary years.
Aye! it is well!
Well with my lambs and with their early goide
There pleasant rivers wander they beside,
Or strike sweet harps upon its silver tide
Aye, it is well.
Through dreary day
They often oome from glorious ligjit to me—
I canno.t.feel their toueh, their faces see:
Yet my squl whispers—they come to me—
Heaven is not far away.
OUR PIC-NIC
BT MART KYLE DALLAS,
One evening I was watching for Psalter
at the parlor window. Psalter and Brother
John were both late that night, just be
cause we had something for dinner which
would be entirely spoiled by standing on
the stove to keep warm, as gentlemen in
variably are on suoh oeoasions. Well, as
I. was .patching for him, and imagining that
every coat and hat that turned the corner
contained my truant instead of some one
else’s,aparty of Germans, returning from
one of their excursions, passed by on the
opposite Bide of the way. Among .them
were youths and maidens and toddling
children, young folks only just married,
and old couples who had celebrated both
‘ golden ’ and ‘silver ’ wedding-days.
I watohed the group as it passed up the
street, with the sunset falling asiant upon
the. yellow heads of the children and brown
beards of the men, until a shimmer of the
white coats and red ribbons was all I could
discern in the distanee.
.. When even this had disappeared, I drew
in. my head with a sigh, and felt as though
P bad been parting with a friend. 1 be
fieve it was this—in fact, I know it was
■that first put the notion of a pic-nio into
iny .unfortunate, foolish head. It would
be so delightful and so pleasing to the
children, we must go—Psalter and the
children and myself, Tom and his wife and
baby, John, Unole Bob, and all, (it was
before Uncle Bob married that girl Ellen
•of course.) Oh yes! we must make a
family party, and a merry one, too, of it.
■- Accordingly, the following Monday
•found me busily employed making up pies
.and other edibles of the like nature for the
next day’s consumption, for I jhad deter
mined to have a regular old-fashioned pio
nio, and take our own provisions.
•. How anxiously the children watohed the
sky that evening ! And when the sun set
■brightly, and they felt sure that ‘ to-mor
■rbw’ would be dear, there was suoh a
olappingof hands, and such pleasant
anticipations of ourpic-nic!
_ Tuesday morning was bright and quiet,
and we were all assembled at aD early hour,
our provision—baskets ready paoked.
i. .After some delay, occasioned by the neces
•' ®ity sending for catnip tea and pepper
mint, wherewith to feed Jane’s baby, who
was taken with a sudden fit of eolio, we
Started. Tom and Psalter were loaded
*with the baskets. John— unlucky John
who is always getting into some sorape or
; other—carried Jane’s baby, and Jane and
i myself had quite as muoh as we could do
to look after the other ohildren.
.. Sister-in-law, myself and all the girls
were dressed in white. Uncle Bob, who,
stout, likes, to .be pool, was at-’
tired in a suit of snowy lineD,’ so that we
made quite a summer-like appearanoe, the
of the other-gebtlemen : only
. pleasant variety to :the group.
tfnole-Bob waddled at the head of tbo
party, carrying a huge umbrella, as pro
tection against the son, and eating sand
wiohes, apples, bisouits, and I don’t know
wl “iob h® took from his pockets
W along. Speaking of those
pockets, I declare they were , stuffed like
- pedlars’ packs, withall,sorts of eatables.
He had brought some from his own: .home,'
had obtained a fresh supply’ Tam’s
house, and concluded the ; operation' at
mine. A suspicious looking Sat bottle was
buttoned up in the breast of his coat; and,
altogether, he woiild have been comfortably
provided for a week’s journey—-for, as
Uncle Bob himself said, he might want a
bite before we opened the baskets.
' We stopped at the corner of Broadway
for a conveyance. Every driver within
sight at-once elaimed ns as his own par
ticular prize.; but, dear me! not a stage
among them all had room enough left for
the whole of us, so it was decided that we
should appoint a place of meeting and take
I different vehioles. Sister-in-law got in
first, 1 followed, Tom and Uncle Bob came
next, and, if you’ll believe me, the door
was banged to, and John and the baby,
Psalter and two baskets, and every one of
the ohildren, remained on the sidewalk.
‘ Here, Psalter! give Fanny to me,” I
called from one window ; while sister-in
law screamed, ‘ Give me that poor baby,
John, this instant!’ from another. But
it was of no use ; away we were rattled by
the obdurate driver, who, having crammed
eighteen souls into his conveyance, was
afraid of letting some of his visiters esoape.
Sister-in-law was in great distress. i
‘ Oh, dear!’ she said, ‘ what shall Ido ?
The poor child will be so hungry and so
uncomfortable ; what shall Ido ? I know
John will let her fall, or something.’ 1
‘Now, don’t fret, Jane,’ said Tom ; ‘ we
won’t be half an hour getting to the ferry,
and then it will be all right, you know.’
‘ All right, indeed!’ sneered sister-in
law ; ‘as if anything could be ‘ all right ’ !
with such frantic, heedless goings on at j
the beginning. To think that I should j
have trusted that heedless John with mv '
baby!’ J i
And, to tell the truth, I never was more i
vexed and worried myself than I was at ■
that moment, although I tried to feel sure j
that, as Tom said, all would be right at j
the ferry. |
‘ There !’ said Uncle Bob, as we stepped
on board the ferry-boat, at last—‘ There,
they have got down beforo us, after all.
