Eke gauraster Nattiliocucer,
PUBLISHED EVERY THITELSDAY BY
COOPER, SANDERSON dc CO.,
H. G Sarre,
Wm. A. Movrox, Alma') ilearDazsex.
TERMS--Two Dollars per annum, payable in
all cases in advance.
OFFICE--SOIITHWEST OORNME or CrifitilE
SCMAXE.
Altir AM letters on business should be ad
dressed to COOPER, SANDERSON & CO.
From the _Philadelphia Age
LIES
Inscribed to Abraham Lincoln upon Ms Procla
mation selling apart August 9th, 18&7, as a day
of "Fasting, Humiliation and Prayer."
How few the years since Peace this people blest
With fruitful labor and with bounteous rest;
Since Saubath bells, that called the land to
prayer _ _
,
Smote the sweet stillness of -the Summer air,
And all our ',orders o'er, from year to year,
No harsher music broke upon the ear—
From the broad grain fields of the Northern
plains
prosperous farmers drove their loaded
_ ---
\0:1111.5-
The fair savannas of the Southern land
Teemed with the tillage of the negro's hand—
The simple negro; laboring with the light,
And cheering with the dance his happy night—
His faithful heart was to hls master bound,
No thought had he beyond his daily round •
Of simple duties—all unskilled to know
That he who reared and fed Ulm was his foe!
Strange to our souls were battle's dread alarms
Only old men hud heard Oaf< clash of arms,
And that In wars that, made aild kept us tree
When all the States were One for Liberty.
We watched the peaceful Suram,rs came and
wane,
The bursting fulness of the gulden grain—
We marked the days, and told the passing
hours
On dials
t i nt now, bchold lem i tin happy plain!
The reaper falls where ome he eat the grain_.
Furrows, once yellow with the ripening dread.
Rot with the harvest of the iniely dead—
The sodden meadows, red with ghastly strife,
Give graves to those to whom they once gave
lile—
The simple slave, torn from the fields he tilled,
Is bought by maven Yankees to be dcl led—
Sen tin their stead to play tile warrior's part,
And drive the bayonet to his master's heart!
The blackened elinnney, tottering to the earth,
Snows ghastly token of the ruined hearth,
Each sun goes down upon some scene of death
Where mangled sufferer, gasp or rain .a
breath—
Each toorrow sends the inexorable dart
Which Breaks and blights some peaceful, happy
heart.
Widows who wail at eve, at noon were Wives;
Each nour dooms lielpies, babes to orphaned
lives.
No more we note the months 1.3 what they
bring,
The fruits of Summer, and the !lower , of
Sprung
13y what they 1,/ke we mark I im passing 3 ears,
The gloomy dial watch w;th darkening ferirs,
Count hours by butchered ;ricilds—the brave
and good—
And score our calendar in , ho •. h e rs' blood,
Oh! ba1,h112,!; w'ho,
Can point a jo hideous
Who, when ;oyiul field lay ,proud
With qrimil 1,4 :Ind with monlorod
(load.
Ho . ..lc:hod sat 11 , , 1,1,1 I, In . :
Or -whorl] ill, to the vl,ve:
nut
To Si1 1 31:11.• yrinr nitl•Ly
ITN, 1 ,1 inun.u, W,
Wit!: iii ,, ,i11,11:11 1111,1•• Cif
h
In ours [1:1, of :Itzn,!:
VW" soul r '•
to 11,(0, tin ,k 4 ,V1.11:11 ,
/:/ , .
11 4 ,11 . :I,lf 11:0% 11-1 ,
. ...I, t- Ih,lr
.lest ❑ /..•
Amu,. tilt. 1t , 111 , ..1 , 1/.1.../
Let 1/1111 , 2./ 1 , 1_111.1 101 1,1 I.
stintlt•-tt.,i,tl,ltlt,
11'111:
/Jet
Till [li- _.t_: ,_1..,. .1
But, NVIII/v
Insult nut N:l4 . rt'd gl'Ic•I w,Il, hal//1 t/I
. k 4/111,-;
I/11,1111,
By 11a1 . 111.4 14,1/tlil, h:171,1
B 11•1,!
II:1y, h, /,/, I/111
TO th,,, wh,, muti, iron r-ript•ltud ti ed.
Let not God's telliples hr :e,lllll prof:flied
By ittay . er iii ii;tl.,!, Jl:i 1,115 ,1511.1,riOrr
By pardon aslitul for
Wink, uword , ar•- wlu••,ling too n 0,,,,
fruy !
Lord' t li.ther
"How long! ttit, LOrd !L0P..." long!" the widow
- Patience!" a von, nreathes in her eal who
weer,s,,
"Be still: God s bleeps;
"Br cull! uv 111 , ,, of dark misrule
"Will rpi Ihir
natnei o: Li Is bilnOne,l fool.
"A people', tint, rung !ion! Set' 1.0 So;1.,
Will seal IllslloLOO and m ake a people free.
"Back to the filthy I,lll'Llcil, whence he Cattle
skull , ....lisguised, this wretched spawn of
shame;
"Hatt,t, scourged ho a twofold rod,
"Tile scorn 4,1 lialllions and Elle CLIrSo Of God:"
J
York, Pa., Aug. Atli, 1,61
litcraiv
WHITE VIOLETS
It was a bright morning . in June when
Lilly Cleve sat chatting with her g. and
mother in 'the 01.1111ft,r;a1,1,2 lihrary of
Holly Bank. as a merry-hearted
maiden of but eighteen summers, and
her tongue and thoughts went running
from one Cul dee!. to another with aston
ishing rapidity, as she twisted and un
twisted, twined, netted, and crossed the
bright threads of silk which her active
fingers were fast forming into a hand
some purse.
