(£l)c Lancaster fwMlipnM VOL. LXIII. THE LANCASTER INTELLIGENCER. SUBEU VTXBT TUBS DAT, AT HO. 8 HOBTB DITKI BTBAIT, 3Y GEO* SANDERSON. TERMS. . . SUBSCRIPTION.—Two Dollars per annum, payable in ad vance. No sabscription discontinued until all arrear ages are paid, unless at the option of the Editor. Adv*rus*m*kts^—Advertisements, not exceeding one square, (12 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—Such as Hand Bills, Posters, Pamphlets, Blanks, Labels, Ac., Ac., executed with accuracy and on the shortest notice. THE DRAFTED WIDE-AWAKE, I was a glorious Wide-Awake, All matching iu a row ; And wore a shiny oil cloth cape, Aboat two years ago. Oar torches flared with turpentine, 'And filled the streets with smoke; And- we were sure, whate’er might come, Secession was a joke. 0, if I then had only dreamed The things that now I know, 1 ne’er had been a Wide-Awake About two years ago. X said the South would never dare To strike a single blow; I thought that they were cowards then, About two years ago. And so X marched behind a rail, Armed with a wedge and maul; With honest Abe upon a flag, A boatman gaunt and tall. 0, if 1 then had only dreamed The things which now X know, X ne’er had been a Wide-Awake About two years ago. My work was good, my wages high, And bread and coal was low; The silver jingled in my purse About two years ago. Xn peace my wife and children dwelt, Happy the live-long day, And war was but the fearful ourse Of countries far away. 0, if X then had only dreamed The thiDgß which now I know, I ne’er had been a Wide-Awake About two years ago. My wife sits pale and woeping now, My low; X did not think to gb to war About two years ago. And no one now will earn their food, No ODe will be their shield; God help them when X lie in death Upon the bloody field! 0, if 1 then had only dreamed The things which now I know, 1 ne’er had been a Wide-Awake About two years ago. One brother’s bones half-buried lie Near the Antietam’s flow; He was a merry, happy lad About two years ago. And where the Chickahominy Moves slow towards the sea, Was left another’s wasted corpse — I am the last of three. 0, if I then had only dreamed The things which now I know, I ne’er had beeu a Wide-Awake About two years ago. Just dow I saw my torch and cape, Which once made snch a show ; They are not now what once they seemed About two years ago. X thought I carried freedom’s light In that smoky, flaming brand ; I’ve learned X bore destruction’s torch That wedge has split the land. 0, if i then bad only dreamed The things which now I know, X ne’er had been a Wide-Awake About two years ago. THE DOUBLE ROBBERY. Toward the close of the last oentury Northumberland and the border were ter ribly infested by those—to the bucolic mind—particularly obnoxious specimens of the genus thief known as 1 rievers,’ or ‘ lifters of cattle.’ Almost all the rascals who followed this not unlucrative profession trusted chiefly to mere brute force to carry out success fully their nefarious schemes. There was, however, one exception to this rule to be found in the person of a celebrated free booter, known as ‘ Dickey of Kingswood.’ This worthy openly expressed his disap probation of his rivals’ vulgar mode of following their profession, and repeatedly boasted that he could achieve twice as much by his cunning as they could by their brute force. Nor was this assertion of his empty boasting—far from it. In a few years’ time Dickey’s name be came the terror of the country side. No farmer felt secure when he retired to rest at night that his cattle might not have vanished before morning. ,So cleverly, moreover, were all Dickey’s enterprises conducted, that no man could ever suc ceed in making personal acquaintance with him. He openly set justice at defiance, and laughed at the futile efforts of daw to punish him. Perhaps, however, the best way to illustrate the adroitness and good luck which characterized all Dickey’s pro ceedings will be for me to relate the story of one of his exploits. It appears, then, that during the oourse of his peregrinations through Northumber land, one fine afternoon, Dickey’s eyes were gladdened by the sight of a pair of fine oxen Wibich were quietly grazing in a J field near Denton Burn, a village dis tant three miles from Newcastle. Determined to possess them, Dickey hung about the’plaee till nightfall, watch ed where the animals were driven to, and —his usual good fortune assisting him— speedily secured his prize. He also con trived, by the exercise of his accustomed cunning, to leave such traoes