I see ’em in the ladies’ cabin.’
To the ladies’ cabin we all rushed, forth
with, headed by sister-in-law who saluted
the persons therein assembled with the
original and striking remark, ‘ Turn to its
muzzer, a doll baby, so it is !’ which caused
considerable astonishment, as neither baby,
John, Psalter, or any cf them were there.
Uncle Bob was mistaken, so we turned to
regain the wharf; but it was too late.
The boat had already started.
By this time Tom began to look anxious.
‘ You know,’ he said, evidently trying to
comfort himself—‘ You know we were to
meet at ,’ naming the plane which had
been appointed in the morning ; ‘ and of
course they will go straight there ; so
don’t worry, Jane.’
But Jane refused to be comforted for a
momeut, and no wonder.
pbedient to Tom’s suggestion, after
landing we turned our steps direotly toward
the woods, and, after much scrambling and
with many scratches, arrived at our desti
nation. There we waited and waited,
looking along the road by which we our
selves had come, in momentary expectation
of the arrival of our companions, all of us
very much excited, except Unde Bob,
who, beneath the shade of his big um
brella, consumed the contents of his pockets
and the flat bottle, without cessation, with
the most complacent countenance imagin
able. After passing a hour thus,, sister
in-law declared that she was positive some
aocident had happened, and in default of
a better alternative, we returned to the
ferry.
‘ Do you know whether any one has been
drowned?’ demanded sister-in-law, hysteri
cally, of a negro boy whom we met near
the water-side.
‘ Yes’m, thar war,’ answered the boy.
‘Was it a young man and a baby?’
shrieked sister-in-law.
‘ No mum—an old woman.’
‘ And none of the ferry-boats have
blown up within this half-hour, my man,
have they i’ put in Unole Bob, with his
mouth full.
‘ Don’t know, massa ; dey’ll tell yon at
de ferry/ said the boy, showing his teeth
very muoh.
£ Uh !’ answered Unole Bob, taking
another bite of bisouit. ‘Just ask, will
you, Tom ?’
But Tom was pursuing his inquiries in
a different manner.
‘ Have you seen two gentlemen, with a
baby, and two baskets, and seven other
ohildren, pass lately?’ he asked of the
man at the ferry.
‘Two ohildren seven baskets— and
what else, sir ?’ replied the man.
‘A baby!’ screamed Jane—‘a ’ittle
tidy ’ittle sing, what its nasty, bad uncle
took away without its dinner, so he did !’
‘Ma’am?’ gasped the man, perfectly
bewildered.
‘ You see,’ exclaimed Tom, ‘ we came
over on a sort of pic-nio, and have lost
halt of our party, and wish to find which
way they have gone.’
‘ Oh, yes,’ said the ferryman, ‘ I see.
What was it—seven gentlemen a basket,
and two babies ?’
‘ No, sir !’ I put in. ‘Two gentlemen,
a baby, and seven ohildren !’
‘ Yon may know the gentlemen, per
haps,’ said Uncle Bob, ‘by the strong
resemblance one of them, this lady’s hus
band, bears to myself;’ and Uncle Bob
spread himself, pockets and all, before the
box occupied by the official whom he ad
dressed.
Psalter is tall and rather slender, and
Uncle Bob is mneh broader than he is
iong ; and Psalter has beautiful features
and large blue eyes, while Uncle Bob has
no apparent features at all, except cheeks
and a triple chin. The idea.
‘ Let me think—let me think,’ said the
man. Yes, there was a party of that
description went up yonder to the left, a
while ago. I remember them particularly,
on aocQunt of the baby’s crying.’
‘ And one of the gentlemen resembled
-me V repeated Unde Bob.
‘Yes, sir, considerably so, I believe,’
said the man, doubtfully.
, ‘ Ami they had straw hats and two bas
ketsi with them V I inquired.
‘Yes, ma’am, 1 believe so,’ said the
man, urning away as though determined
to say nothing more on the subject.
r J be Psalter a*d the
•rest, we concluded ; and away we started
down the path indicated, now imagining
we saw them, and now discovering that we
; we were tired to
I deatlrand absolntely'Taimshed.
u THAT COUNTRY 18 TH* HOST
LANCASTER CITY. PA- TUESDAY MORNING, APRIL 22, 1862,
Uncle. Bob, although he had emptied
both his pockets and the bottle, declared
he should faint if he had not something
substantial to eat; and accordingly we
proceeded to a public bouse, near at band,
where Tom oalled for dinner. The two
gentlemen ate heartily, but neither Jane
nor I, hungry as we were, could touch a
mouthful.
‘Do take some of this milk, ladies,’
said the good natured landlady, and she
placed a pitcher full upon the table. ‘ It’s
very refreshing after a long jaunt in the
® un and so a poor baby that was brought
in here a while ago, thought, I reckon.’
‘ A baby!’ exclaimed Jane and I, at
once.
‘ Yes, ma’am—a poor little baby,’ ans
wered the landlady ‘ all alone with a
young man ; and really I didn’t know
which to pity most, the baby or its pa,
when I see him a feeding of it with milk,
and pouring more of it into its eyes than
its mouth. -I had to take hold and feed
it myself. Whatever his wife was a think
iug of, when she let him go out by him
self with that mite of a baby, 1 can’t
think.’ 3
‘lt must have been John,’ I said. «It
certainly was our John.’
