VOL. LXIY
mg LANCASTER INTELLIGENCER
ULTIMO NUM TITZSDAT.,II . O. 8 NORTH DOLT STRUT,
BY GEO:BANDERSON.
TERMS
8 anscatpuoa.—Two Dollars per annum, payable in ad
vance. No subscription discontinued until all arrear-
Agee are paid, 'Unless at the option of the Editor.
ADvxmarsowre.—Advertisements, riot 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.
Jon Ponrrnso—Sush u Hand Bile, Posters, Pamphlets,
Blanks, Labels, &c., &c., executed with accuracy and on
the shortest notice.
TO A SPIRIT.
From the far•off Spirit Land,
Dost thou hail?
For thy thin and shadowy hand,
And thy face so wan and bland,
And so pale,
And thy voice, so faint and lone,
And its melancholy tone,
Tell the tale.
In that far•off land and drear,
Do there glide,
Mid that voiceless atmosphere;
The dim shadows of the dear
Who have died—
Silent, sad, and lone,
Eaoh to each unknown,
Side by side?
'Neath that sky Bo low and grey,
Like,a cell,
Where vaporous twilight-day,
Never lifts its veil away,
Do they dwell,
These funereal crowds,
With the grave-damp on their shrouds?
Spirit, tell!
Would a single shade obey,
Should I call?
Or, divested of this clay
And its passions, do they stray
'Neath that pall,
Unhearing and unseeing,
With a blank and vacant being,
Lifeless all?
Of the past do they retain
Not a gleam?
Or doth a hope remain,
They shall ever wake again?
Do they dream
Of Loye, which o'er the wave
Of the Lethe of the grave
Caste its beam?
Thou art silent. Com'st thou hero
To command
A mortal to appear,
In that world of doubt and fear,
Spirit Land,
Chang'd to a shade of air,
Mid those spectral shadows there
Give thy hand !
Remorse I feel not now,
Nor shall I feel;
There's no brand upon my brow
For a brother, that I bow
To thy will ;
But a self-sustaining trust
In the Morey of the Just
Arms me still.
gone—p mournful shade,
As it came ;
With its misty robe arrayed,
As if smitten and dismayed,
And in shame:
What power in Mercy lies,
When an evil phantom flies
At the name!
THE VEILED PICTURE ;
THE, MYSTERY OF THE LIBRARY
No searching eye can pierce the veil
That o'er my secret life is thrown;
No outward signs reveal its tale,
But to my bosom known.
Thus like the spark, whose vivid light
In the dark flint is hid from sight,
It dwells within, alone. —Mrs. Henzans
g What have you concealed here ?'
said, taking hold of the heavy silk drapery
attached to a rosewood cornice, and falling
in graceful folds to the floor.
Lillian ! Lillian ! don't raise it !'
screamed Mrs. Thornton, springing from
the easy chair in which she had been re
clining with the listlessness of a dreamy
child ; and darting to my side, she pressed
so heavily against the veil, that I could
discern the outline of a picture frame.
A picture I exclaimed. 0, I must
see it, for I can never rest where there is
anything mysterious.
s But this you cannot—must not—see.'
I did not reply, for having been an in
mate of the house only a week, and this
being my first visit to the library, I did
not give utterance to the thoughts which
rushed through my mind. Perhaps Mrs.
Thornton divined my thoughts, as, after a
moment's silence, she said :
You are to have access to this library
at all times—every book is at your ser
vice, and you are at liberty even to rum
mage the drawers and pigeon holes of my
desk, if your cariosity demands it; but
you must not look beneath the veil that
'hides this picture ;' and her pale lips
trembled, her dark, expressive eyes were
fixed upon
„mine,
Just one glance,' I said, pleadingly ;
but she moved her head negatively, and I
went on : How can I study with that mys
tery ever before me ; and, then, too, I
shall never sleep soundly again, but dream
the livelong night of this mystical veil,
and that it , hides some strange, weird
image . ; or worse, become a somnambulist,
and frighten every servant (who happens
to fear ghosts) from the house, by mid
night explorations and wanderings.'
No eye but mine ever looks upon this
veiled picture. It is sacred, for it is the
only relic I have preserved of'my past life
—all that I have to remind me of happy
days too bright to last— of a 'brief period
when life's pathway was strewn with flow
ers, and I dreampt not that beneath those
fair, perfumed flowers' petals, sharp pierc
ing thorns were hidden.' Her face was
pale as death, and those deep, dark eyes
moist with pearly tears.
I saw that her heart was deeply pained ;
that welling from memory's fount, came
painful remembrance, and truly penitent,
I said, r Forgive my thoughtless words,
and I promise never to raise the veil from
this picture, nor pain your heaft by my
questions.'
An intense smile stole over her pale
features, and kissing my cheek, she mur
mured, Dear child ; perhaps some day I
may lift the veil, and tell you all.' Then
turning away to hide her tears, left me
standing before the veiled picture.
It was rather curious how I came to be
a dweller in the house of Mrs. Thornton.
Two years before, when but fourteen years
old, I came to New Haven to attend
school, and soon after my father leaving
for Europe, where he expected to remain
three years, entrusted me to the guardian
ship of Mr. Howe, an old friend of his
college days. It was at the house of Mr.
Howe that I first became acquainted with
Mrs. Thornton. She went but little
into society, and my guardian's was one
of the few families she visited. Her pale,
expressive face attracted me, and then,
too, there was an indefinable something in
her
,dark, liquid eyes, now so sad, and now
glowing witb an intense smile, that woke
an answering echo in my young heart.—
She always called me to her side to ask
me about her studies ; and when a new
book was announced which she thought
would be suitable for me to read, she
placed it in my hand with my name en
graven upon the fly-leaf in her own hand
writing. Was it strange my heart warmed
toward her that her coming wasi looked
forward to with pleasure, or that I often
beggedLfor the paivilege of visiting her in
her quiet, pleasant home My visits
there were not very frequent ; and when
there, we sat in her boudoir, which was
fitted up with artistic taste, and, having
never been admitted to the library, I had
never seen the veiled picture.