behind him as made the owner of the oxen certain that the freebooter had made off toward Tweed. Thither he accordingly proceeded in hot haste. In the interim, however, Dickey had lost no time in ‘ making tracks ’ to wards the west country, and so expeditious were bis movements that in a short time he reached Laneroost, in Cumberland. Here he fell inwith an old farmer on horseback, who, being delighted with the appearance of the oxen, forthwith purchased them. Dickey was of course rejoiced at getting rid so pleasantly of a charge which could not fail to be troublesome—nay, possibly —to him longer to retain. The farmer, moreover, was mounted upon a splendid diare, which Dickey, with his pe culiar ideas on the subject of maim anu teum, at once resolved by fair means or foul, to secure. He therefore willingly aooepted the farmer’s hospitable invita- tion to accompany him to his house m order that they might ‘ crack ’ a bottle of good wine in honor of their bargain.— Presently Dickey inquired of the farmer if he would sell him his mare 1 ‘ Sell you my mare ” exclaimed his host; all aghast at this proposition. ‘ Sell my mare ? .No, thank you.’ Why, there’s not her equal in the whole north country !’ ‘ I do not doubt it, Mr. Musgrave,’ re sponded Dickey ; ‘ and from wha.t I saw of her paces this morning, I am quite of your opinion that there’s not her equal within a hundred miles of us; but,’ added the obsequious Dick, ‘ since you will not sell her, 1 oan only wish you a long life and good health to enjoy her.’ 'This sentiment was of course duly hon ored in a bumper. ‘ I hope, Mr. Musgrave,’ next observed Dickey, ‘ that you keep a close look-out after your stable door, beoause now, where that rascal Dickey of Kingswood is allow ed to be at liberty, a man cannot be sure but that any fine morning he may find his stable empty.’ ‘Stable! ba! ha!’ chuckled the farm er. ‘ I think,’ he continued, ‘ that Dickey Kingswood would find it rather difficult to steal my mare from her stable!’ ‘ Indeed ! where may her stable be sit uated?’ inquired Dickey. ‘ Her stable ! bless yon, sir !’ answered Mr. Musgrave, ‘ her stabie is in my bed room! I’m a bachelor, and so every night I fasten her to my bed post. I have had a manger put up for herin the room, and no music is so pleasant to me as to hear her grinding her corn all night by my bedside. Diokey wsb astounded—-as well he might be—at such unheard of precautions ; but disguising his astonishment, he contented himself by simply expressing to the farmer his hearty approval of the means he adopted to secure the safety of his favorite. ‘ 1 suppose you have a good lock upon your bed room door ?’ was Diokey’s next ‘ feeler.’ ‘ Gome with me, and I will show it you,’ replied the unsuspecting farmer. This was just what Diokey wanted.— He examined the lock carefully, and soon satisfied himself that he oould pick it with out much difficulty. He, however, de clared to Musgrave that it was ‘just the right sort of lock ;’ ‘ it couldn’t have been better in faot; it was quite non-pickable,’ etc. Again the oup passed round, and after draining a bumper to their ‘ next merry meeting ’ Diokey departed. The old farmer, after his guest’s leave taking had been completed; carefully went the rounds of his house, locking doors and closing windows with all due precau tion. He then, as usua l , tied his mare to her accustomed post, retired and was soon lulled to sleep by the sound of his favorite grinding her oorn. So the night wore away. Presently, as the first gray streaks of day began to ap pear, Mr. Musgrave awoke, and feeling very cold and ohilly, looked around to as certain the cause. To his astonishmont, he found that all the coverlets had been taken off his bed and that his blankets had been spread out upon the floor. For what purpose? thought Mr. Musgrave. Was he the victim of some horrible nightmare, or was he really awake ? Mechanically his eye glanced to the spot where his mare should have been. She was not there ! She was gone—stolen ! During the night some daring thief had broken into the farm house, had picked the lock on the door of the bed room, had spread the blankets over the floor, so that the hoofs of the mare should make no noise, and ha thus trium phantly made off with his prize. Of course Mr. Musgrave roused his household, and oommenoed a vigorous search after the thief. It was useless.