r T*-T«oi4 - . it, a sj: SuUijt v:±nr'¥ •*&& ::, ±j [Jynl.ii-ftyVin - ' i ■ - ‘ bVU.’U • :U OJ ■iiilf Cxj: Hi VOL. lxiti. TilE LANCASTER rNTELLRiENCRR tiis&xb stray msDAT, as so. 8 ho&zs cun bsrxks. 3T OEO. BASDEBSOS. .V ' TBBiM 'B. SußSCEiWlotf.—Two Dollars per annum, payable In ad- L Tance: dlscontlnifed aatll all arraar . ages are paid, unless at tbroptioO of the Editor. AqvnfiuiitSTS.--Advertisements, not exceeding one' t square, (12 linen,) willt*.inserted three times for one . dollar, and twenty-toe certs Jbr. each additional Inser tion.; Those of greater length In proportion. Job PiDfnso—Such as Hand Bills,.Posters, Pamphlets, Blanks; labels, executed with accoracy and on the shortest notice: - MARTHA HOPKINS, A BALLAD OF lADIANA. This oapital parody on Bayard Taylor’s beautiful poem, “Mannella, n was originally published in Holden’s Magazine.: From the kitchen Martha Hopkins, as she stood there making pies, Southward looks, along the turnpike, with her hand above her eyes; Where; along the distant hill-side, her yearling heifer feeds, And a little grass is growing in a mighty sight of weeds. All the air is full of noise, for there isn’t any school, And boys, with turned-up pantaloons, are wading in the pool; Blithely brisk, unnumbered chickens cackling, for they cannot laugh: Where the airy summits brighten, nimbly leaps the - little calf. Gentle eyes of Martha Hopkins 1 tell me, wherefore do ye gaze On the ground that’s being farrowed for the plant ing of the maze? Tell me wherefore, down the valley, ye have traced the turnpike’s way, Far beyond the cattle pastur'd, and the brick-yard with its clay ? • Ah! the dogwood trees may- blossom, and the door, ■yard grass may shine With the teara-of amber dropping from the washing .on the line; And-the morning’s breath of balsam lightly brush . her freckled cheek— Little reoketh Martha Hopkins of the tales of Spring they speak. When the summer’s burning solstice on the scanty harvest glowed, She had watched a man on horsebaok riding down the turnpike road; Many times she saw him turning, looking backward quite forlorn, Till amid her tears she lost him in the shadow of the harh. . Ere the supper-time was over he had passed the kiln of brick, • Crossed the rushing Yellow ftiver, and had forded quite a creek, And his flat-boat'load was taken at the time for pork and beans, With the traders of the Wabaah to the wharf at New Orleans. Therefore watohes Martha Hopkins, holding in her hands the pans, When the sound of distant footsteps seems exactly like a man’s; Not a wind the stove pipe rattles,mot a door behind her jars, But she seems to hear the rattle of his letting down the bars. Often Eees she men on horseback, coming down the turnpike rough, But they come not as John Jackson; she oan see it well enough; Weil she knows the sober trotting of the sorrel horse he keeps, As he jogs along at leisure, with his head down like a sheep’s. tihe would know him ’mid a thousand, by his home made coat and vest; By his sooks, which were blue woolen, suoh as farmers wear out West; By the color of his trowsers, and his saddle, which was spread By a blanket which was taken for that purpose from the bed. None like him the yoke of hiokory oh the unbroken steer oan throw, None amid her father’s corn fields use like him the spade and hoe; And at all the apple cuttings few indeed the men are seen Thafccan dance with him the polka, touch with him the violin. He has said to Martha Hopkins, and she thinks she hears him now, For she knows as well as oan be that he meant to keep his vow, 11 When the buckeye tree has blossomed, and your trade plants his corn, Shall the bells of Indiana usher in our wedding morn?” He has pictured his relations, each in Sunday ha* 1 and gown, And he thinks they’ll get a oarriage, and they’ll spend a day in town; That their love will newly kindle, and what comfort it will give To sit down at the first breakfast in the oabin where they’ll live. Tender eyes of Martha Hopkins i what has got you in such scrape ? ’Tis a tear that fails to glitter on the ruffle of her cape; Ah! the eye of love may brighten to be certain what it sees; One man looks much like another, when half hidden by the trees. Bat her eager eyes rekindle, she forgets the pies and bread, As she sees a man on horseback, round the corner of the shed; How tie on another apron, get the comb and smooth yonr hair, ’Tis the sorrel horse that gallops, ’tis John Jackson’s self that’s there! From the Home Journal. AN EXTRAORDINARY STORY. FROM THE HUNGARIAN. TRANSLATED BT MRS. FRANK SMITH. Doctor N , one of the most emi nent surgeons of Pesth, was summoned at daybreak, one morning, to see a person whopressingly sought to be admitted to him. While waiting in the antechamber, the visitor desired the servant to add that every moment's delay was dangerous, as he stood in need of instant heln. The surgeon, hastily throwing off his night-robe, gave orders for him to be shown up at once. It was an entire stranger, but one whose dress and manner proclaimed him a man belonging to the best class of society. His pallid cheeks spoke of some deep inward bodily and mental pain, and' his right hand rested in a silken sling. Though he sneoeeded perfectly in controlling the ex pression of his countenance, a low mur mur of pain, in spite of all his efforts, broke forth repeatedly from his lips. ‘ Have I the honor of addressing Doctor N- V he asked, in a weak, almost fainting voice, as he approached the sur geon. ‘ Yes, sir.’ ‘ Pardon the question. I. do not live in Pesth; I came from the oountry, and know you by reputation only. I regret not to be able to make your acquaintance under happier circumstances ’ The surgeon, seeing that his visitor oould soaroely stand on his feet, begged him to rest on his divan. 6 ‘ I am weary ; for a whole week I have not closed my eyes. I have been having a pain in my right hand,'to which I can give no name. In the beginning 1 felt only a slight pang, but in a short time it oommehced to burn with constantly in creasing violence, growing to be a torture beyond the reach of the slightest allevia tion. I have tried every obtainable remedy, far and near, but nothing relieves me— therb remains the same piercing, cutting, deadly pain.-. Finally, I. could bear no more; I got in a oarriage and hastened here to you, that you might f ree me from my torment by an operation—the knife or iron—for Ijan support it no longer.’ The, surgeon here endeavored to en pouragehim, saying his suffering might be overqOme by milder means than . the use of the'knife. ‘No, doctor; neither a plaster nor yet any palliative oan relieve it; what I need S3 1 is the knife. For that alone did I .'come here.’ Doctor N asked to be -permitted to look at his hand; on which the sufferer, setting, his teeth hard, held it forth. The snrgeon, using the greatest precaution, be gan to loosen the bandage. ‘ Let me entreat yon, in advance, doc tor, not to be overcome by .anything yon will see. My pain is so strange, so extra ordinary, that it will certainly take yon unawares. Hesitate at nothing, I pray yon.’ The sdtgeon assured the stranger that he was accustomed to everything, in his profession, and pledged himself to hesitate at nothing. Nevertheless, when the hand appeared, he shrank back involuntarily, letting it fall heavily. , The hand was apparently as sound, healthy-looking and perfeot as any other—not a spot was to be seen upon it! A sharp ory from the sufferer, as he lifted the dropped hand with his left, proved that he had oome in no jest, but that he suffered cruelly. { ‘ Where does it pain you V ‘ Here, doctor,’ said the stranger, point ing to a place on the upper surface of his hand, where two veins parted from eaoh other in faint blue lines. The surgeon marked him shudder, as he touched the spot with his finger. ‘ You feel it paining you here V ‘Frightfully!’ ‘ And you suffer from the pressure, when I touoh the plaoe with my finger 1’ The stranger was not in a condition to answer. Tears started to his eyes, so dreadful was the suffering. ‘ Wonderful! I distinguish nothing here !’ ‘ And yet I experience there so inex pressible a pain that I could dash my head against the wall.’ The surgeon took a miorosoope, ex amined the place, and shook his head. ‘ The skin is dear and healthy; the blood oourses freely in the veins ; there is no inflammation, no apparent hart. The place is precisely in its natural state.’ ‘ I think it is somewhat redder.’ 1 Where V The stranger took a penoil from his poeketbook, and drew a line around a spot the size of a half-kreuzer. ‘ Here.’ The surgeon oarefnlly looked at this spot, and began to think that his patient was insane. ‘ Remain here,’ he said ; ‘ I may be able to assist you in a few days.’ ‘ I cannot wait. Do not think, sir, that you have a madman before you. That is a misfortune of whioh you will not have to cure me. The place I have indicated causes me such agony, that, I repeat it, I have alone come here to have it out out.’ ‘ Whioh, however, 1 will not do !’ said the surgeon. ‘ And why not 1’ ‘ Because your hand is perfectly sound ; so far as 1 oan see, there is no more the matter with it than there is with my own hand!’" ‘ You are, therefore, ready to decide that I am mad—you cannot believe me jesting,’ returned the stranger, taking a note for a thousand guldens out of his pocket-book, and laying it on the table, i ‘ There, see that this is no child’s play, and that the service which I ask at your hands is of the highest necessity and importance to me. I entreat you, cut this spot from out my hand !’ ‘ And I say to you, sir, that all the wealth of the world would not induce me to look on a sound member as diseased, or make the slightest incision in suoh a one. To do it would be to do what my surgical knowledge condemns—it would put my reputation to shame—in a word, my duty forbids it ! The whole world would main tain that you were a lnnatie; but of me. they wonld say either that I had been so unprincipled as to profit by yonr mania, or that I was too ignorant to peroeive the error into which yon had led me.’ I So be it. At least yon oan accord me this favor. I will perform the operation myself. My left hand will, it is true, be somewhat nnskilful, but let that pass. I will soon finish ; yon will surely have the goodness to dress the wound for me.’ * The surgeon marked with amazement beyond words, that the strange being was in sad earnest, for he laid aside his coat, turned back his sleeves, and took his pen kiy’,<&in his loft hand. Another moment, and he wonld have plunged it deep into his right hand. ‘ Hold !’ cried the surgeon, alarmed lest the stranger shonld sever an artery, ‘ if the operation be really inevitable, then, in the name of heaven, let me perform it!’ On whioh, taking his surgical instru ment in his hand, he laid the patient’s right straight out in his own, at the same time' requesting him to look another way. ‘ That is not neoessary. Allow me to show you just how deep the knife shall go-’ And, truly, during the whole operation, the stranger’s resolution did Dot fail him ; he himself directed the surgeon as to the depth of the incision ; his hand never moved until the spot represented as the seat of the pain was out ont, when, throwing back his ohest, he heaved a great sigh of relief. ‘ Do you feel no more burning ?’ ques tioned the surgeon. ‘lt is entirely gone,’ answered the stranger, smiling ; «the torture has eeased. As for the'slighter pain which the wound occasions me, it is to the first pain what a warm breeze is compared to insupportable heat.’ While the bandage-was being applied, the appearanoe of the stranger totally al tered. A calm, pleasant expression met the surgeon’s eye, instead of the former look of intense pain ; the brow, grew olear, the color lively, returning love of life re placed the late cruel agitation—the whole man seemed transformed. As the surgeouTeadjusted the stranger’s hand in the sling, he felt his own seized by the left hand of the latter, who, pressing it warmly, said to him in the most fervent tones: ‘ Keoeive for your masterly service my most sinoere thanks. Yon have laid me under a real obligation to you—for the re muneration on my part is small, indeed, in oomparison with the. mighty assistance' whioh yon have rendered me. I will be in debted to you ail my life long!’ But the surgeon’s estimate of the value of his services was wholly different; he ab solutely 1 refused to aooept tb'e note for a thousand jguiaehsv wlimh still laid ’ on the table. The strenf&PpriSsfecf it, and had passed out of the door, when, a.±.xrr - •mMWfaAOttti&aQl ‘ Dear Sir, —I will not leave you long er in donbt concerning the fearfully strange malady whioh 1 am about to oarry with me into the grave. I will give yon the origin of this terrible evil. For a third time within a week has this frightful pain returned. I will not longer struggle with it. . At this moment I am only ena bled to use a pen by placing a piece of burning sponge on the back of my hand over the affected part; while this barns, I feel only the smarting caused by its in tense heat, and that is as nothing compared to the former pain. ‘ Six months ago I was a happy man.— I lived without a oare, upon my inoome, and was in peace and friendship with all the world, enjoying all of pleasure that a man of thirty-five finds to enjoy. A year ago I married—married for love. My choice fell upon a beautiful, accomplished, warm-heaited girl, the protege of a count ess in the neighborhood. This portionless maiden loved me—not from gratitude alone, though through me she had become mistress of my home and sharer of all I possessed—she had a truly childlike love for me. For half a year each succeeding day brought me more happiness than the last. When I went to the city for a day, my wife could scarcely rest; when I re turned, she came out to meet me a mile from home; and onoe, when I had been belated, she never olosed her eyes the whole night long. When I occasionally prevailed upon her to pay a visit to the countess, who loved-her tenderly, she al ways returned the same day—it seemed impossible for her to remain more than half a day away from home and me. Her love for me even went so far that she gave up dancing rather than rest her hand in the clasp of another. In a word, my wife was an innooent child, who had no other thought than me. ‘ I know not what demon one day whis pered in my ear : ‘ What if all this be only assumed ?’ Thus man, in the midst of the greatest happiness, too often expe riences an insane desire to look for pain. < My wife had a little work-table, the drawer of whioh she kept invariably looked, I had often noticed thatshe had never left it open; never, by any ehancej had forgotten to tftjce out the key, This thought began tp trouble;me : .what haifshe tov oonoealfrowme 1: Iwasoer tainly beside myself. 1 believed in her innooent oountenanoe, her olear eyes, her “THATOOUHTRTIB IHK KOBE LANCASTER CfTY. PA.. TUESDAY MORNING, MAY 27,1863. seeing the gloving displeasure of the sur geon, he turned, rad begged him at all events to consent to expend a part of the sum for the benefit of some hospital, and hastily took his. departure. Doctor N visited his patient for a few days at the hotel where he was re maining until his wound was completely healed. This was rapidly taking place.— During the Bourse of this time, the surgeon had an opportunity to make observations which resulted in the- conviction that he had to deal with a refined, accomplished man ; one whose every word evinced,- not only extensive information, but that knowledge of the world so agreeable when united with superiority of mind. Not the slightest trace of any ailment, either bodily or mental, was to be remarked after the operation. The stranger returned to his estates shortly afterward, perfectly restored. Three weeks had passed, when the ser vant was again called upon to announce to the surgeon the arrival of his singular patient. The stranger, who was instantly admitted, appeared again with a bandaged arm ; and, so great was his suffering, that, at first glance, his features were scaroely recognizable. Sinking into a ohair, before the surgeon had time to offer him a seat, he stretohed out his hand to him, no longer sufficiently master of himself to control his groans. ‘ What has happened V sympathizingly inquired the surgeon. * ‘ The inoision was not deep enough,’ groaned the stranger. ‘ The pain has re turned-—burns more fieroely than before. I could not at first bring myself to trouble you again ; I lingered, hoping that death would come and put an ond to my exist ence. But what 1 longed for came not. The pain was, and still remains, concentra ted in this one place. Look at me, and perhaps you will form an idea of my suf fering.’ The countenance of the stranger was white with agony, and cold drops covered his brow. The surgeon unloosed the band age. The wound had closed ; everything about the hand appeared healthy and sound as before, and the pulse beat evenly and naturally. ‘ This touches on the marvellous !’ ex olaimed Dootor N. ‘lt passes widely be yond everything in my past experience.— Wonderful!’ ‘ Yes, wonderful, terrible! Seek not now for the cause, dootor, but free me from this torture. Take your instrument, and insert it deeper than before : that alone will give me relief.’ The surgeon saw that he must grant this prayer. For the second time he performed the same operation ; again did he remark the astonishing alteration in the counte nance of the stranger. Again, as he re placed the bandage, a fresh color took the place of the patient’s pallor,, brightening the visage before so wan. But the smile returned not now as before. Sadly he thanked the surgeon for his assistance. ‘ I thank you, dootor. Again the pain has ceased. In a few days the wound will be healed. Nevertheless, be not astonished if you see me here in a month 1 ’ ‘Be easy on that score, sir; chase that thought out of your mind !’ exolaimed the surgeon. ‘ I have an unerriug conviction that that deadly pain will return at the end of a month,’ said the stranger, dejectedly. ‘ Besides, what is to happen to me must happen !—till we meet again !’ The surgeon related to his colleagues all the particulars of this unaccountable pain. They consulted together, bat no one was able to offer a theory, perfectly satisfac tory, explanatory of a oase so strange. Toward the end of the month Doctor N began lo look forward, not without sadness, to again seeing the stranger; but time passed on, and he did not appear. Thereupon several weeks elapsed ; when the surgeon reoeived a letter, dated at his late patient’s place of residenoe. He opened it. By the first glance at the olosely written pages within, he saw that the stranger had written the letter with his own hand, and inferred from this that the pain, whioh assuredly wonld have prevented him from writing, had not re turned. The oontents of the letter were as follows : jit tSIIUA- SilT. WHial LABOR OOlOtAma THE MUml”-JtnfflTaw a w kisses rad embraces no more. Wbat if these were but parts of Che deception i . < One day' the countess visited ns. / She came to itake my wife home.: with her, overwhelming her with persuasions'to go and spend the whole day with her. Our estates lay-not far distant from one another rad I gave my wife a promise to follow her soon. . ‘ Soarcely had the earriage left my court-yard, when I collected together all the., keys 'I could find, rad with them sought to open the dosed drawer. At length I found one. ‘ A looker-on would have taken me, as I drew out the'drawer, for . one who for the first time in his life was about eommit : ting a theft. I. was a thief, opening a look to steal from a weak woman her secrets. ‘ My hands trembled as I oame in con tact with the different things in the drawer, but I carefully avoided creating any disor der that might betray my presence;' Sud denly my-breast seemed as if orushed in by iron bands; I felt on the point of suffooating ! Under a roll of laoe lay a paoket of papers; quick as thought my heart whispered they were letters ; at the first glanoe any one would have known them to be— love-letters. ‘ The paoket was bound together by a rose-oolored ribbon, embroidered with sil ver. As I touched the ribbon, I thought: ‘ls this right ? Is it not unworthy of an honorable man, thus to steal the secrets of his wife—seorets which belong to her maidenhood alone ! Is she answerable to me for her thoughts and feelings before she became my wife ? Should Ibe jealous of the time when she soaroely knew of my existence f But what if these letters date sinoe I have had a right to watch over all her thoughts, to be jealous even of her dreams—since she has been my wife V ‘I untied the ribbou. No one was there; no mirror near, to point out on my check the mounting flush of shame. I opened one letter after another, and read them all through to the end. ‘ Oh, that was a terrible hour ! ‘ Shall 1 tell you what was in those let ters ? The most despicable treaehery ever practised against a man. My best friend had written them—but in what tone ? With what persuasive and passionate elo quence did ho epoak therein ! How. he planned and counselled the oourse a wife might take to deceive her husband! And all these letters were dated since our mar riage—while I had been so happy ! I find no words to picture what I experienced on reading them. It was a feeling like the working of deadly poison. I drank this poison to the last drop. 1 read every