I had a pleasant home in Mr. Howe's
family; yet it w, a glad surprise when
he said I could bt rd with Mrs. Thornton,
if I wished, and t., ught that I could be
happy there. Mrs. Thornton had pro
pose& it, as Mr. Howe's family anticipated
being absent from the city most of the
summer ; and the followi Saturday I
removed to her home.
It was my first holiday in my new home,
and I had gone to the library with Mrs.
Thornton to select a book, when, on pass-
ing around, my eyes fell .upon the silk
drapery shading the wall in the further
corner of the room, and was about to draw
it aside, when ber exclamation prevented.
I had promised not to look beneath the
mysterious folds of that silken veil, yet I
was not satisfied ; curiosity prompted me
to try to catch a hasty glimpse when Mrs.
Thornton was engaged, but honor forbade.
Summer and autumn passed, and the
long winter evenings were spent in the
cosy, cheerful library ; and though I cast
many a furtive glance toward the veiled
picture, I dared not question Mrs. Thorn
ton, and began to despair of the dawning
of that day when she would relate the
history of the picture. It was a mild
evening in Spring, and we were sitting
before the grate in the library; I watch
ing the fast dimming coals that had burn
ed low, while Mrs. Thornton, with closed
eyes, sat near in the easy chair. My
reverie was broken by the tremulous tones
of her voice, saying :
'Lillian, do you remember your mother?'
Then I answered, that though I turned
leaf after leaf of memory's book, yet I
could find no record of a mother's
love. She died when I was about two
years old, yet my father had been kind,
and, as far as possible, filled the place of
both father and mother. My childhood
had passed happily ; my father was both
friend and instructor, and my first great
grief had been when I was sent to school
and my father sailed for Europe.
6 Was your mother's name Lillian and
there was somethirig in the tone of her
voice that startled me.
Her name was Flora—Flora May.—
Was it not a sweet name P
Very pretty,' and the glowing intensity
of her eye, is I met its gaze, made my
heart throb with a strange sensation.
I can't tell where she was buried.—
Once when I asked my father, he said it
was far away, and we would go to the place
of my birth when I was older. My father
was so lonely after mother's death that he
sold his home in New-York, and removed
to Ohio. I have no recollection of my
first home, but shall ask my father to take
me there before we return to Ohio.'
And your father loved his wife ?
g What a strange question, I said. Yet
she appeared to have spoken without
thought. If he had not loved her, do
you think he would have remained true to
her memory fifteen years ?'
I have a headache, and shall retire,'
Mrs. Thornton said, rising ; and coming
to my side, she kissed me tenderly, and
with a flushed cheek left the library.
For a long time I sat gazing into the
dying coals. Were her questions the
magic key that had unlocked the casket
where the memories of my childhood were
stored? I could not tell. Yet there came
a dim remembrance of a time when I was
playing alone in the garden and a strange
face peered into mine, as some one clasped
me in her arms and kissed me again and
again, while my face was wet with tears.
I never knew whence she came or whither.
she went, and it seemed strange that dim
memory should come back then. It passed,
and a bright dream flitted before my wak
ing vision—my father would return in a
few months; he would meet Mrs. Thorn
ton ; she was so gentle and winning that
he would not fail to be pleased with her,
and I might be permitted to call her
mother !
My hand was on the knob to open the
door, but I hesitated. It was late, and
the house was still. How easy it would
be to solve the mystery, and Mrs. Thorn
ton never know it. For months that veiled
picture had haunted my waking and sleep
ing visions, why should I longer perplex
my mind with vain conjecture ; and cross
ing the library, I placed the lamp so its
light would fall directly upon the picture.
Was it the rustling of silk or the faint
echo of gentle footsteps that startled me
but listening intently, I found all silent
within and without. Ah ! it was the whis-
poring of the still, small voice, and should
I heed its promptings She would not
know it, curiosity whispered ; so I raised
the veil ; but, as my eye caught a glimpse
of a gilded frame, the drapery fell from..
my hand. I remembered my promise never
to raise that veil, and I turned away won
dering why so costly a frame was hidden
beneath those dark folds.
From that night the mystery of the li
brary deepened. 1 had a nervous dread
of being left alone with the veiled picture,
and my imaginative mind pictured a scene
of horror that would thrill every nerve and
freeze my heart's blood!
My father returned, and when I told
him how kind Mrs. Thornton had been, he
called to thank her in person ; but she
was ill and could not leave her room.—
Wondering what could agitate her so, I
returned to my father, saying she would
be better in a day or two, and he must
not leave the city until he had seen her.
But he was firm in his decision to leave
the next day, and I must accompany him.
Then I expressed a wish to visit my
mother's grave. He drew me to his side,
and with his arm encircling me, and my
head resting upon his bosom, he told me
of my mother. To him the memory of the
past was painful, and I mingled my tears
with those of my father, while again -
seemed to see that strange face peering
into mine.
In two hours I would leave my kind
friend, and I was going without the mys
tery of the library being solved ; so I ven
tured to hint that, when I came to visit
her the next year, I hoped to see the
veiled picture unveiled. She did not re
ply, but taking my hand led me to the li
brary. She would tell me all, she said—
for, perhaps, we might never meet again.
Mrs. Thornton told her story briefly.—
She was the only child of wealthy parents,
and married at the age of nineteen. For
three years she was happy in the pleasant
"THAT 00IINTRY 18 TIM MOST PROHPBBOIIB WHIRR LABOR OOKIKARDS Tit ORIATIST RIWARD."- -BUCHANAN.