‘ La! them’s the identical words a gen
tleman that -came in a while after he was
gone, said, when I promiscuously mention
ed the young man. He said—‘ It’s our
John !’
‘ What was the gentleman’s name—do
you know V I inquired.
‘ No, ma’am, 1 don’t; but he was a
handsome looking man, and had a whole
lot of ohildren and baskets with him. I’ve
an idea he was a Sunday-sohool Union
going on a pic-nio. All I know is he sez
to the children—‘ We’ll go home, now ;’
and they crossed to the city.’
‘ Home—home at once, then !’ cried
Tom j ‘ they are there already, doubtless.’
‘ You might wait until I could get some
thing into my stomach to keep me from
fainting before we get home,’ grumbled
Uncle Bob, as he followed.
Oh! how long that drive and sail seem
ed to us, and how relieved we were when
wo at last saw lights gleaming from the
windows of our house !
We rushed in in a body. There were
Psalter and all the children, but neither-
John nor the baby; and what was more,
Psalter had seen nothing of him sinoe they
parted at the stage-door, when we got in.
Poor sister-in-law went into strong hys
terics, and declared that she had had a
presentiment of something terrible all
day !
‘ We must look for them,’ said Psalter.
‘ I’ll go ,to the ferry, and you, Tom, go
‘ Oh, it will be no use !’ sobbed sister
in-law. 1 They are either drowned, run
over, or devoured by the wolves. Just
wait, Tom ; I shan’t live three minutes,
and then you’ll have nothing to detain
you, and can go where you choose—only
I hope you’ll remember that it is all your
fault from beginning to end, and take
warning by it.’
At this momeut a violent cry was heard
in the hall, and in a moment more John
and the baby stood among us.
‘ Just take her a moment, Emma,’ were
the first words he uttered. ‘ 1 have car
ried her all day.’-
But the poor little thing was already in
its mother’s arms ; and while Jane soothed
its woes, as only a mother oan, she berated
poor John at the top of her voioe, until,
what with fatigue and unhappiness, the
poor fellow was ready to cry.
We discovered, as soon as John obtain
ed leave to speak, that he had followed
first one party, then another, until he lost
himself, and had wandered miles away in
the wrong direction.
* Poor Cassie cried considerably,’ said
John ; ‘ but excepting that, she was a very
good girl. I bought milk for her frequent
ly. I tried to get her to eat some cake,
too ; but she don’t seem to know how to
chew yet. Dear me ! I didn’t know a lit
tle baby weighed so much.’
* But we are so tired, mamma,’ said
Fanny ; < and we couldn’t find you, and
so I and Kosa cried. I lost my slipper in
the road, and Clara’s frock is torn, and
Dick’s jacket, too—and we are so tired,
mamma, we want to go to bed.*
To bed they went; and while I was
kissing little Fanny good-night, sleepiness
overpowered me, and, with my arm around
her, I sunk upon the pillow, and knew no
thing more until I awoke to find myself
snugly covered up with blankets, while the
morning sun was shining through the win
dow and Psalter arranging his hair at the
glass
And so ended ‘ our pic-nic.’
A Good One.— Mr. M ,of Illinois,
has been a kind of preacher for several
years. He at length got the notion that
it was wrong to make any preparation for
his sermons, believing that his duty re
quired that he should trust to the inspira
tion of the moment.
One Sunday’ when he was to preaoh at
Moline, he walked into the pulpit and
opened his bible, as was his onstorn. He
happened to open at the first ohapter of
Matthew, and began to read the seoond
verse as follows : ‘Abrah’m forgot Isaao,
and Isaao forgot Jaoob, and Jacob forgot
Judas and his brother.’
The old man seemed somewhat puzzled
to find any application for the scripture
but at length started ahead. ‘ My friends,’
said he, ‘this passage of scripture is meant
to teach us the shortness of haman memory,
and it does seem to me that them old pat
rearks was mighty forgetful.’
[EP’Some young men talk about luck.
Good lack is to get np at six o’clock in the
morning; good lack, if yon have only a
shilling a week, is to live upon elevenpence
and save a penny; good look is to trouble
your head with your own business, and let
your neighbors’ alone; good Inok- is to ful
fill the commandments’ and do unto other
people as we wish them to do to ns. They
must not plod, bat persevere. Penoe
must be taken care of because they are
the seed of guineas. To get on in the world,
they must take care of home, sweep their
own door-way olean, try and help other
people, avoid temptation, and have faith in
truth and God.
Tacitus says, ‘ln the early ages
man lived a life of innocence and sim
plicity.’ Upon this a oritio remarks, ‘When
was this period of innocence ? The
first woman went astray. The very first
man that was born in the world killed the
second. -When did the time of eimplioitv
WHBB L4BOI COMMANDS THM GRMATXBT BXVABD.”—BUCHANAN.
A Picture of Home.
I recall a home long since left behind
in the journey of life, and its memory
floats' back over me with a shower of emo
tions and thoughts towards whose pre
cious fall my heart opens itself' greedily,
like a thirsty flower. It is a home among
the mountains—humble and homely, but
priceless in its associations. The water
fall again sings in my ears, as it used to
through those dreamy, mysterious nights.