— The despoiler had left no traces behind him, and so Mr. Musgrave was obliged to return home disconsolate, and to content himself with venting curses—neither few nor far between—upon the thief. In the meantime our friend Dickey — for his was the deed—was oomfortably mounted upon Mr. Musgrave’s favorite mare, and was every moment increasing the distanoe between her outraged owner and himself. So great was the speed of the mare, that by the break of day Dickey felt himself secure from pursuit. He had directed his steps to the eastward, and while crossing Haltwhistle Fell, whom should he encounter but the veritable owner of the oxen he had stolen two or three days before and haa just sold to Mr. Musgrave ! Dickey knew the owner of the oxen well, but, luckily for ihe freebooter, that injured individual did not know him. He therefore accosted Dickey, and inquired if he had seen any oxen in the course of his travels similar to those he described him self to Dick as being in search of. ‘ Why to be sure I have!’ replied Dickey ; ‘ with the very same marks as yon describe, grazing in Mr. Musgrave’s fields at Lanercost, only yesterday. I was rather struck,’ he oontinued, ‘by their appearance, and learned, on inquiry, from one of his servants, that Mr. Musgrave had purchased them just yesterday. Un doubtedly the oxen are yours. I would advise you to go to Lanereost at once and claim them. ‘ Certainly I will,’ replied the'other.— ‘ But I am tired with hard walking, and it is a long way to Laneroost. 1 see you ride a good beast. Will you sell her?’ After some hard bargaining, terms were agreed upon, the purchase money was paid down on the spot, and Dickey and the farmer separated ; the farmer to seek his stolen oxen, actually from the very owner of the stolen mare he was himself riding, while Dickey proceeded ‘ where he listed.’ The next day the farmer reached Laner oost and at once recognized his own oxen grazing in the field. He forthwith rode up to an elderly man standing near, whom he judged to he the owner of the field, and exclaimed : ‘ I say, friend, those are my oxen in yOur field ! How may you have come by them ?’ ‘ And I’ll be hanged, replied the other, (after taking a long, astonished look at the animal on which his questioner was mounted,) ‘if that’s not my mare you are riding J How may you have come by her, pray ?’ Each of course described the person from whom they had respectively purchased the oxen and the mare ; and when this was done, they discovered they had indeed been ‘ sold ’ by a rogue of no common order. So laughable did the joke appear—even to those who had to ‘ pay the piper ’ in the affair—that neither party could prevent breaking out into a peal of merriment when the particulars were fully disclosed. It was now clear that the only way to settle the affair was for each party to take back his own property. Musgrave was of course overjoyed at the recovery of his favorite mare and the Denton Burn farmer being equally delighted at the recovery of bi s oxen, it fell out that, in the general burst of rejoicing, Dickey was allowed to quietly pocket the sale money of both mare and oxen. Whether Dickey ultimately came to an untimely end, or whether he reformed his ways, and died, duly ‘ shrived,’ in his own bed, history telleth not. Certain it is, however, that to this day his deeds are 6 household words ’ in many parts of Northumberland, and the mention of his name among the peasantry is con sidered synonymous with ‘ cuteness.’ *©- The wool clip of Ohio will this year amount to thirteen millions of pounds two millions greater than the clip of 1881. “THAT COUNTRY IB THR HOST PROSPEROUS WHBRI LABOR COMMANDS THB BRRATRST RIWARD.”- BUCHANAN. LANCASTER CITY. PA., TUESDAY MORNING. NOYEMBER 18, 1862. SONG OF THE DEMOCRACY, Addressed to Father Abraham. BY DOU6LAB A. LEVXBIt. We are coming, Father Abraham, Three Hundred Thousand strong, To save you from the clutches of the Abolition throng. You’ve heard from Pennsylvania, and from Indiana, too, And Ohio has been speaking through her ballot-box to you! The sturdy men of Iron, from the Furnace and the Mine, With the Boosters and the Buckeye boys, are wheel ing into line: They are marohing to the musio of the Union, as of yore. And New York is coming after them, Three Hun dred Thoasand more! We are marching, Father Abraham, to tbatfamiliar tune, With which so oft, in former years, we’ve soared that same old ooon! Once more from hill and valley it rings forth with cheerful sound, To gladden every household where a loyal heart is foand. See! Every star is blazoned on the banner we nn fold: For the Union that our Jaokßon saved, our Seymour will uphold! To scatter all the Nation’s foes—the Union to restore, We are