LANCASTER CITY, PA., TUESDAY MORNING, JULY 21, 1863.
home to which her husband took her ;
then a cloud of midnight darkness
overshadowed that home. Some one en
vying her, circulated reports injurious to
her reputation, and these coming to her
husband's ears, he, being naturally of a
jealous disposition, believed them. The
wife loved her husband devotedly, and
being innocent, how could she bear pati
ently his taunts and uncalled for surveil
lance. So she proposed returning to her
parental home, and the husband said go,
only she must leave her child. She did
go, and three years after,. her parents be
ing dead, she went to Europe, where she
remained eight years. Returning to Amer
ica, she came to New Haven, where, under
the name of Thornton, she had since re
sided. Once she visited the home of her
husband during his absence, and bribing
the housekeeper by the present of a well
filled purse, procured his portrait; and in
all her wanderings it had been her com
panion, though closely veiled lest some one
should recognize it, and thus her early
history become food for idle gossip. Then,
too, she had seen her child, and for a
brief period pressed it to her bosom, but
words could not express the agony of her
breaking heart as she turned away from
her child.
6 Your husband's name,' I said, sinking
at her feet and gaping wonderingly into
her pale face and the dark liquid eyes
bent so loving upon me, for a strange hope
made my heart throb wildly.
' I. cannot repeat his name, but you may
look upon his counterpart,' she said, rising.
Slowly, almost reverently, she put back
the folds of that silken veil, while I stood,
half-breathless, beside her. Was it a
dream, or was it reality There was no
mistaking that likeness ; and involuntarily
the words, ' My father!' burst from my
lips. Then, like a swiftly-moving pano
rama, it all passed before my mind, and
throwing my arms around her neck, I
called her.
My mothermy long-lost mother!—
My father told me all, yesterday,' I said,
when I hdd become more calm. He
learned the reports were without founda
tion, and hearing you had gone to Europe,
for three years has he sought you there
and his heart is sad because he can find
no trace of you. Will you see him 7'
She did not reply, but I read her an
swer in the beaming eye, and hastily don
ning bonnet and mantle, ran to the hotel,
where I surprised my father by rushing
breathless to his room.
Come with me ; Mrs. Thornton will
see you now,' I said, nervously clutching
his arm and pulling him toward the door ;
but he resisting, asked what had occurred
to excite me so ? It was not here that I
would explain, so he followed the rapid
footsteps along the street and up the
shaded walk ; but when I threw open the
door to the library he paused.
She is here—come,' I said, drawing
him into the library. She had risen ; how
lovely she looked then—her pale brow,
her bright eye, and a crimson spot burning
on either cheek. One moment my father
stood as though chained to the spot, then
advancing, he exclaimed :
Flora, my wife
Herbert !' was the soft reply, and she
was clasped in his arms.
Forgive and forget the past,' I heard
a manly voice murmur ; and - then my
name was repeated in soft accents. I went
to my mother's side, and the happy hus
band and father pressed his wife and child
to his heart, as in reverent tones he im
plored God to bless our re-union.
..The veiled picture was unveiled, the
mystery of the library solved, and return
ing to our Western home once more a
happy family group dwelt beneath its
roof. A gentle, loving wife and mother
was the guiding-star of that home.
[I Roswell F—, a Vermont lawyer
of distinguished ability, now residing at
St. Louis, and in the first rank of the bar
of Missouri, had brought a suit in court
which was really so plain a case for the
plaintiff, that, having submitted the papers
and other proofs to the Court, he felt that
his client's interest required no more, and
ho accordingly sat down, without making
the customary opening address. Bat the
defendant's counsel, ambitious of rhetori
cal display, and at the same time probably
conscious that the defence required the
best abilities, rose and made a long bar
rangue, characterized by an immense flood
of pompous words, as was his custom, but
destitute of even an attempt at logic or
reasoning of any kind. \‘, hen he had done,
the plaintiff's counsel, who was expected
to make an elaborate speech in reply, rose,
and merely said : May it please the Court
and the gentlemen of the jury, in this case
I shall follow the example of the counsel
for the defence, and submit the case with
out argument I'
GET Esouatt SLEEP. —We have often
heard young men remark that four or five
hours' sleep was all they wanted, and all
that the human system required. The
habit of going without sufficient sleep is
very injurious. Thousands no doubt, per
manently injure their health in this way.
We live in a fast age, when every body
seems to be trying to pervert the order of
nature : if folks will persist in turning
night into day, it is not to be wondered
that few last the allotted term of life. No
matter what be a man's occupation—phys
ical or mental, or, like Othello's, gone,'
and living in idleness—the constitution
cannot last, depend upon it, without a
sufficiency of regular and refreshing sleep.
Joe Hunter, the great surgeon, died sud
denly of spasmodic affection of the heart, a
disease greatly encouraged by want of
sleep. In a volume just published by a
medical man there is one great lesson that
hard students and literary men may learn,
and that is, that Hunter probably killed
himself by taking too little sleep. Four
hours' rest at night, and one after dinner
cannot be deemed sufficient to recruit the
exhausted powers of the body and mind.'
Certainly not; and the consequence was,
that Hunter died early. If men will in
sist in cheating sleep, her twin sister
Death' will avenge the insult.
Fanny Fern says hoop-skirts will
never be dropped, in 'yip of their abuse,
eseept at the bedside. 10h Fanny !
ll''Those who walk most are generally
the healthiest ; the road of perfeot health
is too narrow for wheels.
Ilg — An honest man's the noblest work
of God—but the edition is small.
Becomingly Dressed.