They were discussing the intended
amusement of the evening, which was
a large pa,,, , to be held at The Laurels,
the handsoniquansion of Beaton Sum
mers, the oneolitary wealthy bachelor
of the little village of Ellsworth, in the
pleasant county of Kent. 01 course,
Lilly was going, and she was now anx
iously expecting the wreaths she had
ordered for this special occasion, and
which she began to leer certain would
not come in time, though it was still
early in the morning.
At length the wished-for box was
brought in, and off' she fluttered to try
on the contents before the large'mirror
in her own room. Presently she was
down again, with an exquisite wreath
of violets laid daintily and effectively
on her sunny curls.
" See; grandmanima!'' she cried.
think I like these the best, though this
wreath of wild flowers is very beautiful.
Let the see. Yes, I think I will take
the violets, they are so delicate, they
suit my dress so exactly, and then they
areas simple as possible. What do you
think, grandma—which would you
choose?"
"'Well, Lilly, to b vamiitl, I would
like you to choose any but the Nirdets."
granchua? These violets please
me; besides it is the season fit them.--
Dear grandma. t you lik e v i o l ots ?”
"Yes, my dear, l like violets very
much indeed; lint they always make
me sad, and I should not 1i kr to see
going - to a hail in vihiets, tittrlintz
deed I should not
"Oh, that is very , u•auee, grandma.
You like them, th,y are very heautiful,
and yet you would not like in see
hair dressed with them !"' •
" Not so strange you think, love,
for they always riminil uie of time and
persons long pa:3i, niHi the memories are
sad ones."
"I did not think sad memories could
be connected with violets," returned
Lilly; "they always speak to ne of
- hope, and spring, and beauty. -
" And to me, also, they speak of those
things," said her grandmother; "but
they tell, too, of a hope cherished, a
spring blighted, and a beauty that faded
away; they reminded me of my mother,
and, later, of a fair young girl, Who was
very dear to me, almost as dearas you
are, Lilly, and her sad end makes me
very sorrowful."
"My mother died when I was a little
girl, and my nurse took me in to see
her; and, when she raised me up to
give her my last kiss, I saw that beau
tail white violets were in her hands,
andresting on her cold brow; and from
that-hour I felt a childish love and rev
erence for the sweet, saintly blossoms.
"Well, time passed on, and when I
was twenty-three, I married your grand
father, who was in the army. Some
little time after your mother was born,
the news came that he had fallen, doing
Ids duty as became a British ofEleer.:MY
father had-long been -dead; my-brother
S. M. COOPER,
VOLUME 65
was in India, and both my sisters were
married ; so, having no strong ties to
sever, and being quite independent, I
came to my husband's native village,
which I loved dearly for his sake, to find
a home. I was warmly welcomed by
all who had known him ; for, wherever
he went, he was loved and honored, and
I have spent some of the pleasantest
days of my life in this little cottage,
cheered and brightened by your dear
Mother's love, and waiting patiently
and hopefully for my summons to join
him."
"A few months after I came ITe . re the
rector died, and another came down
from London to fill his place. He was
a grave, silent man, who bade fair to be
more feared than loved by 1,15 parish
ioners, and he fulfilled his many duties
faithfully and well, and none could say
a wrong word against our new pastor.
.He brought with hirn a beautiful yang
wife—the very opposite to himself—fair
and delicate and lowly. She iron the
hearts of all by her gentle beauty, arid
her sweet, low voice. She wa, greatly
hired by the villagers, and the roughest
anti most surly, ie . the inen would listen
meekly to her while she spoke of their
sad ways, and told them or the great
hereafter. But she had teen Witli
little het ter than a year, When She died,
leaving the rector a little blue-eyed
daughter, as her parting gin. It was
then that his gravity changed into
sternness. For three days and nights
he shut himself up with the dead, see
ing no one. On the fifth day, which
was Sunday, he came amongst us onee
more, and performed his duties quietly
and calmly, but from that hour he was
scarcely ever seen to smile.
"The little girl grew up gentle and
Loving, We had named her FAlici, after
her dead mother, wilom she liad never
sden; and thoueli it W2l, I, all
that our minister loved hi ,
times her preseliee seemed mdre than
he could hear, and he would Put her
gently from him. Anil then she would
\ 141".
, Lt 11%211N lied 1).1( h.
loving liur ardently, :1 lt,Ve -11011
ennhiri foil for lin only child,
and ti.in illy,
man's prc-ellvt
"SO the (inn . ittl,Siiti tin, twinging
,st re:thing
iI ti tillti Erfiti into
14.1. tigure
_ra,•eftil ,tot frauile, alnto,l 14. fragile
MEM
ilu~rn lip litq• I II I :II
I `,l k'il-
I<<_r,auil ]unr: li4.r (h a ul L•V'yl'
Idditg Hie a hunch ar thc
lcia could find, :dal I iccc,d Ica . a- ,
lily awn child.
lne (lay cat inalha- ..(artl(.l)(.r,
junto (lown to tlit• «1,1 tiattior
lit it up for the y‘,llll, lord's-
- had liven at One Of the prilleipal
school s and at college: and when his
father died, two years hefore, and the
estate tell to him, ho went tray( ling
about on the continent, e k new
nothing at all about him exit that he
was a Leigh ; and the Mil wives did say
that no Leigh ever quailed befor e inor
tal man, or ever took a 'Wile Without
breaking, at least, One woman's heart.
Still, it was a g:rand old ; When
he came home, floral arch-es, noverol
with mottoes of welcome, led to the hall;
and young maidens in v.thite strewed his
path with flowers. Ti.tere Were gran , '
doings in the village; all were dressed
in their best, and wore white favors in
their breast.
"The rector would not allow his
daughter to take any part whatever hi
these festivities. Il e was of an old family
himself, and his pride would not iwrinit
him to bow at the great man's feet. Si
Effie stood apart from the rest in her
simple straw hat, without favor or ilowor
of any kind; and yet herls was the
only face in all the throng on which the
young lord gazed admiringly, and situ
whom he asked with any interest.