one of those letters through by itself. Then I laid them in order, bound them together covered them with the laoe, and locked the drawer. ‘ I was certain that my wife, if I did not go for her, would hasten home before eve ning. And so it was. How quiokly she sprang from the carriage and ran toward me ; how she embraced me, how she kissed me! How happy she was to be with me ‘ I allowed her to perceive nothing of the revolution which had taken plaoe with in me. We talked together, supped to gether, and retired as usual to onr rooms, which were side by side. I did not close my eyelids ; awake, I counted the hours. As the first quarter past midnight struck, I stood in her chamber! Like a little angel in the midst of snowy olouds, lay her lovely, fair head in peaceful slumber upon the dazzling white pillows. What a monstrous lie of nature, to lend to sin features so innocent! I was as determined, as inflexible, as. a monomaniac in his fixed idea. The raging poison of jealousy had eaten into my soul. Softly I laid my hands upon her throat, and suddenly I pressed them together. That moment she opened her large, dark-blue eyes, saw me with amaze, then olosed them slowly. She was dead. She died without having had time to utter a word in her own defence, peace ful as in a dream. As I murdered her, she felt no anger toward me. Only a single drop of blood, pressed out of her , mouth, fell on the baok of my hand; where, you know but too well. * * * ; , ‘ She had no relations to inquire into the oause of her death; and I purposely de layed sending out to my friends invitations to her funeral until it was too late for any of them to reaoh my plaoe in time. No one upon my estates had any suspicions of the truth. Besides, I was master; who had any right to question me 1 ‘ When all was over, and I was returning to-my home, my conscience was not bur dened in the least. She had deserved her fate. I thought of her no more. ‘On reaching my home, I found the countess, my wife’s only female friend, just arriving. Like others, she had come aftor the hour appointed for the fnneral. She was painfally agitated. Whether from sorrow or sympathy, I knew not, but the words of oonsolation with which she ossay- ! ed to address me, were so confnsed that 11 oould soarcely understand them. At last : she clasped my hand, and said, in faltering ' tones, that she saw herself obliged to eon- I fide to me a secret, which she must entreat me not to reveal. She had giyen my wife j a package of letters to keep for her—the | contents were suoh that she dared not keep j them by her—she had now to beg me to j return them to her. An iey shudder went through me as she spoke these words. With marked ooldness I asked her what those letters contained. The countess shrank back, and answered, hastily : 1 ‘ ‘ Oh, sir, yonr wife was more generous yon. When she took those letters into her oare, she did not ask what they contained, but gave me her word to gnard them well, and I am sure she has kept her pledge. She had a noble sonl; it wonld have been impossible for her to break her solemn promise.’ “Very well,’ said I; 1 how am I to know these letters V * ‘ They are tied together with a rose oolored ribbon embroidered with silver.’ ‘ ‘ I will look for them immediately.’ * With this I took my wife’s keyß in iny hand*, and began to seareh for the paoket. I knew but too well where to find it. < ‘ Is this it V said I, at last, bringing it to the countess. ‘‘Yes, yes. Only see, here is the same knot I made; your wife never untied'it' % I dared not lift up my eyes—rlfeared the oonntess would read in them that I had had it unloosed—■'ah, that I had gone fur ther, and Committed a monstrous orime ! I took brief leave of her, excusing myself as well as I oould. I neededtobealone. The oonntess returned home' r Her- kaaband was in all his aotions mean and brutal; his tastes were low and wholly unworthy of his •ii 'p-M-accr j rank. Had I: been such a man, I would deserved have such a wife. But my wife was an innocent spotless angel, who loved me when I murdered her 1 ... . I remember nothing of what passed for hours ; but this I know : that when I re turned'to consciousness, I was sitting on my wife’s coffin, in the vault. I- was not yet so insane as to believe that I could awake her, but I wanted to'speak to her. It seemed to me she would hear my words : ‘ ‘ By the true, upright love, with which you onoe loved me; by the love which you took with you for pie down to the grave, I implore you, have mercy on me, and avenge yourself on me in this life ! Leave not my punishment to another world, but let ine suffer here on earth —torture me, kill me! Wait not until I am dead, but avenge yourself now! * Thus madly did I speak to the mortal remains of my wife; whereupon I slept, or rather swooned. I began to dream.— Perhaps it was no dream. I seemed to see the iid of the coffin slowly open, and the form of my dead wife, resting therein, as slowly arise. 1 was on my knees before the coffin, my hand resting on the side.