That the majority of women prefer being
fashionable to becomingly dresßed, is a
fact that the universal wearing of high bon
nets has tended firmly to establish ; and it
is an extraordinary one, since the majority
of women are, at the same time, well aware
that the eyes of those they dress to glad-.
den invariably prefer the " becoming" to
he f , faehionible."
very woman is—or, if she isn't, she
ought to be, fond of being well dressed, and
desirous of looking at all times and sea-
sons as well as Nature will allow her to
look. It is not only justifiable, but abso
lutely right and praiseworthy that the aid
of art should be called in to assist in ob-
taining the desirable result. It is unjus
tifiable, wrong and reprehensible to a de
gree, that art should be so frequently dis
torted, and the result, when achieved, so
abominably bad.
About a year and a half ago somebody,
in an evil hour, decreed that gaunt, kigh
bonnets should be the fashion, and fifirth
with every feminine face had to be framed
n one, or to bravely bear those crushing
epithets, dowdy' and ' antique,' which
were sure to be uttered with respect to the
courageous one by irraverenced younger
sisters with round faces, and milliners de
sirous of disposing of their lengthy goods.
To give it its due, the high bonnet does
suit one face in twenty ; it suits a round
face, whose breath can not only bear, but
requires toning down ; it suits that rarest
shape of all, a low-browed, delicate oval—
that shape where the oval is formed by the
head arching resolutely immediately above
the flat brow--that shape, in fact, that we
see in profusion in marble, and meet with
in real life about once in ten years. But
a long face it causes to resemble a horse's,
and imparts that appearance which is so
essentially disagreeable, of there being as
much lady above the shoulders as below.
But the intelligent reader will agree with
' me in declaring that it is always the long
est faced women who have gone to the
heighth of fashion, and the greatest length
as regards bonnets.
Color-blindness must (judging by the
toilets one unfortunately can't avoid see
ing) be a much commoner thing than it is
generally supposed to bd. In a crowd—in
a fashionable richly dressed crowd—every
other woman has some error in the color of
her costume (unless she's in deep mourn
ing) which can only be excused by charit
ably supposing her to be afflicted with color
blindness.
How persistently some pretty women
disregard the claims their hair and com
plexions have on them. How often we see
a brilliant brunette, with deep eyes, and
deep, clear crimson roses in her cheeks,
arrayed in mauve or violet. How perpet
ually our sense of the beautiful is jarred
against by the vision of a young lady, with
a saffron hue in her complexion, attired in
green, because the green is lovely. This
new color, biche, has been the means of
bringing out decidedly the fact of many
faces that were described before as between
dark and fair—rather inclining to blonde,
in fact—being unmistakably fawn colored.
What is that law of Nature which rules
that fat women shall insert themselves
either into something painfully tight or
voluminous ? They always scorn the me
dium—the fullest of ' Giralbaldi's,' in the
morning and the most compressing of vel
vet tiny jackets or vests at night. Noth
ing between, nothing that would conceal a
little without being puffy in itself.
Again. Why do laths—long, flat wo
men, with a yard and a half between their
ears and the edge of their shoulders—wear
garments that give them an appearance of
still greater longitude, in their utter ab
sence of trimming on the body and sleeves?
And why do they make that aforesaid jour
ney from the ears to the shoulders, still
more terribly long and plain for the eyes
of beholders, by doing their hair', up
high, and leaving all of the throat vis
ible.
Fur has been more worn this last winter
than it has for many seasons,and the thick
est, most enlarging fur has been usually
placed upon shoulders already meritorious
in their size.. Fur that would render a
sylph portly, if draped about her in the
accustomed tippet form, is cure to be se
lected out of many other kinds by the
broadest backed dowager who chances first
to see it.
There are many piquant paletots in
vogue now, and many elegant mantles, and
these are severally made in the richest and
most beautiful materials ; but after all, a
woman, if graceful in herself, is never so
becomingly or gracefully dressed for either
the carriage or walking, as when wrapped
in a large shawl.
It must be large—no possible arrange
ment can make a small shawl look well ;
but provided it is large, and its wearer
knows how to walk under its folds, are
purer and finer than those of any other
form of outside covering. The thing that
makes the 'wearing of shawls a failure, as
a rule with English and American women
is, that they imagine the great and only
point to be getting them—and keeping
them with—the point symmetrically in the
middle behind. This is a mistake.; the
shawl is the most flowing of all drapery—
if only the wearer knows how manage it ;
therefore anything like stiffness should be
abstained from in both its adjustment and
subsequent arrangement.
What pretty hats the milliners have de
vised. Velvet hats, half Spanish; half
Henry the Third, with just a dash of the
sugar loaf, or brigand in them ; and the
Prince of Wales's plume in the most airy
of snowy feathers in the front. Round,
drooping, flat-brimmed, we have them now
of every shape, of every texture, and al
most of every color. All faces may be
suited, if only judgment is used ; hats are
in themselves so pretty that it is a hard
struggle to get very far wrong with one.
The worst and most frequent mistake made
with respect to hats, is that of putting one •
suited to a child of tiny proportions and
tender years, on the top of a visage that
has expanded through a series of many
moons, into the semblance of a full one.
In conclusion, we cannot think a lady
becomingly dressed when she is bound in
leather, and studded with steel nails like
a portmanteau.—./Irthur's Home .Mag
azine.
10 — We won't indulge in such horrid
anticipations, as the henpecked husband
said when the parson told him he would
be joined to his wife in another world,
never more to be seperated from her.—
, Parson, I hope you will not mention that
unlucky circumstance again; imid he.
Caught in my own Trap.
Dora and 1. had been silent fully fifteen
minutes—an unusual occurrence for us—
when she suddenly broke out with one of
her gayest, sweetest peals of laughter.—
The oars were going at the rate of forty
- .
miles an hour, bat Dora's laugh rang out
above all their noise and confusion.
What is it, Dora, you witch, you V I
said, half piqued that she had not first told
me what pleased her, and laughed after
wards.