The lose at the gate, the pateh of tansy
under the window, the neighboring or
chard, the old elm, the grand machinery
of storms and showers, the little Smithy
under the hill that flamed with strange
light through the dull winter evenings,
the wood pile at the door, the ghostly
white birches on the hill, and the dim
blue haze on the retiring mountains—all
these come back to me with an appeal
that touches my heart and moistens my
eyes. I sit again in the doorway of sum
mer nightfall, ea ing my bread and milk,
looking off upon the darkening landscape,
and listening to the shouts of boys on the
hillside calling or driving home the re
luctant herds. I watch again the devi
ons ways of the dusky night-hawk along
the twilight sky, and listen to his meas
ured note, and the breezy boom that ac
companies his headlong plunge towards
the earth.
Even the old barn, crazy in every tim
ber and gaping at every joint, has charms
for me. I try again the breathless leap
from the great beams in the haymow. I sit
again on the threshhold of the widely
open doors—open to the soft south wind
of spring—and watch the oattle, whose
faces look half human to me, as they sun
themselves, and peacefully ruminate, while
drop by drop the melting snow on tho
roof drills holes through the wasting drifts
beneath the eaves. Tho first little lambs
of the season tottle by the side of their
dams, and uttar their feeble bleatings,
while the flock nibble at the hay rack, or
a pair of rival wethers try the strength Of
their skulls in an enoounter, half in ear
nest and half in play. The proud old
roosters crow upon tho dunghill throne,
and some delighted member of his silly
family leaves her nest, and tells to her
mates and to me that there is one more
egg in the world. The old horse whin
nies in his stall and calls to me for food. I
look up to the roof and think of last year’s
swallows—soon to return again—and
catch a glimpse of angular sky through
the diamond shaped opening that gave
them ingress and egress, flow, I know
not, and oare not, but that old barn is a
part of myself—it has edtered into my
life and given me growth and health.
Bat I look into the house again where
the life abides which has appropriated
these things, and find among them its
home. The hour of evening has oome,
the lamps are lighted and the good man
in middle life—through very old he
seems to me—takes down the Bible and
reads a chapter from its hallowed pages.
A sweet woman sits at his side, with my
sleepy head upon her knees, and brothers
and sisters are grouped reverently around
me. Ido not understand the words, but
I have been told they are the words of
God, and I believe it. The chapter ends
and we all kneel down, and the good man
prays. I fall asleep with my head in the
chair, and the next morning I remember
nothing of how I went to bed. After
breakfast the Bible is taken down, and
the good man prays again and again is
the worship repeated through all the days
of many golden years. The plersant con
verse of the fireside, the simple song of
home, the words of enoouragement as I
bend over my school task, the kiss as I
lay down to rest the patient bearing with
the freaks of my restless nature, the gen
tle counsels mingled with reproofs and ap
proval, the sympathy that meets and as
suages every sorrow and sweetens every
little success—all these returu to me
amidst the responsibilities which press
upon me now, and I feel as if I had once
lived in Heaven, and straying had lost my
way.
Well, the good man grew old and wea
ry, and fell asleep at last with blessings
on his lips for me. Some of those who
oalled him father lie side by side in the
same calm sleep. The others are scatter
ed and dwell in new homes, and the old
honse and orchard have passed into the
hands of strangers, who have learned or
are learning to look upon them as I do
now. Lost, rained, forever left behind,
that home is mine to-day as truly as it
ever was, for have I not brought it away
with me and Bhown it to you ? It was
the home of my boyhood. In it I fonnd
my first mental food, and by it was my
young soul fashioned. To me, through
weary years and many sorrows, it has
been a perennial fountain of delight and
purifying influences, simply beoause it
was my home, and was and is part of me.
The rose at the gate blooms for me now.
The laudsoape comes when I summon it,
and I hear the voioes that calls to mo from
lips whioh memory makes immortal.
Salt in Throat Disease. —An ex
change says, in these days when diseases
of the throat are so prevalent, and m many
oases so fatal’ the use of common salt is
recommended as an effectual remedy. We
commenoed by using it threo times a day
—morning noon and night. We dissolved
a large tablespoon full of puretable salt in
about half a tumbler of cold water. With
this we gargled the throat most thoroughly
before meal time . The result has been
that daring the entire winter we were not
only free from the usaal eonghs and oolds
to whioh, so far as onr memory extends, we
have always been subject, but the dry
hacking cough has entirely disappeard.
We attributed this satisfactory result en
tirely to the salt gargle.
OF* ‘ And wilt thou ever, ever be faith
less to me, again V . ‘ Nay, dearest,’ he
replied.
And she neighed.—Bardstown Gaz.
‘And wilt thon be my faithful, loving
wife ? Oh, wilt thou ?’ And she wilted.
— Johnson’s Age.
‘ And we shall live lovingly together in
a dear little' shanty—shan’t we V
And they shantted.—-Louisville Jour
nal.
‘ And wilt thou—nay, I know thou wilt
repair my hose—darn them ?’
And she ‘ darned ’es».’
. [EF* A young woman ean have no exouse
for thinking her lover wiser than he is, for
if there’s Any nonsense l in hiin he will be
FITTED TO A HAIR.
Sometime Ago, being in company with a
medioal man whom I will call Mr. R ,
we fell into conversation on the use of the
mierosoope, in the management of which he
was an adept. ‘ Now,’ said he, ‘ I will tell
you a story of what happened to myself—
one which, I think, will illustrate the im
portance of this instrument to sooiety,
though I was put in a very unpleasant po
sition owing to my acquaintance with it.