"Effie came to tell me about it, Mr
had not gone myself; and she said that
he was a tall, slightly-built young man,
with large dark eyes, and closely curl
ing black hair, handsome, but withal
scornful-looking. She did not scem
think much of him then, but in after
days she changed her opinion.
"The Leighs were famed throughout
the country for their pride, subtlety and
eloquence, and this one did not belie
the name. Wherever Effie walked, Le
met her, and at (first his attentions an
noyed, then gratified her. t saw that
she was beginning to like him, and I
warned her of the Leigh pride, and, as
I put it, the Leigh treachery, and I'm
the drst time in her life, Ellie left my
house indignant and tearful.
Then I saw that 'like' was nut the
word: Effie loved him, and my heart
sank within me with fear for her future.
She calm , next day and made friends
again, and for the first time sine, she
was a child she kept a secret from me.
for she never spoke of Leigh.
"One evening in the sufunter Effie
crone hi, her thee flushed, and her hale is
full of white violets. tihe began arrang
ing thew in a vase, and 1 saw That her
curls were htoped up with thy• , ante
ittwers.
Why, Effie, - 1 sai , i, " you are
deeked thu,e
the vace, too, (hey will wither in
(0111 . 1 111
noi (hese, 1101 these, auntie!"
she oricd. hurriedly, and her hive iius hod
!Ind paled as s 1! spoke.
"And Idly not these, child, as well
others'."' I asked.
she threw her arms round ink - neck,
and her fare in Inc breast. wh;:-
Pered • Be , uus, they won-
wit
'Put them•. Effie!" said i ; '
whom, darling' Nay, don't tremble so,
don't fear me.' Adolphus Leigh.'
she replied.
I was very much annoyed, and she
seemed to feel that I was: for, lifting
her little head proudly, and throl\in,a
her curls hack, she said, And he has
assccl me to marry, him, and I have
promised that 1 will. In one year
will claim me, and acknowledge me as
his wife, and support me against all his
grand friends, and—and—'
" She broke down and sobbed in my
arms ; but it was not from sorrow, or
shame, or regret ; it was pure joy ; so I
soothed the poor motherless girl, and
encouraged her to tell me all—for to
whom else could she tell her little se
crets? for, as she said, the very thought
of her father hearing 6f it made her
tremble, for she knew he Would not
think it a fit match for his daughter,
holding it wrong for the eagle to mate
with the dove.
" When Effie grew calmer, she told
me all—how young Leigh had wooed
her in the grand old-wixuls r and, wreath
,.
3 .,1 - 4/tt, - ,,t4_. - . .- . .iit . ,t4tit/c*,
I=l
ing her curl; with flowers, asked her to
be his. I saw that she was quite fasci
nated, and loved him truly. Her sweet
face flushed, and her large eves beamed
as she spoke of his beauty and talent
how brave and noble and grand he seas ;
how he loved her, and had sworn by
: his honor to claim her in a year, but
that her father was to know nothing of
it till he came to ask her of him. He
told her how lie would take her to the
continent, show her everything, and
have her taught painting at Rome, that
grand old cradle of the art, and how
very, very happy they would be.
Poor young thing I felt all this
was but a brilliant day-dream, never to
be realized. Still, I could not find it in
my heart to tell her so ; she was so
trustingly happy. She went about as
though treading on air, and laughed
' and carolled like a bird. She Nl:p al
ways lovely, was my sweet Effie ; but
the! 1 the happiness beaming from her
eyes made her seem lovely beyond
mortal loveliness. Strangers passing
through the village would stand amazed
at finding such q delicate flower—such
a rare gem -in air homely village.
Love has worked many charms, but
none stronger than the changing of this
quiet, retiring girl, into a heilliant,
laughing, mem - hearted spirit, and thus
drawing father and daughter ('loser to
gether than they ever NV,•ro I,efore, for
in tier new-found ioy, Effie heemne
more lovina and tienionlratiVe in her
manner towards him, and the stern
brow relaxed, and the firm lip softened
and smiled on her as they had never
seen to smile since her motheirs death ;
and father and daughter then, for the
first time, learned how deeply and truly
the One loved the other. And who shall
Say that this glimpse of June sunshine
on his ice-bound life was not a kind and
ueerciful dispensation of all all-wise
Providence t"l'he pretty, quiet Rectory
was brighter and more cherry than it
bad ever ; the grave Ininiter grew
softer au kinder; and Effie, the good
(airy who head worked t
hese ohanges,
ent about liht. , unlwani, a . laddeaing
amd t•la•orin2 and v.anfortina wherever
\ v t •,-,k i .. ; 111,1 day:: rolled on,
mid .cone three months niter younir
Leigh Itad dee:tared Id, love, \\diet' the
oventher days were dark :11111 (11/11,
Wil II the dead leave- carpeting the
11"1,1111,, 111111 the keen Idteit moaning
...vol. the !lilts, and sNveeping down with
a shrill ery through Ihe oltl trite, he
told Ellie that he must leave her i'or a
time and go to London, hut that he
,ml,l o:1 iii tho spring..
• 1 n..it•i• i.. 4 , 1.1 pl.it!:111”il
rvi fn in llo . 1%;!1111 gaVc Black
oJr Inn g,
I hit•k, t)nt, :ffi.ll :flier
i•j--(.1111 , 1. (molly, and
,1.. .0 ::;c. tlio
\vistfully, a sh”wer
:11.,0111(1 h,•, :t 1,41
ht.i. .li,-
-lui i I in , nu \Vard
\mlll If/ 111/I c/WII I f f/colll, If/ Cry I'\ IV her
lwari I.ln. -cpzira
oto! 1,111',1 ,41'i,1•
eve!