coming, Father Abraham, Three Hundred Thousand more! We are coming, Father Abraham, and aa we march along, We’ll relieve you from the “pressure” of the Abo lition throng! You told them that you oouldn’t make a pig’s leg of its tail, Aud that against the Comet Papal bulls would not avail; They wouldn’t heed your anecdotes, or listen to your plea— They swore that White Men should be slaves and Niggers should be free ! But you need not mind their ravings now, or trem ble at their roar— For we’re coming, Father Abraham, Three Hundred Thousand more! We are coming, Father Abraham, so oastaway your fears : It’s the Democratic “slogan” that is ringing in your ears ! They pretend to call us Traitors I But we point you to the blood That soaks into Virginia’s soil —that dyes Potomao’s flood — That stains the hills of Maryland, the plains of Tennessee; Such “Traitors,” Father Abraham, this Union loves to see! It’s a growing “Traitor” army that is thundering at your door, And New York will swell its columns with Three Hundred Thousand more! We are ooming, Father Abraham, to vindicate the laws, To hold the Starry banner up—to guard the Nation’s cause 1 Our motto is, “The White Man’s Rightsfor this we’ve battled long— For this we’ll fight with sinewy arms, with earnest hearts and strong — For this we’ll burst Fort Warren’s bars and crumble Lafayette— For this we’ll orush the Nation’s foes, and save the Union yet! Thus speaks the North! Oh! Abraham, you’ll heed its mighty roar, When New York shall swell the chorus with Threa Hundred Thousand more! LOVE AND MORAL COURAGE, BT AM Y RANDOLPH. ‘ But why don’t you like him, Agatha V ‘ Oh—beoause !’ What philosopher ever solved the mys tery of this true woman’s reason ? ‘ Be cause ’ means ten thousand things that pretty, dimpled lips don’t choose to put into shape—it means they know why per fectly well themselves, but won’t tell ; and not all the coaxing of curiosity can get it oat of them. And so pretty Agatha Milne played with a knot of soarlet roses, whose velvet petals glowed in her belt-ribbon, and lifted up her soft hazel-brown eyes with a pro vokingly absent, unconscious look. ‘ But, Agatha,’ pursued Ruth Ellen wood, stopping for a moment in her occu pation of braiding and arranging Agatha’s beautiful waves of auburn gold hair. I’m sure I’ve heard you say, again and again, he was snch a pleasant partner at balls and parties, and—oh, Agatha, don’t jerk your head so, or I shall have to braid all these strands over again.’ ‘ Nonsense—that’s no test at all!’ said Agutha, pettishly, the peach-like orimson mounting her oheek; what can you tell about a young man, from a mere ball-room acquaintance ? Any one can be agreeable enough to hold, your boquet, or bring yon an iee-eream ; that is if he knows enough not to tread on your toes in the polka, nor to step on your flounces in a promenade.’ ‘ I know it,’ said Ruth, ‘ but the ques tion is ’ — ‘ But the question is,’ interrupted the imperious young beauty, ‘ how do I know that Mr. Pitz Aubyn, silver-tongued as he is to me, with his homage and compliments, don’t go home and swear at his mother and sisters ? How do 1 know that Mr. Jen ning, who has the whole dictionary at his finger-ends, does not cheat his landlady? What means have I of ascertaining that young St. Simons, who is such a graceful waltzer and agreeable small-talker, does not finish his evening in a drinking saloon ? Oh, Buth, we have tests for ascertaining spuricus dollars and counterfeit bank notes, but how on earth are we to know a counterfeit husband, until he is tied to our apron-strings for life ?’ She laughed as she sprang up to look for her bonnet, but the long eye-lashes drooped low with a very suspicious moisture. ‘ Well,’ said Ruth, caressingly patting Agatha’s tiny hand, ‘ I’m very, very thank ful that Providence didn’t make me a beau ty and an heiress, sinoe it has a tendency to awake suspicion and distrust. But, Agatha, in spite of all you have said, I feel firmly convinced that Charles Stanton is a noble fellow.’ ‘ Very likely,’ said Agatha, lightly ; ‘ but here is Pitz Aubyn, with those splen did white horses of his, so give me my shawl.’ r And whither are your footsteps to be direoted to to-day ?’ ‘ Oh, we are going to that private view of pictures in street, you know.’ And Agatha swept out of the room with the imperial port of a young queen. The white lustre of moonlight pouring down through the oiroular dome of the frosted glass, gave a life-like glow to the superb paintings whose gilded frames liter ally oovered the walls of that vast suite of apartments. Here and there groups of absorbed dilettanti moved with subdued whispers and brandished opera-glasses, as if it were a forbidden thing to speak above one’Hjreath in the presence of those fair landscapes and olassio scenes from history’s page. Directly in front of one of the finest works of art Btood a pair who had uncon sciously been the object of many a ourious glance and whispered observation of the other sight-seers—a tall, stylish-looking young man, with an old lady leaning on his arm, whose antique dress of snuff colored bombazine and oddly-shaped beaver bonnet occasioned a good many covert smiles and half-concealed titters from the various observers. < 0, by the way, Miss Milne,’ said Fits I Aubyn, as, in their progress round'the | rooms, this couple gradually came in view, ‘ yon haven’t seen the greatest curiosity of all, yet.’ . ‘ Where ?’ said Agatha, laising her opera-glass. ‘ Yon are mistaken—it don’t hang on the walls,’ returned Fitz Aubyn, laughing. ‘ Look a little nearer the earth, if you want to see Stanton and his fossil aunt.’ Agatha turned her head accordingly, without remark—she smiled a little, how ever, whioh was all that Fitz Anbyn wanted. ‘ Should yon suppose any mortal yonth would have the courage to bring such a last-oentnry specimen to a place like this, where he might know he would meet all his fashionable acquaintances ? Upon my word, I believe he’ll take her to the opera next ! See him carrying her morocco bag and cotton umbrella ! Don’t he remind yon of Don Quixote in his youthful days?’ ‘ Probably she has money to leave one of these days,’ said Agatha, the distrust ful element uppermost in her mind for the moment. ‘ Not a red cent. I know, for I’ve in quired. She is ‘ in reduced circumstances’ —that’s the term I believe—but Stanton is very fond of her, nevertheless. She has eome np to town from the backwoods for a few days, and ’ — He paused abruptly as the very pair in question approached, still absorbed in pic ture gazing. ‘ My dear Charles,’ said the old lady, at length, ‘ you oannot imagine what a treat this is to me—l have not seen such pic tures as these since I was a child. How thoughtful of you to bring me here.’ ‘ I knew you would enjoy it, aunt.’ ‘ And you are not ashamed of your old fashioned relative among these gay young people ?’ ‘ On the contrary, dear aunt, I am as proud as a monarch while yon are leaning on my arm.’ Agatha heard it all, and she also heard him answer, in reply to the gay ohallenge of some companion : ‘ Thank you, but don’t reckon upon me as one of your party at the opera this eve ning. lam going with my aunt, who is passionately fond of musio, so yon mast exouse me for once.’ ‘ I told you so 1’ said Fitz Aubyn, in a sotto voce tone, shrugging his shoulders. ‘Did you ever see suoh a follow as Stanton?’ ‘ Never,’ was Agatha’s reply, but it was so emphatically Bpoken that Fitz Aubyn started. And that night, when the oourted beau ty was brushing oat her luxuriant hail, she paused many a time and fell into a thought ful re very. ‘ Moral courage !’ she murmured to her self. ‘ I have somewhere read that it is nobler far than the iron resolution which makes men reckless in battle. I wonder’— And there she stopped resolutely. What a glorious, bracing New Year’s Day it was ! There had been just snow enough in the night to form a white glis tening coat over everything, and afford an excellent excuse for the merry sleighs that darted hither and thither with streaming furs and jingling bells. All the fashiona ble world was astir—the gentlemen busily consulting their interminable list of calls, and the ladies putting the last touches to their gorgeous toilettes. There were not many upon that day who received more adulation than Agatha Milne, as sho stood like a young empress in her splendid drawing-rooms, every mirror flashing back her loveliness. Her dress was very simple—pink silk edged around the shoulders with snowy ermine, and long sprays of jessamine drooping from her hair ; yet she knew that she had never been so beautiful as now, as she listened with languid smiles to the compliments showered upon her. It was nothing new. The gilded chandeliers had been lighted, and the jewelled fingers of the tiny ala baster clock on the mantel pointed to a late hour when the peal of the door-bell an nounced a new incursion of guests, and M. Fitz Aubyn entered, surrounded by a gay party of young men. ‘ Good evening, Miss Milne ; surely I am not too late to wish you the happiest of all imaginable New Years ! Whom do you suppose I saw steering in the direotion of your hospitable mansion just now ? 