‘ I have as you know, given a good deal
of attention to comparative anatomy, espe
cially to the structure of the hair as it ap
pears under the microscope. To the unas
sisted eye, indeed, all-hair appears very
much alike, except as it is long or short,
dark or fair, straight or curly, coarse or
fine. Under the microscope, however, the
case is very different: the white man’s is
round ; the negro’s oval; the mouse’s ap
parently jointed ; the rat’s jagged ; and so
on. Indeed, every animal haß hair of a
peculiar character, and what is more, this
character varies according to the part of the
body from which it is taken—an important
circumstanoe, as will appear from my story,
which is this:
‘ I once reoeived a letter by post, con
taining a few hairs, with a request that I
would examine them, and adding that they
would be oalled for in a few days. Accord
ingly I submitted the hairs to the mioro
soope, when I discovered that they were
from the human eyebrow, and had been
bruised. I made a note to this effect, and
folded it up with the hairs in an envelope,
ready for the person who had sent them.
In a few days a stranger oalled and in
quired whether I had made the investiga
tion. ‘Oh yes,’ I said, ‘there they are, and
you will find them and their description iu
this envelope,’ handing it to him at the
same time. He expressed himself as being
muoh obliged, and offered me a fee, which,
however, 1 declined, telling him that l could
not think of taking anything for so small a
matter.
‘ It turned out, however, of more oonse
quenoe than I had imagined, for within a
week I was served with a subpoena to at
tend as a witness on a trial for murder.
This was very disagreeable, as I have said ;
but there was no help for it now. The case
was this : A man had been killed by a blow
with some blunt instrument on the eyebrow,
and the hairs sent to me for examination
had been taken from a hammer in the pos
session of the suspected murderer. I was
put into the witness box, and my testimony,
‘ that the hairs were from the human eye
brow, and had been bruised,’ was just the
link in the chain of evidence whioh sufficed
to convict the prisoner. The jury, however,
were not easily satisfied that my statement
was worth anything ; and it required the
solemn assurance of the judge that suoh a
conclusion was within the reach of science,
to oonvinae them that they might act upon
it.
‘ One juryman in particular—an old far
mer—was very hard to satisfy. ‘ Does thee
mean to say,’ Baid he, ‘that thee oan tell any
hair of any animal ? I answered that I
would not take upon myself to assert posi
tively that I could do so, although I believ
ed I could. ‘ Well,’ said he, ‘ I’ll prove
thee.’
‘'The prisoner, as I said, was oonvicted,
and I went home, and, in the busy life of
an extensive praotioe forgot all about my
obstinate old farmer. About two years
afterwards, however, a person, an utter
stranger to me, oalled on me with a few
hairs screwed up in a piece of paper, which
he asked me to examine, and report on.
‘ls this another murder case ? I in
quired ; ‘ for, if so, I will have nothing to
do with it. I’ve had enough of that sort of
work.’
‘ No, no,’ said he, ‘ it is nothing of the
kind. It is only a matter of curiosity,
which I should be very muoh obliged if you
would solve ; and if you will do it, 1 will
call or send for the result of your examina
tion in a few days’time.’ Having received
this assurance, I undertook the investiga
tion.
‘ When he was gone, and I had leisure, I
put the hairs under the microscope, and
soon discovered that they were taken from
the baok of a Norway rat.
‘ Two or three days afterwards, as I
was sitting in my consulting-room, an old
farmer-looking man was ushered in.
‘ Well,’ said he, ‘ has thee looked at them
hairs V
‘ Yes,’ I answered, ‘and I find that they
are from the baok of a Norway rat.’ ‘Well,’
exclaimed he, ‘so they are. Thou hast for
gotten me ; but 1 have not forgotten thee.
Does thee recolleot the trial for murder at
L assizes ? I said 1 would prove thee;
and so I have, for them hairs come from the
back of a rat’s akin my son sent me from
Norway.’ So the old gentleman was quite
satisfied with the proof to which he had put
me, and I, as you may suppose, was well
pleased that my skill and sagacity had stood
suoh a queer proof as this, and more oon
vinoed than ever of the value of the micro
soope.’
Here the doctor ended his story, whioh I
have given as nearly as possible in his own
words, and upon which I believe that a
thorough dependence may be placed.
How Washington Delivered His
Farewell Address.
In the JVcttionnl Intelligencer j dnring
the year 1857, was given an extract from
a letter written by a lady, eighty years of
age, residing in Philadelphia, to her grand
son in Washington, describing the scene
at the delivery of Washington’s Farewell
Address. The scene is graphically de
scribed, and we reproduce the extract as
appropriate to the-present occasion :
_ ‘ When General Washington delivered
his Farewell Address, in the room at the
South-East oorner of Chestnut and Sixth
streets, I sat immediately in front of him.
It was in the room the Congress occupied.
The table of the Speaker was between the
two windows on Sixth street. The dangh
ter of Dr. of Alexandria, the phy
sician and intimate friend of Washington,
Mrs. , whose husband was the audi
tor, was a very dear friend of mine. Her
brother, Washington, was one of the Sec
retaries of General Washington. Young
Dandndge, a nephew of Gen. Washington,
was- the other. 1 was inoluded in Mrs.