Nothing, Nell ; only I was thinking of
something so funny. Do you see that gen
tleman just in front of us, with the beauti
ful black whiskers and dreamy eyes Well,
he's been watching you behind that book
for the last half hour, looking as if he
should love to take a bite from the red
roses on your cheeks. Don't blush' but
he's in love with you ; I'll bet my gold
thimble on. I was just thinking of some
of the stories I have read, about young la
dies mistaking handsome young fellows for
their brothers, etc., and thought what fun
it would be if you could only manage to
mistake that gentleman for your brother
Fred.'
I was ready for some fun in a moment.
I'll tell you what I'll do, Dora,' I broke
out, eagerly. You know I haven't seen
Fred since I went to school, three years
ago, and, of course, he's changal a great
deal since then. Well, if that literary
gentleman with brown eyes (he is hand
some, isn't he Dora ?) should get off the
cars at our depot, I'll wait till he gets
mixed up with the crowd, see him suddenly,
as if for the first time, rush up to him in a
flutter of delight, call him brother Fred,
and give him such another kissing as he
hasn't had since he saw his sweetheart
last.
Yes, I would, if I were you,' said Dora,
sarcastically. You daren't, you know.'
Don't I dare to, though I Wait and
see!'
So I dropped back into the cushion in
unbroken silence, till the train stopped at
our station.
Dora gave me a wicked look, and whis
pered that she knew my courage would
fail me, for the gentleman was really get
ting off.
I was not to be triumphed over, though ;
and so, as we stepped out on the platform,
I saw the crowd, and with a little bound
threw myself into his arms and kissed him
full in the mouth, hysterically saying—
Fred, my dear, dear brother ! how are
you?
I caught a glimpse of Dora—she NVas in
danger of goinc , into convulsions. I ex
pected to hear the stranger confusedly say
that there was some mistake ; but to my
surprise, he gave me a hearty embrace—
kissed me two or three times—said he was
well—that I had grown a deal ; and then
inquired for my little friend Dora, who all
this time was exciting the sympathies of
the crowd, as they supposed she was insane,
judging from her frantic laughter.
Father and mother are expecting you,
Nellie, and are so impatient they can
scarcely wait to see yoll. I was afraid you
wouldn,t know me ; but I am really glad
that my image has been treasured up so
carefully in my little sister's heart.'
I was bewildered beyond measure. It
really was Fred, then ; and I had not
known him. I felt slightly ridiculous, and,
while, introducing Dora to my brother,
whispered to her to keep quiet in reference
to my intended trick. I was too much
confused to think of inquiring how he came
to be in the oars without seeing me ; so
we all went to the carriage that was wait
ing for us and rapidly drove home.
I had never known Fred to be so affec-
tionate. He held my.hand in his own all
the time, and kissed me at unnecessarily
short intervals ; but, to tell the truth, I
had never loved him half so well before—
never thought him half so handsome.
We reached the gate. Mother kissed
me and cried over me all at once ; father
repeated it, and, finally, a frank, hearty
voice broke out with—
, Hallo, sis ! aren't you going to notice
your scapegrace of a brother at all V
To my astonishment, a handsome fellow
I had not seen before gave me a genuine
hug, and a kiss that you could have heard
across the yard.
There is some mistake,' I murmured.
Are you my brother Fred 1 I thought
that gentleman was,' pointing to the hand-
some fellow I had embraced at the depot
Why, sis, are you going crazy Of
course I'm your brother, and that fellow
there is my college chum, Archie Winters,
who went half way up the line to meet you.
What are you blushing 'at, Nell 1 There
wasn't anything in his , going after you,
was there ? I didn't have time to go, and
let him take your picture with him, so that
he would be sure to know you. He's been
playing off some of his mad pranks, and
passing himself off for me, I'll warrant,'
I looked at Archie Winters beseeching
ly, and, as they were all going into the
house, I whispered to him—
For pity's sake' 'don't speak of that
mistake. How could it have happened r
I overheard you in the oars ; and will
promise to keep your secret only on ono
condition.'
He whispered something to me that
made my face flush scarlet ; but.l. was at
his mercy, and said I would think of it.—
I did think of it, reader and to the delight
of the whole family—Dora and Fred in
particular—Archie and I were married in
less than two months. And Dora said to
me, as I bade her good-bye, that it Auld
give unspeakable delight to Fred and her
self if I would attend their wedding in a
month from then—and I did.
[t: A Methodist minister, living in
Kansas, flying on a small salary, was
greatly troubled to get his quarterly in
stalment. He at last told the non-paying
trustees that he must have money, as he
was suffering fcr the necessities of life.—
, Money !' replied the trustees ; you
preach for money? We thought you
preached for the good of souls.' Souls !'
responded the reverend ; I can't eat souls
—and if I could, it would take a thousand
such as yours to make a meal.
The Shakers at Lebanon Springs,
N. Y., among their rules relating to vis
itors, have the following : Married per
sons tarrying with us over night, are res
peotifully notified that each sex will occu
py separate apartments while they remain.
This rule will not be departed from under
any ciicumstances.' A friend says he was
reading this to a married licly, when she
innocently ; remarked, How., foolish that
is ain't al
GODEV +8 LADY'S BOOK FOR 1863.
A PARTING KISS—A DARK DrED.—
AR
. A short time ago a gentleman—a real.- The G p r git T he u r . 1,7 A
R e ' y i: s d i r i N ß cTO mi r
tha L n i al to that
dent of Mad River township—came to last
t lth ty h - 249 ,ree
lar g er enab n led r. b o bjt a to lr a magazine tbr
Urbana one evening in order to take the in America, h. made 3
an arrangenen=e n mosit pz a p n i Y .