0, here he oomes to speak for himself—the Chevalier Charley Stanton !’ Agatha turned calmly to welcome the new oomer, and the keenest eye could searcely have discerned the deeper shade of oolor that glowed on her delicate obeek, as he quietly came forward to greet her. ‘ Pill your glasses, gentlemen,’ exclaim ed Pitz Aubyn, holding high above bis head a tiny chalice of engraven Bohemian glass, brimming with orimson wine, ‘ and let us drink to the health of our fair hos tess, Miss Agatha Milne.’ The impromptu toast was received with general aoolamationss of satisfaoiicn, and Fitz Aubyn glanced around a second time to see if all had followed his injunctions, ere he touched his lips to the glass. ‘ Come, Stanton, no lack of chivalry here ; where’s your glass ?’ ‘ I will drink Miss Milne’s health in clear iced-water with the greatest pleasure,’ said Stanton, smiling ; ‘ but never touch wine.’ ‘ Never touch wine! and pray why not ?’ ‘ Beoause it is against my principles,’ said Stanton, with quiet firmness. Fitz Aubyn curled his lips iu contemp tuous silence, that was several degress harder when a young man leaped forward to interpose his word. ‘ Offer it to him yourself, Miss Milne ; surely he oannot be so lost to all sense of gallantry /as to refuse it from your fair hand.’ r Agatha had grown very pale, but with out speaking she filled one of the tiny goblets, and held it towards Charles Stan ton. ‘ Will you not take it from me ?’ Stanton looked at her with oalm gra vity. ‘ Miss Milne, I should be a coward in deed did 1 allow your persuasions to sway me from the fixed principles whioh are the guiding stars of my whole life.’ He bowed and withdrew. The glass fell from Agatha’s hand, and shivered into a thousand sparkling fragments ; she bit her soarlet lip until the blood started, with a strange sympathetic thrill of exultation. Had he wavered for an instant in his de termination, she would have despised him. ' * A very poor investment, those horses of mine, and all this behavior o-/a-good boy in story books,” muttered Fitz Aubyn, about four weeks subsequently, as he strode into the brilliantly illuminated saloons of the Club House. ‘ Here, waiter, a glass of brandy and water—quiok!’ ‘ What’s the matter, Fitz ? You look as black as a thunder oloud,’ observed a by-stander, who was leaning against a marble pillar and picking his teeth in a most leisurely and epionrian manner. ‘ The matter ! Do you remember that magnificent Agatha Milne, the Queen of all the Beauties ?’ ‘ Of course 1 do ; she hasn’t lost her wits nor her property, I hope ?’ ‘ No ; but I’ve lost the latter item pretty effeotnally. VVho do you suppose she is going to marry ?’ ‘ 1 am sure I cannot gness. Do tell your news at once, and don’t keep a fel low in suspense in this sort of way.’ ‘ Well, she is going to become Mrs. Charley Stanton ; aotually going to marry a man with a fossil aunt, and principles that wont allow him to drink a glass of wine ! Bah 1 the humbug that passes cur rent in this world.’ ‘ i could have prophesied as much be fore,-my dear boy, if you would only have done me the honor to listen to me,’ ob served the other, coolly unfolding the newspaper, so asi to get at the inside columns.” ‘ You gay, dashing yonng fel lows are all very well as long as a girl wants to amuse herself ; hut when it oomes to a lifelong question, she’s apt to prefer a safe man for her husband.” Fitz Aubyn groaned deeply, bat con sidered his position too precarious to be worth arguing. Meanwhile little Ruth Ellenwood was as busy as a bee working at her cousin’s wed ding robe of spotless white satin, and ask ing ten thousand questions, the final of which always was : ‘ But, Agatha, you never would tell me why you didn’t like him, and now you are just as bad. Tell me, that’s a darling, why you ohanged »our mind?’ And Agatha only laughed and crimson ed, and made the same old provoking answer : ‘ Oh —because /’ Valter and Us Continue Our Valk. IN WHICH WE FIND SMILES AMONG TEARS, AND HAPPINESS WHERE WE HAD NOT LOOKED FOR IT. People never know how to be happy, my boy. There is not one of God’s living images but has anchored in his heart a boat which braves out, and tosses upon life's roug i sea, waiting as it rocks and pitches, for a full freight of happiness, at some future day. That is the failure, Valter. We ever look ahead for some day, when care, trouble and sorrow shall be banished. That day will never come on earth, my boy. We may look ahead—the morrow may be g'olden—till the morrow comes. As we valk along this road, away from the dusty city, you and us can talk quietly over these matters. We can talk of little things unnoticed by those who are in great haste to finish this book—for one they know not of. The tree which spreads it branches out as a mother holds her hands to the tottling infant,seeming to ask us to be seated under its leaves, looks inviting, but its trunk is covered with bugs and ants. The beauti ful green leaf, which toys with the evening breeze, bears on its under surface insect cities which will hasten its fall. The limb above us is half decayed, though the foliage thereon is yet green and fresh. The little white stone at our feet is the roof for ugly worms and beetles. The rose which laughs at its escape from yonder hedge—the rose which looks so sweet, has in its centre leaves a score of little bugs. The lovely dahlia, so beautiful in its delicately tinted variegation is without fragrance. The handsome oil painting, on close examina tion seems like a daub, made by amateur hands.. The crimson cloud seeming to be hanging from Heaven to kiss earth, as a lover hangs by one hand over the ban nister to kiss the lips so sweet to him, are no different from the morning banks of fog* only as reflecting the sun’s rays. The pearly stream singing by us is often roiled, and its bed is the home of reptiles. The finest hair of your head, my boy, is in re ality like the cylinder to a threshing ma chine. The mysterious photography, on close inspection reveals all the imperfec tions of the face of the setter. The rust ling silk has yawning stiches to mar its beauty. T.be wished for country has its dark side—the thronged city sees more misery than pen or tongue can tell. On everything, my boy, the destroyer has set his seal. There is nothing perfeot. Still we can make the most of what we have. We oan valk along through life— passing by the dark scenes—lingering to day by those of beauty, of joy and love. If to-morrow brings others, well and good. If not, the bappioess we find to-day is clear gain. We must learn to take the bitter with the sweet. Roses grow on brambles. Flowers of beauty and frag rance spring from the most neglected places. There is joy and happiness every where, if we do not look for too much at a time. Some of these evenings, Valter, you and us will sit quietly down, and by ourselves have a picture of happiness. Not now my boy, but very soon. The morning sun is the most pleasant. Its hot, mid-day beams are not what we want. Full rays of happiness bring more misery along than we can endure. Let us be thankful for what we have, and all will be well. Eojoy the present —hope for the future. The hour may look dark—there is light beyond. Be happy while you oan. When in the house, do not put your head out of the window, to see how hard the blast is piping. Keep still and thank Grod you are safe for a moment —if no longer. Borrow no trouble. It will be left at your door as fast as you oan nse it. The ioe man calls in the morning, and leaves the oold crystal, in small or large eakes, as you use. Time leaves eakes, ohneks and blocks of trouble in the same way. Daily he leaves them. loe is no colder—ice will not melt quicker, if you but leave it out of doors. If you have no nse for trouble, do not go or send out for it, my boy. Let it lie and melt. Lie and melt is a good idea, Valter. Let it waste itself in the ground—and, in time, green will be the grass rich and varied the flowers which will spring forth to be called by our own hands. Every man iB monareh in his own heart. In his own eastle, the king can be safe— in his bat, the ocoapant oan bar the door, and none bat bidden guests can enter. So oan you and ns do, my boy, with the door jof our hearts. Admit none bat friends— l shut out trouble and he happy. We get j the strength of tea by steeping, so do we feel the nightmare of sorrow by brooding and worrying over tronble, either real or | imaginary. ; Grief seid m kills true friends never desert you. Leeches quit | when they have sacked their fill of blood. ■ So, many friends desert you when they ' know your troubles. If you would ride ' safe, be your own driver. Never trust the | reins with another. Then yon can go ! singing on yonr way, and be happy. If I you wish one to ride with yon, ask not the ! first one you overtake, exoept you know I who it is. Perhaps you will wish to ride alone. Better go a thousand miles to find i a friend ! than take in one who is not. Look around us, my boy. Look ahead to the work of life, with heart and