H ’h party to witness the august,
the solemn scene. N. H- declined
going with Mrs. H , who had deter
mined to go early so as to secure the front
benoh. It was fortunate for N C
(afterwards Mrs. L— ; ~) that she would
not trust herself so near her honored
grandfather. My dear father stood very
near her; she was terribly agitated. There
was a narrow passage from the door of
entrance to the room, which was on the
east, dividing the rows of benohes. Gen.
Washington stopped at the end to let Mr.
Adams pass to the ohair. The latter al
j ways wore a full suit of bright drab, With
| slash, or rather loose ouffs. He also wore
j wrist ruffles. He had not changed his
j fashions. He was a short man with a good
j head. With his family he attended our
I church twice a day.
I Gen. Washington’s dress was a full suit
|of black. His military hat had the black
| cockade. There stood the Father of his
Country, acknowledged by nations ‘the
first in war, first in peace, first in the
j hearts of his countrymen.’ No marshals
with gold-colored soarfs; no cheering.
The most profonnd stillness greeted him,
as if that assembly deßjred to hear him
breathe—the homage of the heart. Mr.
Adams eovered his fioe with both his hands
The sleeve of his coat and hands were
covered with tears. Every now and then
there was a suppressed sob. I cannot de
scribe Washington’s appearanoe as I felt
it—perfectly oomposed and self-possessed
till the close of his address. Then, when
strong men’s sobs broke loose, when tears
oovered their faces, then the great man was
shaken. I never took my eyes from his
faoe. Large drops oame from his eyes. He
looked to the grateful ohildren who were
parting with their father, their friend, as
if his heart was with them and would be
to the end.’
A Beautiful Incident.
Six years ago a young man just enter
ing life, under the influence of rum, com
mitted a crime against sooiety, was tried,
oonvicted, and sent to Warpin. He served
out his time behind the prisons. Before
his trial a fair girl had promised to link
her fortunes to his, and cruel was the blow
to her.
All through the six years did she wait
for the day of release. With a true wo
man’s heart she believed him innocent—
innooent at least before God—and like the
magnet, she held on her steady way, her
heart pointing ever to the future. Long
were the hours to him. 81owly passed the
hours—seconds were minutes—minutes
were hours—hours days—days weeks—
weeks months—months years—and the
years were like ages. Every tolling of
the prison bell struok deep to his heart,
and every sunset took another thread from
his long skein. Nor were the hours less
weary to her. Hope, that blessed angel,
sat beside her by day, and reposed on her
pillow by night. Some there were who
laughed at her holy love —who sneered so
meanly at her love—a prisoner miles away.
But little mattered it to her. Others
might sneer—she remained true to her
heart and him. Others might point to a
man in piison garb, toiling away from morn
till night, but with one star to guide him
on. She saw but the honest soul that
might be saved, or be lost j and, woman
that she was, nerved herself to bear the
gibes and jeers. Blessed words came to
him in his lonely cell—words of love, of
hope, of kindness ; and stronger grew the
heart of her who had truly been his better
angel watching over his broken nature.—
Each word from her lightened the hours
as they slowly went by, and longer grew
the day on which liberty was to come.—
Men visited him, and with careless or
speaking eye, threw into his cell madden
ing thoughts on which his soul must feed,
and tremblingly shrink to the darkest cor
ner of its temple. Then a letter from her
would dash aside the dark curtains, aud
beokon him on to a spot of sunshine, out
side and beyond his present reaoh. So
passed the years. The sin was long sinoe
more than atoned for, and at last the little
spot of sunshine crept to his cell, and en
tering by the keyhole of the door, let him
forth into the bright rays of liberty. He
was conducted to the office of the prison
by Mr. McGraw, and a citizen’s dress in
stead of a prison suit given unto him, and
into an inner room, where stood she, who,
years before, had promised before God to
be his. What a meeting ! : Tis not for us
to speak of it.
On the evening train the two arrived in
Milwaukee, and were joined in marriage.
We were a witness to the ceremony, and
shall never forget it—never forget the eye
moistened with tears of happiness, nor the
throbbings of the heart that had so long
waited and trusted. Saved, saved ! May
the future be all the brighter for the dark
cloud that so long hung over it, and true
friends be ever ready to lend a helping
hand. We believo in woman’s love—in
woman’s devotion—the more after know
ing the faot above stated. God bless the
true heart wherever it may be found.—
Exchange.
Freedom of Speech.
- Mrs. Mulloney hires the whole of Tip
perary Block, and underlets it to her coun
try people, making a good thing of the
operation. The block is owned by Mr.
Israel Lamb, a gentleman of many virtues,
whose patience had been at sundry times
endangered by the volubility of Mrs. Mul
loney, who at every pay dayjwas clamorous
about defects in the tenments, high rent,
needed repairs, etc., such as every landlord
is familiar with. At last, Mr Lamb—his
disposition to do right and the fear of doing
wrong holding equal prominence in his
mind—proposed a conference that should
insure his peace, and he proposed to Mrs.