" For the Ctrs( month or so, long lov
ing letters esole regularly three times a
week : then they Were ,homer and
colder then thee wit, a long dreary
interval of siltmc. tool they ceased
coming .11together km still Ellie would
not Itelie e hint lal a. He wit , : he
IV;e4 lwevented from writing by husi
nes,: lie was anything and everything
but inconstant.
Het . .step grew slower, and her cheek
paler; yet she kept trusting and wait
ing; ,h e wool l not believe that he
he untrue to her. She would sit
for hours in hot little room, twining his
dark curl round lan lingers : reading
his long letters, that hreatheil the most
ardent hoc. :did finding excuses, for his
silence. Or she wonl,l come to me, and
sluing on a stool at my feet. as you are
lioW, Lilly, she would lay her head on
tny,knee, and talk to me ahout hint ;
how- good and honoraldo lie was, and
how certain she g-li that he would
never break Li \von].
" I was sure that All this was hut a
vain trustins, and I would have told
her so many a time, hut she looked so
delicate and fragile, I feared to darken
her young life more than she could Icar.
I used to tell her that if ever lie vies untrue, she should not despair, for that
she was young and beautiful, and would
soon flacl a worthier lover: I ut site
would only shake her head, and sac,
that if he was untrue she knew she
should die, for she loved him so well:
I felt so too, Poor young thins, for
the sari), feverish I ., rightness, and hectic
giow, that hail marked her mother's
passing away. was nit her cheek, and in
her eye. , , 111,1, I. saw that she was not
iong ;, , r this world. It is ever so, child,
ver : the faire,! fade s, an d
the briantest aye is dimmed, while such
1 attf .pared by Death.
tine l(eautitni afternoon in early
Jane, we sq.; together in the little
, -nniker-1100,e :It the end of the garden,
suddenly began ring
ing the people tioeked out of
helr houses, and the whole village
seented to start into life and hustle all
at ()Iwo. hi :111 hi-tan the thought
uucl: me that young Leigh had come
11110 unexpeetvdly, htuti I looked
It Ellie. I-for whole face was lit
tip. her and her
;dowin! , , halt' ris,, , n from her seat,
she stood, with her long, flossy, golden
etirls thrown hack from her cave, listen
ing gingerly' to the sound. And as the
shouts and eh; ers ((1' the villagers fell
(Ton her ear, site sank hank on her
chair, will( her tittle hands clasped, and
the lirighl tears hanging on her long.
lashes.
• Oh, auntie, he is come
emu(' Lack ! I zikvaY , t° 1 ( 1
You ho w° ,ll d. 0, I ,on
very, very happy
" Poor Ellie, wa, mt,ich changed
,incu the winter. AV i• had hoped that
the tine warm days would have set her
up again, but they did not ; and, though
complaining of no pain, or decid e d
ill
nc.ss, she was grathially sinking.
"i :cared the elfecl of this excitement
Etlic in her weak state, hut she in
sisted on icing Laken Io Sc, young
Leigh. Should all welcome his coming
and she alone hang back ?' she said, and
she got so excited and determined over
it, that I thought thwarting her would
be more injurious than otherwise; so,
wrapping her long cloak closer round
her, and drawing her little hand through
my arm, I walked with her slowly
down - the village street, and out into
the green lane that led to the hall,
down which the carriage would pass.
" The rectory garden ran along one
side of the lane, and as the crowd ap
proached we stepped into the garden to
be out of the way ; and leaning over the
little gate s with the sunshine flickering
tlikough the tall poplars, and tracing a
curious network ..of: . shadows on her
LANCASTER, PA., THURSDAY MORNING, AUGUST 11, 1864
brown curls, Effie waited his coming.
" My own heart beat fast as I watched
the carriage slowly drawing nearer and
nearer, and thought of the coming
meeting. I had may doubts In my
Own mind, but Eftlerp face was divine
in it loving faith: Her lips were
slightly parted, and her blue eyes were
looking earnestly and lovingly forward
to witch his first glance; for, after all
his strange silence, there was not a
shade of distrust or doubt on her sweet
face.
" Shouts, loud and long, went up
from the crowd, and amidst the waving
of caps and handkerch fs the carriage
reached the spot where we were stand
ing. It was then I saw, for the first
time, that Lord Leigh was not return
ing to his home alone.
"As he came near the rectory his
sallow cheek paled and flushed, and he
turned his head away, but not before he
had seen us watching him, not before
he had seen poor Ethe'sglad look of love,
and the sudden death pallor, that stole
over her face as her eyes fell on that
other. Her little hands clenched at the
gate for support, and her face grew dark
and rigid with excessive • pain, but she
never spoke nor moved till the carriage
with its occupants passed on.
"A hearty cheer went up from the
enthusiastic villagers for the new lady
of Leigh,' and before it had died away
Effie was lying in my arms stiff and
cold. She had broken a blood vessel,
and the red tide was swelling slowly
froni`lier lips and clotting her long
curls.
" We carried her carefully into the
house, and laid her on tier own little
bed, and then sent off directly for the
doctor, but before our messenger could
possibly have got to his house he came
in. He had heard of het illness from
some neighbors, and had come straight
off to us. He did all in his power for
Effie, but her life was ebbing, and no
human hand could stay it.
" After some time Effie so far revived
as to be ablb to sit up, and supporting
her head with pillows, we opened the
window that she might look for the last
time on the old familiar objects. She
asked faintly for her little writing desk;
it was given to her, and then she asked
to be left alone for a time.
" When we came in again Ellie wris
lying hack, looking much exhausted,
but peaceful and happy. Her father
went and knelt by her side, with her
poor wasted hand in his, while I sat by
her smoothing the pillows and pushing
back the thick curls from her forehead.
She smiled lovingly upon is, and
stroked her father's largo hand with her
two small ones. loti she Was too weak to
speak. He asked her if she felt happy,
and she pointed to the \Vest, bathed in
mrple glory, and whispered. ' Mother.'