nerve. Then all troubles vanish. Look back and you will see a thousand incidents in life— now sabred to memory—the unoared for and almost unnoticed. They were mo ments of happiness studding the dome of life, as the golden headed bolts stud the floor of God above us, and glisten in mys terious tremor while we sleep. We pass them daily, little dreaming the fact, as the traveler passes parallels of the meridian— to look baok and see them far in the past. We can look back and see how muoh we missed in not knowing whioh were our happy moments —and, my boy, we oan also in retrospeot wonder, and wonder how little troubles oould have worried us so in the days or hours thereof. The trouble is, my boy—we think every one is happier than ourselves—every one has more money in his pocket than we have in ours—more comfort by the family hearth than we enjoy, while the truth is that not one in ten are as happy as our- Eelves, or get through the world with as little trouble. The breeze might have been a hurricane—the shower a hail storm. The friends we at times lose were never good ones, or they would not fall off as do rose leaves, themselves worthless, while the pod with the germ of so many beauti ful flowers remains. Valter, just think if you are not much happier than you thought you were. —La Crosse Democrat. Child and Woman. —What is there in the glance of a yonng girl ? Nothing and everything—a mysterious abyss, half open, then suddenly olosed. There is a time when every yonng girl looks thus. Woe to him upon whom she looks ! This first i glance of a soul which does not know itself, | is like the dawn in the Bky. It is the awakening of something radiant and un known. Nothing oan express the danger ous charm of this unlooked-for gleam which suddenly suffuses adorable mysteries, and which is made up of all the innooence of the present and all the passion of the fu ture. It is a kind of irresolute lovingness which is revealed by chance, and which is waiting. It is a snare which innocence unconsciously spreads, and in whioh she catches hearts without intending it, and without knowing it. It is a maiden glanoiDg like a woman. It is rare that deep reverie is not born of this glance wherever it may fall. All that is pure and all that is vestal, is concentrated in that celestial and mortal glance, which more than the most studied ogling of the coquette, has the magic pow er of suddenly forcing into bloom in the depths of the heart this flower of the shade, .full of perfumes and poisons, which is call ed love. The glances of women are like certain peacefully really formidable ma chines. You pass them every day quietly, with impunity , and without suspioion of danger. There comes a moment when you forget even that they are there. You eome and go,you muse, and talk, and laugh. Suddenly you feel that you are seized 1 It is done. The wheels have caught yon, the glance has captured yon. It has taken you, no matter how or where by any portion whatever of your thought which was trail ing through any absenoe of mind. You are lost. You will be drawn in entirely A train of mysterious forces has gained possession of you. You struggle in vain. No human succor is possible. Yon will be drawn from wheel to wheel, from anguish to anguish, from torture to torture. You, your mind, your fortune, yi ur future, your soul ; and you will not escape from the terrible machine until, aooording as you are in the power of a malevolent nature or a noble heart, you shall be disfigured by shame or transfigured by love.— Victor Hugo. qiHE LANCASTER INTELLIGENCER _L JOB PRINTING ESTABLISHMENT. No. 8 NORTH DUKE STREET, LANCASTER, PA. The Jobbing Department is thoroughly furnished with new and elegant type of every description, and is under the charge of a practical and experienced Job Printer.—* The Proprietors are prepared to PRINT CHECKS, NOTES, LEGAL BLANKS, CARDS AND CIRCULARS, BILL HEADS AND HANDBILLS, PROGRAMMES AND POSTERS, PAPER BOOKS AND PAMPHLETS, BALL TICKETS AND INVITATIONS, PRINTING IN COLORS AND PLAIN PRINTING, with neatness, accuracy aDd dispatch, on the most rea&ona: bie terms, and in a manner not excelled by any establish ment in the city. 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. XT AW INGEN * SNYDER, V DESIGNERS AND ENGRAVERS Bosewood Cases, Toned the Equal Temperament, with the Patent Divided Swell and 8010 Stop. Prices from $B5 to $2OO. Organ Harmoniums with Pedal Bass, $250, $276 and S3UO. School Harmoniums, $4O, $6O, $BO and $lOO. Also, Melodeous and Harmoneuma of the following makers, Prince 4 Co’u, Carhart