— Her lips were pale, but a red drop of blood stood on them. Slowly she bent over me, opened her eyes as she had on that last time, and pressed a kiss upon my hand. — The red drop whioh had hung on her lips rested on my hand ; she dosed her eyes, laid herself back again on her odd pillow, and the coffin closed over her. ‘ Not long after, I was awakened by a frightful pain, like the sting pf a soorpion. I hastened home. It was still daylight; no one had noticed my absence or my re turn. The blood bad disappeared from off my hand, but in the spot where the drop had rested, it was burning as if a eorrosive poison had penetrated therein. This pain increased from hour to hour without ever oeasing. Even in sleep I felt it. I said nothing of it to any one; no one would have believed me. You know now, sir, what I must have suffered, and from what anguish your knife relieved me ! Scaroely had the second wound healed, however, when the pkin oame anew. For the third time it now racks me, and I have not the strength to endure it longer. Iu an hour I jlilL say -farewell to earth 1 - Only tho thought that, since she has been avenged here on earth, she will forgive me on the other side, gives me a ray of consolation. ‘ I thank you for your heartfelt sympa thy, and for your aid. God bless you. A few days later might have been read in the journals : ‘ One of our richest patriots has shot himself. Grief for the loss of his wife is supposed to be the oause.’ j A Bumblebee Story. — Mississippi re ■ joioes in the possession of the rode talents that distinguish a baokwoods preacher ; known as ‘ Uncle Bob.’ I On one occasion Unele Bob went to ; minister to the spiritual wants of some | brethren who convened semi-occasion ally at a little out of the way church known by ! the very classic name of < Ooon Tail.’ Inspired by a crowded house, Unole Bob turned himself loose in his tragic style. He beat and stamped, vociferating terribly. For some time previous the rode pulpit had been unoccupied. Invited by the apparent security and quiet of the place, a commu nity of bumble bees had built a nest beneath. Uncle Bob’s mode of conducting the servioes had disturbed the insects : and just as he was executing one of his most tremendous gestures, an enraged bee met him half way, and popped his sting into the end of Unole Bob’s huge nose. He stopped short, gave sundry vigorous but ineffectual slaps, when he heard a sup pressed titter from some merry youths in a far corner of the house. Taming toward them, with ill-concealed rage, he exolaimed, ‘No laughing in the house of God. I allow no laughing in my meetings. I’ll thrash the first man that laughs as soon as servioe is over!’ This threat oheoked the incipient merriment. Unole Bob regained i his composure, forgot the bees, and soon , warmed up at two forty liok. But again \ in the midst of the impassionate gestioula- ; tion, a bee stung him full in the forehead. ‘ He bowed, dodged and beat the air franti- ! cally, until a roar of laughter arose from j the congregation. Unole Bob looked at i them a moment with mingled feelings of ' rage and disgust, and then shouted,! ‘ Media's dismissed ! Go home—just go ! home, every one of you ! But as for me, | (taking off nis coat,) I don’t leave this place as long as there’s a bumblebee about the house !’— Harper’s Magazine. A. Life Thought.—l heard a man who had failed in business, and whose furniture was sold at auction, say that when the Cra dle and the crib and the piano went, tears would come, and he had to leave the house to be a man. Now there are thousands of men who have lost their pianos, but who have found better, musio in the sound of their children’s voices and footsteps going ohecrfully down with them to poverty, than any harmony of chorded instruments. Oh! how blessed is bankrupey when it saves a man’s children ! I sec many men bringing up their children as I should bring up mine, if, when they were ten years old, I should lay them on a dissecting table and cut the sinews of their arms and' legs, so that they could neither walk nor use their hands, but only sit still and be fed. Thus rich men put the knife of indolenee and luxury to their children’s energies and they grow up fatted, lazy halves, fitted for nothing at twenty-five but to drink deep and squander wide; and the father must be a slave all his life, in order to make beasts of his children. How blessed then, is the stroke of disaster which sets the children fjee, and gives them over to the hard, but kind bosom of Pov erty. who says to them—‘ Work!’ and working makes them men! A Wipe who Knew How to ‘Let Well Enough Alone.’— A few weeks after a late marriage the doting husband had sone peculiar thoughts when putting on his last oleani shirt, as ,he saw no ap pearance of ‘ a washing.’, He thereupon rose earlier - than usual one morning and kindled a fire; When hanging on the kettle, he made a noise on purpose to arouse his easy wife. She peeped over the blank ets, and exclaimed : * My Dear——what are you doing V He deliberately respond ed: ‘l’ve put on my last olean shirt, and am going to wash one for myself 1’ ‘ Very well,’said Mrs. Easy, ‘you had better wash one for me, too!’ . ; [GF*True bliss oan be found only in the abodes of contentment. va.OiT ,-1=._: , .:' , . - :;1.., , , -E:;,:cft. A. . * .__ . , . is-’., * - : ___ jTUm.p.Fi tili How Uncle Jakes got along With His Neighbors.