The strong man was now weak, and
lowly as a little child; and as the
dying git 9 spoke, his whole frame shook
withpresher
"Slower and slower, fainter and
fainter (mile the poor girl's breath, and
as the crimson glory of the setting. sun
shrouded the earth in its many colored
folds, her pure spirit deptirted. Softly,
very softly aud tenderly, had the kind
reaper, Death, taken our flower—so
gently that he hardly felt her going.
the was too fair and beautiful for earth,
and he Mel carried her to bloom in
Poradise.
" The rosy light played and flickered
across the white cheek, making it look
so life-like that we started up in hope;
but alas! it was only a stray sunbeam
kissing the smooth brow, and we felt
that our Ellie had indeed gone from us.
" Closely twilled round the white
fingers of one little hand was a thick,
black curl, and the other held, (lightly
clasped) a bunch of withered violets.
'Prue and forgiving: to the last was our
gentle Ellie.
I felt that a father's grief was too
sacred to he looked upon so, fondly
kissing the cold lips and smoothing
down the little hands, I stole from the
room, and left him alone with his dead.
" Ah, mei—our hearts were heavy as
we laid Eflie to rest beside that mother
whose love she had never known, and
where white violets now blossom around
her little grave, and scent the passing
Freeze with their fragrance.
•
The poor reetor never recovered from
the shod:. and three months afterwards
he Went to join his loved one.
Lord Leigh did not long enjoy either
peace or happiness. Some short time
after his marriage with the high-born
Lady Agatha, she eloped with a former
lover, leaving him to bear, as best he
might, his shame and deep remorse that
had never left him since the death of
Time. He could not meet the gaze of
his neighbors; so he shut up the old
hull and went abroad, no one' knew
whither. Two years ago word came
that he was dead, and the property
passed to a distant branch.
" And now, Lilly, you see wily I
looked so sadly on the flowers; they
call up so many pictures of the past by
their gentle beauty, that any thoughts
of nierriment in connection with them
jar upon my feelings.''
When the old lady had finished her
story, the fair girl stole softly away,
with the large tears gemming her long
; and as she laid aside the delicate
tb4crs, she, too, felt that it would have
he(2ll out of place to bring the delicate
blossoms into the glare and glitter of a
ball-room, sacred as they were to the
immory of the departed.
A WamAN's DEsEgT.—The fallowing
illustrative idea of what constitutes a
desert in a female wind, is taken from
a novel entitled Marriage :'
Douglas saw the storm gathering on
the brow of his capricious wife, and,
clasping her to his arms, lie said :
Are you, indeed, so changed, my
Julia, that you have forgotten the time
when you used to declare you would
prefer a desert with your Henry to a
throne with another?"
No, certainly, not changed ; but I
I did not know what a desert was ; or
at least I had formed rather a different
idea of it."
"What Wa:, pill!' idea or a desert?
Do tell Inc, love.''
"Oh ! I had fancied it a beautiful
place, full of roses and myrtle, and
smooth green turf, and murmuring riv
ulets, and though very retired, not ab
solutely out of the world, where one
could occasionally see one's friends and
give parties, and be free from the cares
of crying babies."
L:t" A good question for a debating
society. Which is the most delightful
operation : "To kiss a fair woman on
a dark night, or a dark woman on a fair
night.
A minister, putting his hand on
a young urchin's shoulder, exclaiMed
—"'My son I believe the devil has, got
hold of you ." '! I believe so, too " was
the reply.
THE OLD STORY.
My heart is chilled and my pulse is low,
But often and often will memory go,
Like a blind child lost In a waste of snow—
Back to the days when I loved yon so,
The beautiful long ago.
I sit here dreaming through and through,
The blissful moments I shared with you—
The sweet, sweet days when our love was new
When I was trustful and you were true—
The beautiful days, but few.
Blest or wretched, fettered or free,
Why should I care bow - your life may be,
Or whether you wander by land or sea?
I only know you are dead to me.
Ever and hopelessly.
Oh, how often at day's decline,
I pushed from my window the curtaining vine,
ro see from our lattice the lamp-light shine;
Type of a message, that half divine,
Flashed fromyour heart to mine.
Once more the star-light is silvering all;
The roses sleep by the garden wall—
The night bird warbles his madrigal—
And hear again through the sweet ai• fall,
The evening bugle call.
But summers will vanish and years will wane,
And bring no light to your window pane—
No gracious sunshine nor patient rain,
Can bring dead love back to life again—
' call up the past in vain.
My heart is heavy, my heart is old - , -
And that proves dross which counted gold;
I watch no longer your curtain's fold,
'the window is dark and the night is cold
And the story forever told!
THE GOLDEN PRIZE
" Attention, young ladies."
Forty young girls, varying iu age from
twelve to seventeen, simultaneously
looked up from their books, and, with
glances of curiosity, regarded Madame
De Laney, of whose boarding school
they were all Members. Having secured
their attention, the teacher proceeded :
" You are aware, young ladies, that
our semi-annual exhibition is appointed
for the twenty-fourth of this month, or
three weeks from to-day. It is scarcely
necessary for me to say that I desire it
to appear as•well as possible. A part of
the exercises will consist .of essays, the
best six that have been written during
the term being selected. In order to
excite your emulations, and induce you
to exert yourselves more than you other
wise would, I offer this gold pencil as a
prize, to be given to the writer of the
best essay, by a member of this school.
They are to be handed in in a fortnight
from to-day, and the decision will
be announced the day before exhibition.
I will add that the manuscript must be •
'perfectly neat, and that a blot will be
considered sufficient to exclude from
competition."
The gold pencil which Madame De
Laney held up was elegant and without
doubt costly.