Mulloney that she. should suspend all com
plaints, stop her general abuse and go away
peaceably, he agreeing to deduct twenty
five dollars per year from the rent. The
terms were accepted, the contract ratified,
and Mrs. 'Maloney went home to look after
the under tenants, the majority of whom
lived over her. The time of the first pay
ment under the contract, and Mrs. Mullo
ney, as was her custom, was early at the
office of Mr. Lamb. Her face was, very
red, and as she threw down upon the desk
the rent money, minus the two dollars and
a fraction monthly redaction, she opened
upon Mr. Lamb a volley of wrathful words
that almost took the old gentleman off his
leather-bottomed seat. The snow had
melted on the roof and'run down into the
attic, Mistress O’Rourke had taken the
rbeumatis, and little Biddy was nigh dead
with the croup, and all because the old roof
leaked, and the landlord wouldn’t fix it. At
the oloso of her paroxysm, Mr. Lamb said
to her that she had apparently forgotten the
oontrac t—th at the allowance in the rent was
solely on condition that she should hold her
tongue. She stood a moment with the
fieroest kind of a storm raging within her
breast, that dashed from her eyes in occa*
sional jets, as fire will lick.out between the
clapboards of a burning house j to burst out
at last in irrepressible flame. ,I nhere was,
some momentous calculation exercising the.
tnin,d of Mrs. Mulloney. At lsngth,~rtun« v
bling in her pocket, she .drew out her 613
worn purse again,itndßirbwingf the itaiodnt
deducted from her bill upon the desk, she
ex'olaimed : ‘ D’ye think I’ll howld mv
tongue for a trifle like that l I’ll say what
I plase about the leaky owld toof and the
orazy owld house, and no thanks to yes
anyway.’ The assertion of independence
and vindication of the right of freo speeoh
was most vigorously put, and Mrs; Mul
loney departed leaving Mr. Lamb to pre
pare for a severe time to dome. 'He dreads'
the approach of rent day beoause more
snow has fallen sinoe and the repairs
haven’t been made. •
[IF 3 A country editor, notioing the de
cease- of a wealthy gentleman, observes:
‘ He has died regretted by a numerous
circle of friends, and leaving a widow as
disconsolate as any widow need be, who
has obtained the uncontrolled possession
of five thousand per annum. More than
twenty young men have sent letters, of con
dolence to her.’
KF* • Sir,’ said a woman to a loafer, * If
you do not send home my husband’s,
olothes, I will expose you.’ ‘lf I do I
shall expose myself,’ was the 000 l reply.
The LANCASTER INTELLIGENCER
JOB PRINTING KSTKttLISHMENT,
No. 8 NORTH DUKE STREET, LANCASTER, PA.
The Jobbing Department ia thoroughly furnllhod arith
new and elegant type of every description, and la under
the charge of a practical and experienced Job Pr!nt»r>*
The Proprieton are prepared to
PRINT CHECKS,
NOTES, LEGAL BLANKS,
_ CARDS AND CIRCULARS*
BILL HEADS AND HANDBILLS, 1
PROGRAMMES AND POSTERS,
PAPER BOOKS AND PAMPHLETS,
BALL TICKETS AND INVITATIONS,
PRINTING IN COLORS AND PLAIN PRINTING,
with neatueSß, accuracy and dispatch, on the moat reasona
ble terms, and in a manner not excelled by any establish
ment in the city.
43“ Orders from a distance, by mail or otherwise,
promptly attended to. Address
GEO. SANDERSON A SON,
Intelligencer Office, '
No. 8 North Dnke street, Lancaster, Pa.
Dr . J . T . BAXL E a »
IIOMGSOPATHIO PHYSICIAN,
0? Lancaster City,
may be consulted professionally, pt his Office, at Henry
Bear’s Hotel, in the Borough or Strasbnrg, on Thursday of
each week, from 10 o'clock in the morning to three in the
afternoon.
Ad opportunity is thoa afforded to residents of Strasbnrg
and riciulty to avail-themselves of Homceopathio treatment,
and females suffering from chronic diseases may enjoy the
advice of nno who has made this class of diseases a
speciality. J. T. BAKER, M.D.,
Homoeopathic Physician,
oct 22 tf 41J East King street, above Lime, Lancaster
Roofing slates.
PRICES REDUCED AT GEORGE U. BTEXNMAN A
GO’S HARDWARE STORE, IN WEST KING BT,
Persons in want of Robfing Slate, or wishing to have
their buildings covered with Slate, will find it to their
interest to c•il as übove. Having made arrangements for
a large supply of very superior quality, they will be offered
at prices to suit the times.
Also a general assortment of HARDWARE, to which the
attention of Farmers, Mecbanios and Merchants is invited,
mar 11 6m 9
Photograpay
IN ALL ITS BRANCHES.
Executed in the best style known in the ait, at
r ■ O' . CHAFE'S GAEL ER 7
532 Arch Street, East os Sixth, Philadelphia.
LIFE SIZE IN OIL AND PASTIL
STEREOSCOPIC PORTRAITS,
Ambrotypes, Daguerreotypes, Ac., for Cases, Medallions
Pins, Rings. Ac. fmar 19 2ly
GOODS ATOLDPRIUHS
WENTZ BROS.
Have io store a large stock of
DOMKBTIC GOODS, '
Muslins, Bheetings. Bhirtings, Callcoea, Ac.,
Worthy the attention of all Housekeepers, and those about
commencing.
GOOD CALICOES, 10,12}£. 15 and 10 cents.
Bleached and Unbleached Sbeetiuge and Bhlrtings, with a
large asscrtment of *
HOU SEK E E PI N G GOOD B,'
Many of them purchased before the advance in prices.
Consequently selling at Old Prices.
JUST ORENED:
new lot of Balmoral skirts,
Beautiful Purples—Magenta—Green—Scarlet—Blue.
1 CASE RICH NEW STYLE DE LAINE3,
Selling at the Old Price, 25 cents.