—Not many years since, a person from the lond of steady habits,stray ed into the region of Prince’s bay and pur chased a fine residence near the water; he was oharaoteristioally austere, penurious and unneighborly; his lands were so situ ated that the oys termen had to pass across them to reach their boats, for whioh he exacted toll from each man ; he had con trol over the water of the oreek, where it was necessary they should plant them! to fat or freshen j for this privilege each was made to pay so much per bushel or forego the privilege. This exspiting spirit of the man soon exoited the hatred of the oystermen—they turned the tables on him, apd annoyd him in every way their ingen uity oould invent. On returning at night from town, he would often find the draw of the bridge swung aside, or something the matter- with the gate so that he conld hot get in. In a word, Mr Tite Barnaole was finally obliged to sell ont and leave to get rid of his own pettishness and* illiberally he had incited to retaliation. This plaoe was purchased by a kindly old gentleman whom we shall oall, as every body else did, Unole James; he had been long familiar with a seafaring life; and he knew the oharaoter of the men with whom he had to deal. He was not long settled in the place before a delegation of oyster men waited upon him ; he received them as one neighbor shonld another, in a friendly manner. They had called to say that they wished to lay their oysters in his oreek, and wished to know how much he would oharge them for the privilege. ‘ 1 wish to be neighborly, and to have good neighbors around me,’ said Unole James, ‘ and I shall not disagree with you ; plant your oysters there, and welcome, and give me what you think it worth.’ ‘ But,’ says they, ‘ we would like to pass aoross your land, from yonr house to the shore, it is nearer, what shall we pay you V 1 Put the bars up as you go along, and when you see the cattle in, drive ’em out, said Uncle Jameß, < that is all I ask.’ They took a drink of apple-jaok and parted. From time to time a bushel of the finest oysters would be set down at Unole James’ door, and he would hardly know who committed the depreciation. The yaaaed'away,'and there was no com plaint to make of any un-neighborly con duct on either side. They met for a settlement at Unole James’ house, the apple-jaok was brought out, and all took a smile; after whioh the question was again put by the oystermen. ‘ How much shall we pay you, Unole James, for the use of the creek 1’ ‘ If it has been of any benefit to you,’ replied the old man, ‘ you can give me what yon can afford.’ One put down ten dollars, another twenty, some more some less, until nearly five hundred dollars were voluntarily paid, which was more than double the sum whioh Tite Barnaole extorted by menace and meanness from the same men. KF“ Years ago Lewis Holt kept a rail road refreshment stand at the station at Attioa, on the road running west. He had a way whioh men of his persuasion have not altogether abandoned, of taking the money of passengers, sweeping it into his drawer, and fumbling after the change till the oars were off, when the passenger would have to run and leave his ohange. Charlie Dean stepped out of the ears there one day, took a ‘ ginger pop,’ price six cents, laid down a quarter, whioh Holt dropped into his till, and went hunting to get out the change. Away went the oars, and Charlie jumped, on without his change ; but he had time to read the name of Lewis Holt over the door, and, making a note of it, ! rode on. Postage was high in those days, and was not required in advance. From Buffalo he wrote a letter to Holt—‘Sell foam at twenty-five cents a glass, will you ?’ Holt paid 10 cents on this letter, and 10 more on one from Detroit, and 25 on another from St. Louis, and for two or three years he kept getting letters from his unknown customer, and would have got more to this day, but for the law requiring postage to be paid in advance. He had to pay two or three dollars in postage before the letters ceased to come, and as they were always directed in a new hand writing, he hoped each one was of more importance than the one before. If he of Attioa reads this in the drawer, he will find for the first time why he was so punished, and by whom.— Harpers’ Monthly. A Timely Reproof.—Humor and sharp wit are never put to better use than in an swering a fool according to his folly, and we could wish that proofs like the following wore more frequent: Some five or six years ago, in one of the trains of oars running between Newark and Jersey City, N. J., there was a young naval offioer, who was constantly inter mingling his conversation with the most profane oaths. A young lady was so situa ted that she could not but hear every time he swore. At first she bore it with equal equanimity ; then as it continued, and rath er increased in tho shocking character, of his impreoation she began to grow fidgety and her eyes flashed." We knew a bolt would be shot, and that it would strike him It eame directly. ‘ Sir oan you converse in the Hebrew tongue V ‘ Yes,’ was the reply, in a half uncon scious, but slightly sneering tone. ‘ Then,’ was the reply, ‘ if. you wish to swear any more, you will greatly oblige me and probably the rest of the passengers al so, if you do it in Hebrew.. I watched him. It had hit. His color came and went—now red, now white. He looked at the young lady, then at his boots, then at the ceiling of the cars ; but he did not swear any more, either in Hebrew or English, and he probably remembered that young lady. lady in Milwaukie discussing the garter question writes :—You will take notice that just above the knee there is no hollow or depression in whioh a garter oould be retained, no projection on which it oould make a hold.’ To whidh the Buffalo Republic modestly replies :—Will we take notice ? Couldn’t think of it. We-don’t know anything . .about garters. Don’t want to. May be worn about the waist for all we know. Take notice, indeed!’ An Irishman, referring to the_ sud den death of a relative, was asked if he lived high. ‘ Well, I oan’t say he did,* said Torrenoe, but he died high—for they hanged him.’ . - NO; 20. I ‘ That woman has been an invalu able advantage tome,’ said Qnilp, speaking of his wife. M onoe had some politiosT aspirations | bat she managed to keep them down, till 1 got wise enough to proteot my own honor. Yes, Sir: if it had not been for that woman (ootinned. Qnilp solemnly) I might ere this have lifted np mf eyes— in Congrtss !’—Boston Post.}^'- THE LANCASTER INTELLfaKSCEH . . JOB PROiTHfO BST&BLmHtWTT. No. 8 NORTH DUKE. STREET, LANCASTER, PA The Jobbing Department is thoroughly vith new and elegant type of every description) tad la qpdjf the charge of a practical and experienced Job Printerr* The Proprietor* are prepared to PRINT CHECKS, NOTES. LEGAL BLANKS, • ■ CARDS AND-OntCULAKS, BILL HEADS AND HANDBILLS, PROGRAMMES AND POSTERS, PAPER BOOKS AND PAMPHLETS, TICKETS and invitations, PRINTING. IN COLORS AND PLAIN PRINTING, with neatness, accuracy and dispatch, on the moat reasons! ble terms, and In a manner not excelled by any establish ment in the city. • . - - 49* Orders from a distance^, by mall: or-otherwUe, promptly attended to. Address GEO. SANDERSON* SON, J : Intelligencer OfliOa, No. 8 North Duke street, Lancaster, Pa. 1862. APBIE. ' ARRIVAL OF SPLENDID NEW SPRING GOODS II ENT Z BROS 1 Lot of FOULARD SILKS, only 12*4 cents.-.’ ■ 1 Lot Spring ChalU© DELAINES, 12« c., worth 20c. 1 Lot Brocha VALENOIAB, Boqoa, 26, 81,87idc. 1 Lot Super Boqua OHALLIES, only 25c. ! SHEPHERDS’ PLAIDS, beautiful and good, 25c. All ocr best OALIOOES, selling at 12&S. 1 Lot Extra Good OALIOOES, only lOe. 1 Lot excellent Bonnet and Apron Ginghams, 12^0. SHAWL AND OLOAK BOOH. New Stock of PRING SHAWLS AND CLOAKS. Beautiful Stella Shawls. Every day brings something new. M CHOICE BARGAINS OF THE DAY, Opened daily at JJR ¥ GOODS ATOLDP R 1 C E S WENTZ BROS. Hare in store a large stock of DOMESTIC GOODS, Muslins, Sheetings, Shirtings, Oalleoes, Ac., Worthy the attention of all Housekeepers, and those about commencing. GOOD OALIOOE3,IO,I2}S, 16 and 10 cent*. Bleached and Unbleached Sheetings and Shirtings, with a large assortment of HOUSEKEEPING GOODS., .. Man; of them purchased before the advance in prices. Consequently Belling at Old Price*. JUST OPENED: NEW LOT OP BALMORAL SKIRTS, Beautiful PurpJcs—Magenta—Green—Scarlet—Bine 1 CASE RICH NEW STYLE DE LAINES, Selling at the Old Priee, 25 cents. THE WHILE STOCK OP DR£33 GOODS SELLING OFF AT REDUCED PRICED, To make room fos Spring Stock. WENTZ BROS., No. 5 Eaat King street. feb 18 tf 6] MUE. DEMOUEST’S UARTERLY MIRROR OP FABUIOIN 8 . GREAT IMPROVEMENTS. : ... 188 BDMMSB NOHBSR With QOXTAIR FOUR LARGE AND SPLENDID FASHION-PLATES, THREE FULL-SIZED PATTERNS, ; Comprising the New French Waist, an Elegant SleqTßj and a Mieses Sack, together with nearly lOOEogrpvlngsof ail tbo novelties for Summer Bonnets, Cloaks, Trimmings, Children's Dresses, etc., and valuable Information to Mill!- Ders, Dress Makers, Mothers, and. Ladles generally, pra. senting the largest and best Fashion Magazine in the World published 473 Broadway, New York, and Bold everywhere at 25 cts n or sent by miil poat free, on receipt of the amount. Yearly $1 with the following valoable-premium;: . Each yearly subscriber will be entitled to the selection of 50 cents worth of plain patterns, from tha designs in the book, or from the show-room, or they may be ordered and sent by mall any time during the year, by paying the postage. $ West Kino Street, Between Cooper’s Hotel and J. G. Geti’g Dry Goods'Store; dec 17 tf 49 pIIOTOGRAPH ALBVHB. No. 5 No. 6ss No. e' No. 7V No. 8 No. B\A No. 12* Smaller sizes at lower prices, ut ELIAS BAER A CO’S, No. 0 East Kisg St at x - apr 15 tf 14J 1862. • ' 1862. 1862. QPENING OF NEW SPILING GOODS. JUST RECEIVED, direct from New York and Philadel phia, a choice lotoi NEW BPRING DRESS GOODS. Shepherd's Plaids of'every variety. Abo. a large lot .of NEW CHINTZES, : Purchased at low prieea tor cash, which we guarantee to soil at prices that will. • ; ’ DEFY COMPETITION. BEST ENGLISH CHINTZES. cents. BEST MERRIM AC CHINTZES....- .13)4cents, BEBT AMERICAN CHINTZES.. - ~.1254 cents. BEST COOUECO CHINTZES- cent t. BEST PACIFIC CHINTZES 12U centa, BEST SPRAGUE CHINTZES... ...;wI2K center BEST MOURNING CHINTZES...... t ;r rl2^eenU. Large lot of good, heavy. Domestic l2s4 cts,'; Good Aproh Ginghams and Checks, 12J4 cents; Good Bleached and Unbleached yard wide, 12)4 cents: Cotton flannels. 12}£cents*... ... .... ‘ - KOWIB THB TTME TO BOY. - A full line of BLACK,SILKS, cheap. New Striae of SPRING DRESB GOODB *'* Of every variety and qnnUty, 7 1 ■ OPENING .DAILY/ WENTZ BROS’s : No. 6 East Klng,Stre*t* mar 18 tf 10] »I]IBK VNI O S '• »*' - PHILADELPHIA. - -“-i-y ' • This Hotel Is central, convenient byPassenger o*n * tall porta of the city, and la every perttookriMptedto t eebinfort and wants of the tailneMpatliD. 43» TERMS $1,60 PER DAT. feeplQljtt WENTZ 8R05.,, No4#East King Street. SL2S 2.00 3.60 3.88 446 4» 4.75 &00 8.60