It was natural that more than one of
the girls should have felt a strong desire
to possess it. Yet most hoped against
expectation, feeling that there was only
one present who would probably bear
OW the coveted prize, much as they
might exert themselve,.
This fortunate one was Miriam Ham
ilton, a brilliant, dashing girl, with con
siderable beauty, and not a little talent.
she teas generally considereil
"genius," being able to make a showy
recitation after a slender preparation.
In truth, she was little disposed to exert
herself, confiding in her readiness, and
making it her boast.
It could hardly be said that she was a
favorite. She was too imperious, and
too exacting of admiration for that.
Yet, by a sort of tacit consent, the chief
place in the school was assigned to her.
At recess she remarked to a compan
ion who expressed her admiration of
the prize :
Yes, it is very pretty. It will be
just the thing for me to wear at my
birth-day party."
" When will your birth-day come?"
On the twenty-seventh, three days
after the exhibition."
" Then of course you will e,xert your
self to get it."
" 1 shall write for it,'' said Miriam,
proudly, '' hut I conceive that it will he
hardly necessary for me to exert myself ,
particularly, Marian Trevor.''
" Oh, no, certainly not," said her com
plaisant friend. " Everybody knows
you are the best writer in school."
Standing at the distance of a few feet,
sufficently near to hear every word that
was said, was a plain girl, dressed in a
cheap calico, whose appearance con
trasted strongly with the rich attire of
the brilliant Miriam.
An expression of pain swept over the
face of Jane Ashton, as she heard these
words, and she said to herself, despon
dently, "Of course Miriam will get the
prize. Why should Ibe foolish enough
to hope for it" And yet I would like to
get it. It would please Dr. Herman so
She fell into a reverie. We will
ini
prove the time of her self-communion
by mentioning briefly the outlines: of
her history.
In the first place she was poor. It
needed only a glance at her plain dress
to assure one of that. How then did
she happen to he in attendance at
Madame De Lancy's fashionable board
ing school? She was not there as a
boarding scholar. A few day scholars
were admitted, and she was one of these.
Even the high rate of tuition would
have been too much for her slender
means, but this was defrayed by a young
physician, Dr. Herman, who had taken
an interest in her. She had at first,
with considerable independence, de
clined his generous proposal, but he
promised her that when she became a
teacherthe goal of her ambition—and
had saved enough to snake it perfectly
convenient, he would permit her to re
pay him. On this condition she ,ac
cepted his offer, with grateful thafiks,
and entered the school. Yet none the
less did she feel grateful to the kind
physician who had extended her the
helping hand which no one else. would
have been inclined to do. None the
less did she pray for his health and hap
piness every night upon her knees.
And now she was ambitious to show
him that his kindness was not thrown
away. For this only, and not to gratify
ally ainbition of her own, she hoped to
carry off the prize.
She was not very hopeful of it. Mi
riam Hamilton had enjoyed the advan
tage of the school twice as long as she.—
Miriam had talent and brilliancy. Jane
was not sure whether she had or not.
She knew that she was not brilliant or
quick. She could not get a difficult
lesson in fifteen minutes, as Miriam had
frequently done. Whatever success she
had achieved had cost. her hard, perse
vering labor. But as she began to feel
despondent in calculating the chances
of success, this passage came into her
mind : " The race is not to the swift,
nor the battle to the strong." Besides,
if she did not win the prize, she would
at least have the benefit of trying. She
resolved to enter the list—to do as well
as she possibly could, and then :quietly
leave the result to time.
" Are you going to write for the prize,
Jane!" asked one of her fellows.
The questioner was Marian Trevor,
already mentioned as a sycophantic ad
mirer of Miss Hamilton.
She ran straight to her idol to tell her
of Jane A.shton's intention.
-" Let the beggar write!" said Miriam,
in accents of strong contempt. " It'll
amuse her, and I flatter myself it will
not interfere particularly' with me. Do
you think there's any chance of gaining
the prize over my head, Marian ?''
" Gain the prize over ! She might as
well undertake to climb up to the moon
with a ten-foot ladder !"
Miriam smiled a smile of self-satisfied
approval of this adulation, and dismissed
the subject from her mind.
Meanwhile Jane Ashton lost no time
in selecting a subject for her tqsay. She
felt that in order to stand any cnance of
success, it would be necessary to uo her
best. After considerable reflection, she
decided to make choice of Self Reliance
and. its important bearing upon the in
dividual character and upon success in
life.
Her design was to weave in as many
prominent instances of this trait as her
reading should supply, and enforce her
view by appealing to their examples.
It was not long before she became very
much interested in her self chosen task,
and when at length she completed it, it
was not without a degree of pardonable
pride that she surveyed her work.
Meanwhile Miriam Hamilton did not
hasten to undertake her task. She was
not disposed to exert herself. When
the question was asked why she delayed
so long, she answered with' confidence,
" One day will be enough to write mine.
I don't pretend to ' dig' like some folks.
Thank goodness, I am a rapid worker."
Finally, she selected as her subject the
not uncommon one—"A Parallel be
tween Washington and Napoleon." She
was influenced in the selection chiefly
by the thought that it would be less
trouble to write upon this subject than
any other. Certainly her heart was
not in it, nor was she one in any way
fitted to comprehend and appreceiate
the character of Washington.
However, to do her justice, it must be
acknowledged that her essay was a very
good one, considering the amount of
time and labor she had - expended upon
it. She had the faculty of easy and
smooth expression, and to the superfi
cial reader her essay would seem very
good.
Only the day before the essays were
to be handed in, rumors reached Miriam
that Jane Ashton had written a very
superior essay. it; ome of the girls had
seen it, and were confident that she
would gain the prize. Until this time
Miriam had not felt a doubt of her own
success. Even now she thought that
the merit of her rival's essay must be
much exaggerated, still the possibility
of Jane's success was enough to fill her
with LllleaSilleSS, and she determined to
find out through her flatterer, Marian
Trevor, boW good it really was. .ke
cordingly, Marian borrowed the essay,
and secretly showed it to iNprii‘m. Si te
read it with ill-concealed dismay. it
was much better than her own. In
spite of her self love, she could not help
seeing that, nor did Marian's deprecat
ing remarks at all blind her to tile tact.