THE WHOLE BTOCK OP
DRESS GOODS
SELLING OFF AT REDUCED PRICES,
To make room for Spring Stock.
WENTZ BROS.,
No. 5 East Ring street.
feb.lB tf 6]
DRESSLER’S
HAIR JEWELRY STORE,
No. 206 North Bth Street abovk Kao*.
PHILADELPHIA.
On hand and for sale, a choice assortment oi superior
patterns, and will plait to order
BRACELETS,
EAR RINGS,
FINGER RINGB,
BREAST PINS,
CROSBEB,
NECKLACES, i
GUARD AND
' . , , . VEST CHAINS.
Orders enoloalng the hair to be plaited may be sent
by mail. Givea drawing as near as you can on paper, and
enclose Bnch amount as you may choose to pay.
Costa as follows: Ear Rings $2 to s6—Breaet Pins $3 io
s7—Finger Rings 76 cents to s3.so—Vest Chains $6 to 27-
Necklaces $2 to $lO. 9 . .
put lnto Medallon., Boi Breast Pina, Kings. *O.
OLD GOLD AND SILVER BOUGHT AT FAIR RATES
,pr 16 lyU '
PHCENIX LOOKING GLASS AND
PICTURE FRAME MANUFACTORY,
Nos. 221 East Twsnti-Thibd Street, 173 and 176 G&and
Street, and 215 Centre Street.’
NUW YOKE.
Estaburhid 1838. Established 1838.
This Establishment has been in successful operation 24'
years, and is the largest of the kind in the* United Btatea.
We have on hand, or manufacture to order, every deecriD
tion of r
LOOKING GLASS, PICTURE AND PORTRAIT FRAMES
PLAIN AND ORNAMENTAL PIER, WALL, OVAL
AND MANTEL GLASSES. CONNECTING
CORNICES, BASE AND BRACKET
TABLES, WITH MARBLE
SLABS, TOI LET
GLASSES, Ao, Ac.
Monldiogs lor Picture Frames, In lengths suitable ftr
transportation, either Gilt, Berllng, Rosewood, Oak, Zebra,
Biriceye, Mahogany, Ac. Oar new Manufactory and ex*
tensive facilities enable us to fnrnlsh any article in our
line as good aa the best, and as cheap as the cheapest. *
Deaiere are invited to call upon us when they vlMfc
New York. We claim to be ableto supply them with every
article in oar liae which they can possibly require, afe
priceß lower than they can purchase elsewhere.
Orders by mall attended to witty promptness. Do notfaii
to call .wbea you visit New York.'
Omen and Waeesooms : No. 215 Centre B*., New Yorx. t-
HO4ACE V. SIGLER,
Agent.
mar 25 3m 11
1802. APRIL.
ARRIVAL OF
SPLENDID NRW SPRING GOODS
E y T Z BROS
1 Lot of POULARD SILKS, ooly 12U cent*.
1 Lot Bprlng ChalHe DELAINEB, worth 20c.
1 Lot Brocha VALENCIAS. Boqaa, 26.31, 3714 c.
1 Lot Super Boqaa CHALLTES, only 25c. :
SHEPHERDS’ PLAIDS, beautiful and good, 25c.
All opr best CALICOES, selling at 12l£c.'
1 Lot Extra Good CALICOES, only 10c.
1 I*ot excellent Bonnet and Apron Ginghams, 12%c<
BHAWL AND CLOAK BOOH.
• New Stock of .
SPRING SHAWLS AND CLOAKS.
Beautiful Stella Shawl*.
“ Every day briog* something new.”
THE CHOICE BARGAINS OF THE DAY,
Opened daily at
apr 8 tf 13]
\T A N IB G E S * BSTOER,
V DESIGNERS AND ENGRAVERS ON WOOD,
N. E. Coshkb sth ard Chkstrot grants.
PHILADELPHIA.
Execute all kinds of WOOD ENGRAVING, with beauty,
correctness and despatch—Original Designs furnished tor
Pine Book Illustrations—Persons wishing Cuts, by ending
a Photograph or Daguerreotype, can have views of
COLLEGES, CHURCHES,
COTTAGES, STORE FRONTS,
PORTRAITS, MACHINE^
STOVES, PATENTS, -Ac.
Engraved as well as on personal application.
FANCY ENVELOPES, LABELS, BILL HEADINGS,
SHOW BILLS, VISITING, BUSINESS and other CARDS,
engraved In the highest style of the Art, and at the lowest
prices.
For Specimens of line Engraving, see the mnitrated
Works of J. B. LIPPINCOTT A Co., E. H. BUXLEfcA-Oo-
Ac.. Ac. . , . foot 23 ly 41
g. z. soitwals,
PBOBVCM COMMISSION MBBOBANT,
No. 812 Spehto GAkbx* Stub,
PHILADELPHIA.
>«-mH E‘ . U 5 IO J , JJ.y ... y
X akoh Bfixif a.b'oVi Tixii,''
PHILADELPHIA. ■
! UPTON 8- HEWpOMKB,»
■ - -• 1 '• Proprttdr: ■
TMe Hotel if central, convenient bj PeeeenfetOere
toall part* of the city, and In
the comfbrtarid wants of the
,i; 49-ZSBWIW?a&pAX,; bz*\d9ml%kfs
NOV-1®
WENTZ BEOS.;
No. 5 East King Street.