Lir authoress in this country—
night (through accomodation) train for MARION HARLAND,
Springfield. Authoress of "Alone," "Hidden Path," "Moss Bide,'
" Nemesis," and " Miriam,"
Finding the car full, he remained stand- who will furnish a story for every number of the Lady's
Book er. for po lB in tia t . of T , b i l e s w alre p d lac;s o
a t n he La o tot Book in a
ing for a time ; becoming tired, he asked a
lady the privilege of occupying a part of nhria7 Harland writes ror no:her os t t i l l o e n r . E ihrga
the seat belonging to her. (Now it must f irm * r u i throughout year. i tr all
cantina.'
t° furnish
111166 '
THE BEST I,ADY MA
'S GA IN 4 11111 WORLD, ABB
be known to all night travellers that this THE CHE ZI AP NE
EST.
train—or this car rather—it is dark, that
is, illuminated by a dim light only, which
doesiPt , shed its lustre thereof' very ex
tensive.) Well, a conversation, and it
turned to almost everything--weather,
politics, etc.—and finally to personal and
particular matters. The gentleman inform
ed her that he was a widower.; she in re
turn, regarked (she was dressed in black)
that she was a widow. The , lone woman '
seemed pleased with the widower. Not
heeding the immortal advice of the elder
Weller to his dutiful son— , Samivel bevare
of vidders '—he became moire affectionate
in his remarks ; and as the train left
Hunt's station, he asked a favor, as they
were about to part, that she would bestow
a kiss. She at first hesitated, but after
wards consented. Ho gallantly asked her
to lift her veil ; she was timid and modestly
begged him to exercise the privilege him
self
The train whistled—now was the accep
ted time ! He gently raised the veli,
when in popped the conductor with a gla
ring lamp, and there, dazzling the happy
face of the gentleman from Mad River,
was the luscious; glistening
teeth, extensive nose, white eyes charcoal
countenance, and wavy hair of a she Amer
ican of African descent! He did not take
that kiss. '
What makes this last mentioned fact
astonishing is this : The gallant widower
is one of the most prominent Republicans
in Mad River, and swallows every nigier
ism of his party—emancipation proclama
tion and all. If be can embrace the whole
nigger in his party, why can't he embrace
one personally ? Kiss me quick, and go
my honey l'—Urbanna (Ohio) Union.
WHY MEN REMAIN SINGLE.—In our
researches we have found this reason for
what young ladies deplore as a lamentable
fact :
g At the confines between an upper class
and a lower there is naturally a scramble.
All men of education, now a days,, wish
very properly to be regarded as gentlemen,
though they may not be in possession of
fair estates or valuable prospects. If they
are married, they, or at any rate their
wives, wish their daughters to rank as
ladies, and this coo lition, unfortunately,
is thought incompatible with incomes be
low a certain amount. Marriage, there
fore, is rendered difficult on both sides at
once. Mothers are exacting, while suitors
are poor. • The father of a family cannot
transmit the whole of his saviogs to each
of his sons, whereas the mother of a fami
ly desires nothing less than this fortune
for each of her daughters. As a natural
consequence, a young man hesitates before
he attempts to make a bargain which he
knows will be a hard one, when he can
scarcely afford to make any at all.'
THE LANCASTER. INTELLIGENCES
JOB PRINTING ESTABLISHMENT.
No. S NORTH DUKE STAKET, LANCASTER., PA.
The Jobbing Department Ia thoroughly furnished with
new and elegant typo of every description, and la tinder
the charge of a practical and experienced Jub Printer.--
The Proprietors are prepared to
PRINT CHECKS,
NOTES, LEGAL. BLANKS,
CARDS AND CIRCULARS,
BILL HEADS AND HANDBILLS,
PROD RAM)IES AND POSTERS,
PAPER BOORS AND PAMPHLETS,
BALL TICKETS AND INVITATIONS,
PRINTING IN COLORS AND PLAIN PRINTING,
with neatness, accuracy and dispatch, un the most reasona
ble terms, and in a manner not excelled by any establish
ment in the city.
.IVi- Orders from a distance, by mail or otherwise
promptly attended to. Address
GEO. SANDERSON le' SON,
Intelligeneer Office,
No. S North Duke street, Lancaster, Pa.
WHISKERS!! !
PELATREA lI'S STIMULATING ONGDENT,
OR, FRENCH CREAM I I
FOR BALD HEADS A-ED BARE FACES!!!
This celebrated article is warranted to brio4 out n fail
set of Whiskers on the smootbe.t fete, or a tine growth of
hair on a Bald head, in less than six weeks, and will in no
way stain or injure the skin. The French Cream is man•
ufactured by Dr Al. Peletreau , , of Paris, a-ll is rho only
reliable article of the kind. "Use no other." Warranted
In every ease. the Box will do the work. Price $1.00.
Imported and for sale Wholesale and Retail by
THOS. F. CHAPILIN,
Chemist and Druggist,
831 Broadway, New York.
P. - S. A Box of the Ouguent Bent to any address by re.
tern mail, on receipt of price and 15 cents for Postage.
..-june 30 4t25
BUILDING SL ATM
THE BEST QUALITIES IN THE MARKET.
The undersigned, having made arrangements with Mr
R. JONES, for all his best quality of PEACH BOTTOM
SLATE, for this market; and a similar arrangement with
the proprietors of six of the principal and best quarries in
York county, he has just received a large lot of these
superior quantities of Building Slate, which will be put
on by the square, or sold by the ton, on the moot reason
able terms. Also, constantly On hand, an EXTRA MO HT
PEACH BOTTOM SLATE, intended for Slating on Shingle
Roofs.
" " ' ' "
As these qualities of Slate are THE BEST IN THE
MARKET, Builders and others will find it to their interest
to call and examine samples, at my <One In WSI. D.
SPRECHEIVB, Now Agricultural end teed Ware.rooms.