Without betraying her disquiet, she re
quested Marian to return it. and then
formed her plans.
She remembered that Madame De
Laney had warned her that a blot would
exclude an essay from competition.—
The thought inspired her with a design
of unutterable meanness.
That evening she stole into the school
room, and creeping to Jane's desk, took
out the essay which Jane had written
with such great ear and neatness, and
daubed one of the inside pages with ink.
This done, she hastily left the school
room, and without one thought or her
meanness, thinking only with exulta
tion that the prize was now her's be
yond a doubt, she retired to bed.
The next morning the essays were
handed in. Jane did not again open
her's, and therefore was not aware of
the fatal mark which disfigured one of
the fair pages. ;She was in excellent
spirits, for she knew she had done well.
Miriam might have done better, but at
all events she had done her best, and
that consciousness would remain. even
if she failed to obtain the prize which
she so ardently desired.
Day succeeded day, and at length the
morning arrived when the prize was to
he announced. All eyes were fixed on
Madame De LAncy, when she arose,
and said:
" Young ladies, you are aware that
three weeks since, I offered a prize of
an elegant gold pencil to the writer of
the best essay. lam very glad to find
that there has been such an interest
manifested, as is indicated by the num
ber presented. Thirty essays have been
handed in to me—all of which, I any
glad to say, indicate more than ordinary
pains on the part of the writers. But
the first in point of excellence, is one
the subject of ' Self Reliance,' by Jane
Ashton."
There was quite a sensation. Jane
blushed with pleasure, while poor Miri
am turned white with astonishment
and mortification.
" I thought," she said aloud, " that a
blot. was sufficient to exclude an es'ay
from competition."
" Well," said Madame De Lanes
" Was not Jane Ashton's essay blot
ted?"
"How do you know ?" inquired Mad.
De Laney - , with startling emphasis. '
"Good heavens! T have betrayed my
self!" thought Miriam, appalled:
" Young ladies," said the teacher, " a
mystery is unravelled of which I have
been seeking a solution. A week since,
in passing the door of the school room,
I saw a girl at Jane Ashton's desk. In
the darkness I could not distinguish
the person, but supposed it Jane her
self. When, however, 1 examined her
essay the next day, and saw the fresh
blot, I was led to suspect a plot. Not
until this moment, however. have I
guessed who had the meanness to con
spire against her. I assigned her the
prize, because the blot was not due to
her carelessness. Jane Ashton, come
forward and receive the prize you have
so richly merited."
Miriam rushed from the room in
blending rage and mortification, and
the next morning sent for her books.
She couldn't endure the ill concealed
contempt with which many who had
once flattered, now looked upon her.
Jane Ashton wore her honors meek
ly. Her school days are now over, and
she is the beloved wife of the young
physician at whose expense she was
sent to school.
Aar Two deacons were once disputing
about the proposed site of a new grave
yard, when the first remarked ; "
never be buried in that ground as long
as I live." " What an obstinate man !"
said the second, " if my life is spared, I
will."
SEV - A cotemporary suggest that
" There is something irrepressibly sweet
in little girls,"—to which the Louisville
Journal adds—" And it keeps growing
on them as they get bigger.
NUMBER 31
The Internal Revenue .Law--Important
Decisions.
The following instructions concerning
the special income tax duty under the
joint resolution of July 4,1.6'6.1, have just
been issued by the Commissioner of In
ternal Revenue:
In cases where it becomes necessary,
under the regulations prescribed by the
• Secretary of the Treasury, to- require a
new return of the income of the year
1863, the attention of assessors and as
sistant assessors is especially directed to
those points in which the former rulings
of this office are modified by the provis
ions of the act of June 30, 1811-1.
Income of Farmer,.—Th e rule adopted
by this office has heretofore required the
income of a farmer to be estimated by
h , duding the total value of his crop
het'-
vested and a profit realised upon a sale
of stock, The 117th section of tit,- :ha of
June 30,1864 requires sit li inemue to he
estimated •t,y including the increased
value of livestock, whether sfinl
hand, and the , nutunt of suer.
butter, cheese, p,k, illutt,,n, or
other meats, hay tc.,d ,rain, or other
, vegetable or othernetious of the
es
tate of the farmer sold mixin g the year,
for which return is made, nut including
any part thereof unsold or on hand at
the close of the veer.
To aseertnin he income resulting fron t
a farm under this provision, it will be
necessary to estimate the value of the
live stock on hand at the beginning or
the year, and to add thereto the amount
pa'd for animals which are held alive at
the close of the year. The sum thus 01,
tained will be deducted from the amount
obtained by adding the estimated value
of the live stock held at the elos, of the
yea'r to the amount received !ht. animals
sold during the year, the amount- r
reived for meats and vegetal ies , Le
productions of (he farni sold da ri he
year, or consumed by the iliriner or leis
,faiuily, or consumed hy kept
for purpose of pleasure. Ti o• I i •,1 eo
thus obtained will he clia,ucdol'l, ieaolue,
and will be sultject to di- ! , roper , Hme
dons for the custorcarryilig . un t (arm. •
No deduction can, howcier, be ;Wowed
for the cost or hay or ia.:l; produced
upon tbe farm anti consunieo hy lc
employed upon the rarta. ~ :H•r re
spects, the same rides will 1.,• ol.:erv e d
ill estimating the income ot rum,: a
that of other persons.
hico,c• 1/1 I ~ ' i; . --
The rule heretofore zu,opted thi
tioe is modified ht- the pruckion in II('
110(11 section, dial. ucf nrOn(S r,;(lized l,y
sales of real estate purchased within the
year, shall be char.L;eahlc as ine4lll,, t, nc
that 10i:, , ,e5,u s.: , ics of teal ',talc !,nr
clutted 1!,• ',,::;ii I, de
ducted.