GEO. D. SPRECLIER,
N 0.29 East King St., 2 doors West of the Court House.
.fir This la to certify that I do not sell my best quality
of Peach Bottom Ganged Slate to any other person In
Lancaster; than Geo. D. Sprechor, as above stated.
8.. JONES,
Manufacturer of Peach Bottom Roofing Slate.
feb 26 ly
MORE NEW AND INTERESTING
BOORS.
THE EARL'S HEMS: A TALE on DOMESTIC Lug. By
the Author of "East Lynne; or, The Earl's Daughter,"
"The Mystery," dn.., &c. Paper price, 50 cents.
MORGAN; Oft, THE KNIGHTS OF THE BLACK FLAG:
A STRANGE STORY of BYGONE TIMES. Paper price, 25 ate.
For sale at J. M. WESTILAEFFER'S,
apr 1 tf 12] Cor. North Queen and Orange Ste
NEW YORK MEDICAL INSTITUTE.
A benevolent Institution endowed for the cure of
Chronic Diseases of every nature, and to protect invalids
from quack advertisers and imposters. No charges except
for medicine until cured, and in case of extreme poverty
treatment free. No Minerals or Poisonous Drugs used.
The Physicians have had long and extensive experience
both in private and Hospital practice. The following are
some of the complaints to which special attention la given.
All diseases of the Head, Throat, Lunge, Heart, Stomach,
Liver, Kidney, Bladder, Rheumatism, Fits, Cancer, Piles,
Nervous Affections, Diseases of the Sexual Organs, Seminal
Weakness, Impotence and Virulent diseases of every
nature positively cured. Diseases of Females and all
Irregularities successfully treated. Blindness and Deaf
ness cured without painful operations. Patients treated
by letter, by sending a statement of their case. Medicine
Bent to any part of the country. Consultation free to all.
Address, Stamp enclosed,
DR. L. GRAVES, Consulting Physician,
mar 25 ly 11] 609 Broadway. New York City.
SHEAFFERPS CHEAP BOOK STORE
No. 32 NORTH QUEEN STREET
IS THE PLACE TO PURCHASE
SCHOOL BOOKS A SCHOOL STATIONERY.
COXPRISISO ALL VIZ VARIOUS
READING AND SPELLING BOOKS,
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GRAMMARS AND ETYMOLOGIES,
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INKSTANDS, RULERS,
and the best and most complete assortment of
SCHOOL STATIONERY IN THE CITY.
/Kr Liberal discounts made to Teachers and Merchants
JOHN SILEAFFER'S
Cheap Cash BoOk Store,
82 North Quelsn street, Lancaster.
tf 40
T80131.1008.H..
This wonderful article, just patented, Is something
entirely new, and never before offered to agents, who are
wanted everywhere. Full particulars sent free.
Address SHAW A 'CLA_RIT,
anr 2 ly 121 Biddeford, Maine.
Frit TTERSALLIS RE AVE POWDER
I Powdered Borth., Antimony, Fennigreet, Stapta
Saltpetre, Arwarcetlda, Alma, de. For sale at
ape 21 tf 711 THOMAS RUM A RIM,
Dreg and Oflemloal Rom West Sing
TH=E LITERATURE
is of that kind that can be rend aloud in the Dustily circle,
and the clergy in immense ndnbere are subscribers for the
Book. . .
THE MUSIC
is an original, and would coat 26 cents (the price of the
Book) in the music stares;. but moat of It la copyrighted,
nod cannot be obtained except in "Godey."
OUR STEEL ENGRAVINGS.
All efforts us in this have epased, and we now
stand alone hi f department, giving, as we do, many
more and infinitely better engravings than are published
in any other work.
CIODEY'S IMMENSE DOUBLE SKEET FASHION—
PLATES.
CONTAINING
From five to seven fall length Colored Fashions on each
plate. Other maga slues give only two.
PAR AHEAD OF ANY FASHIONS.II; EUROPE OR
CM=
Oodey's is tho only work In the world that-gives these
immense plates, and they are such as to have excited the
wonder of publishers and the public. The publication of
theseplates coat
' " ' • '
$lO,OOO MORE
than fashlon.plates of the old style, and nothing but our
wonderfully large circulation enables us to give them.
Other magaziuee cannot afford it. We never spare money
when the public can be benefited.
These fashions may be rolled on. Diesses may be made
after them, and the wearer will not subject herself to ridin
cute, as would be the case if she visited the large cities
dressed after the etyle pf the plates given in some of our
so-called magazines.
OUR WOOD ENGRAVINGS,
of which we give twice or three times as many as any other
magazine, are often mistaken for steel. They are so far
superior to any oth rs.
IMITATIONS.
- -
Beware of them. Remember that the Lady's Book to the
original publication and the cheapest. If you take Godey,
you want no other magazine.
Everything that Is useful or ornamental In a house can
be found in Uodey.
DRAWING LESSONS.
No other msgazine gives them, and we have enough to
fill several large volumes:
OUR RECEIPTS
are such as ran be found nowhere else. Cooking in 'all its
variety—Confectionery—the Nursery—the Toilet—the
Laundry—the Kitchen. Receipts upon all subjects are to
be found in the pages of the Lady's Book. We originally
started this department, and have peculiar facilities for
making it most perfect. This department alone le 'worth
the price of the Book.
LADIES' WORK TABLE.
This department comprises engravings and descriptions
of every article that a lady wears.
MODEL COTTAGES.
No other madazine has this department
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copies one year, $6. Four copies one year $7.
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Eight copies one year, and an extra copy to the person
sending the club, $l5.
Eleven copies ono year, and an extra copy to the person
sending the club, $2O.
And the only magazine that can be introduced into the
above clubs in place of the Lady's Book is Arthur's Home
Magazine.
SPECIAL CLUBBING WITH OTHER 3RGAZINE9.
Gociey'fl Lady's Book and Arthneo Home Magazine both
one yeor f $3 50.
Clodey's Ludy'e Book and Harper's Magazine both one year
t.r. $4.50.
theloy, Ilarper e -and Arthur will all three be sent one year,
on receipt of PLJO.
Treasury Notes and Notes of all solvent banks taken at
par.
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Address, L. A. GODEY,
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6m 41
ILLUSTRATED
SCIENTIFIC AMERICAN.
TILE BEST MECHANICAL PAPER IN THE WORLD.
EIGHTEENTH YEAR
VOLUME VIIL-NEW SERIES
A new volume of this popular Journal commences on
the first of January. It iv published weekly, and every
numb, eontainn ,ixteen pages of useful information, and
horn boo to ten original engravings of now inventionsa
Ilixenven., all of which are prepared expressly for
columns.
TO THE MECUANIC AND 'MANUFACTURER
Nn perscn engaged in any of the mechanical or mann
facturimt purNuits should think of "doing without" the
American. It costs but six cents per week;
every number contains from six to ten engravings of new
machines and Inventions, which can not be found In any
other publication.
..
TO THE INVENTOR.
The Scientific American is indispensable to every
vontor, as it act only contains illustrated descriptions of
nearly all the teat inventions se they come out, but each
number contains au Official List of the Claims of all the
Patents issued from the United States Patent Office during
the week previous; thus giving a correct history of the
progress of inventions In this country. We are also re
eeiving, every week. the beet scientific journals of Great
Britain, France and Germany ; thus placing in otir posses
sion all that is transpiring in mechanical science and art
in these old countries. We shall continue to transfer to
ur columns copious extracts from these journals of what
,r we may deem of interest to our readers.
A pamphlet of instruction as to the best mode of oh-
raining Letters Patent on new inventions, Is furnished
iron on application.
Ale-ere. klorm .k Co., have acted as Patent Solicitors for
more than Seventeen years, In connection with the publi
cation of the Scientific American, and they refer to 20,000
patentees for whom they have done business.
No charge is made for examining sketches and models of
new inventions and for advising inventors as to their
pat ant ability .
CIIII3I.ISTS, ARCHITECTS, MILLWRIGHTS AND
FARMERS.
The Scientific American will be found a most useful
ournal to them. All the new discoveries in the science of
immistry are giving in its columns, and the interests of
ho architect end carpenter are not overlooked; all the new
oventions and discoveries appertaining to these pursuits
eing published from week to week. Useful and practical
n formation pertaining to the interests of millwrights and
mill-own ere will be Caned in the Scientific American, which
information they can not possibly obtain from any other
urce. Subjects in which farmers are interested will be
found discussed in the Scientific American; most of the
improvements in agricultural implements being illustrated
in its columns.
TERMS
To mail subscribers : Three Dollars a year, or One Dollar
for four months. The volumes commence on the first of
January and July. Specimen copies will be sent gratis to
soy part of the country.
Western and Canadian money or Post.cflloe stamps take
at par for subecriptions. Canadian subscribers will pleaa
to remit twenty-tire cents extra on each year's ettbscrl
tion to pre-pay postage. MUNN .4 CO.,
Publishers, 37 Park Row, N. Y.
dee 16 tf 49
C OBIETHING FOR THE TIMES I t
A NECESSITY IN EVERY HOUSEHOLD!!
JOHNS & CROSLEPS
AMERICAN CEMENT GLITZ,
TUE EITRONGLEIT GLUE IN THE WORLD
FOR CEMENTING WOOD, LEATHER, GLASS, IVORY,
CHINA, MARBLE, PORCELAIN, ALABASTER,
BONE, CORAL, At., &a, Ac.
The only article of the kind ever prvinced which will
withstand Water.
EXTRAOTS
" Every housekeeper should have a supply of Johns k
Crosley's American Cement Olue."—New York Times.
•
"It is so convenient to have in the house."—Nete York
Express.
• It is always ready; this commends It to everybody."—
N. Y. Independent.
"We have tried it, mod find it as useful in our home as
water."— Wilkes' Spirit of the Times.
PRICE TWENTY—FIVE CENTS PER BOTTLE.
Very Liberal Reductions to Wholesale Dealers.
TERMS CASH.
.111— For sale by all Druggists and Storekeepers generally
throughout the country.
JOHNS & OROSLEY,
(Sole Mannfacturere,)
78 WILLIAM ST., (Corner of Liberty t.,) NEW YORK,
July 9 ly 26
HE AMERICAN ANNUAL CYCLO.
T
P.EDIA. AND REGISTER OF IMPORTANT EVENTS
OF TUE YEAR 1801.
Embracing Political, Civil, Military and Social Affairs;
Public Documents; Biography, ,Statistics, Com
merce, Finance, Literature, Science, Agri
culture and Mechanical Industry.
The volume will be in the style of the New American
Cyclopoedia, having not less than 760`pages, royal Bvo.
The work will be published exclusively by subscription
and its exterior appearance will be at once elegant and sub
stantial. D. APPLETON & 00., New York..
ELIAS BARR & CO.,
No. 6 East King Street,
'Agt's for Lancaster City and Co
apr 15 tf 1 ]
EMMiigniNZII
SILVER WAR El SILVER WARE: r
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DE N T I S TH.Y:
The undersigned has removed Ids Dental Mire to the
pleasant and commodious rooms over Westhaaffer's well
known Book Store,
S. EAST COS. OF NORTH QUEEN AND. ORANGE US.,
where he has increased facilities for the comfort and ao.
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Air ENTRANCE MST DIA& 02i OBAIIGI Sinairr."ll4
OFFICE HOURS-8 to 12 A. 31., and 1 to 6, F. IL
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