Jury i:f Oa.
Slates ahr,,ad Wert! tax
able, 1111411. T Ihe OMI I:lV.', at it. higher
rate than residents, hal only iij,un the
annual gains, uridits, ni iniaaae, rent , .
and dividends accruing
erty, ~ . th(
4k..i •
wakes
. .
11(;11-1',..:d0111 I
lorai (11011
,MCCV
101:11 wier
t (,fL u dn•dur:ii,)ll
a11,,v,n.11 in] ,amino of iron,it•
Id(d) tnx hcnni
pnid.
/neon/v/10m /
deriveti fnati upo.
rnitt• , l State , eeTtritie , iyea!ed.
in all re....peet,.. j;e:• Inew o.
b,:rf ////), 4 iop "1,• i „•
vide, that ,»ily
:-.llltll liLtdc the - in
come or ail the tnehli,er, r,f :illy ',wily
,n
111111
litishand and Wite , C . X - 0(.1)
~1 1,eS Where ^halt
he derived I.l'olll allil
aillual estate, a:;: ()..• lahur bf the ',xi! ,
or child.
The " ,ppant te estate hero
intended is such it's whine. to the wife ii
tel own right, and is not , 111 , j,2et th,
(.010,1.01 of the InHhand. If he ern
cover it hy law an , l zipDly it, t•-
( . oVert , i, 10 ilk 11,c, t,!
or assign it =o as to pas- :Itli i„
purchaser. it ii not covored I ii:4•
Clew. i'he Wage-
MEIDEII=I
alinor ,•1111(1 111
laLkier. z+nci constitute 1 . 1 , ..-
eOlll,. Where the Hui.;
uitlanc.ipate,l Irrnli the
rather, the Idimr -
loot to his
. . , .
rarely be the case where lie
part or his lather's household.
/,' , 2paiPii.—The deduction. to be
tor repairs is Inn I.y thl n,•, boo In
the average paid out for -42(1: purr,: ,-.•
l'or the preceding live ycl:rs.
C Ito cter Ih, ;:i
tention of the assessors. ls pai . Lieuiarly
called to that portion ui ihe regu hi; loio
i,ir7tted by the ;Secretary or th- Tri asur
which relates to the publicity
to all the a. ,, i , e:;sinerit lists
The Unnalnisioner of Internal Reve
nue has just made the following
iw
portant decisions in regard to the
liability of manufacturofs to I ieense anti
to pay excise dues :
1. Under the act of July 1, i'sd;.;, per
sons or corporations makin g arii:•i es f or
their own use ur eonsumption, and. 1101
for sale or others, were not 1i1:114. to
he assessed for nut n uract urer's lieenso ;
but under the act of June :10,
such persons or corporations uvito shall
roaillifaetUre, be hand or machinery,
any goods, wares, or merchandise, ex
ceeding annually the sum coi ed,uod, are
liable to assessment for a license, and
cannot lawfully - continue to manufac
ture without being first duly licensed.
2. Under the act of July, fsti2, manu
facturers Were eXeinpf (root I.:txation
whose annual product did not exceed
six hundred dollars, hu: did ex
ceed that sum, they were to :able on the
entire amount produced and sold, or re-
Elp.Ved for coDsigarlption. (11,!er the art
„01/7ui, 30, see- L ion mann:at
turers whose prodder (toes not exceed
the rate of six hundred dollari per an
num, and is made or produced by the
labor of such man ufaeturers or their
families, are exempt. from excise duty.
When the product exceeds ,11ph rate.
and does not exceed the rale of one
thousand dollars, they are to he
and the duty paid.
Refined petroleum, relined coal oil,
gold and silver, spirituous and mutt
liquors, manufactured tobacco, a nd sit utl'
and cigars, are not entitled, to any ex
emption; hut in all eases, the entire pro
duct of such manufacture is subject to
assessment and payment of duty.
Decision in reference 0, articles manu
factured prior to the passage of, told 0180
articles made ta3 able. by the :5•1 of
June 30th, 1864 :
All manufactures and production, in
the possession of the manutacturer ur
producer, or his agent or agents, on the
lit day of July ' 1554, and on which the
duty imposed by any former excise law
has not been paid, are to be assessed ac,
cording to the rates of duty provided by
the act of June, 16134 ; and all manufac
tures and products upon which no duty
was imposed by any former acts, and
which were not removed from the place
of manufacture or production prior to
the Ist day of July, 1864. are to be as
sessed in like manner.
Where money has been paid to a col
lector, in anticipation of an increase of
duties, upon manufactures in possession
of the manufacturer or producer, such
payment cannot be admitted as a 4s
charge of liability for, the tax. The
returns are required to be made " of the
products andoales on delivery." Any
payment for duties prior to the time
when returns could be required could
have no object but to evade the higher
rate of tax which the whole country
knew was about to be imposed. The
provisions of the fourth proviso at the
173 d section of the act were intended to
prevent such object from being answer
ed. All products and manufactures,
therefore, in possession of the manufac
turer or producer, or his agent, on the
first day of July, for which no return
had been made of duty paid, must be
assessed at the rate required by the late
act. And even if return should .have
been made of any manufactures or, pro.,
ducts unsold and still remaining. in, the
possession of the - m*l4l,oW*. or . pro
~.--m......,,,i
Riirst OF
BCTSTN F
ENS A nrE‘rrui :3717., 1 , 12 - H 3 - Feir
H l l l lare 01 ten 1111h t ;tell per eefit. tucrrtse tor
per ,
!motions 01 ,!1 year.
HE , L E.srA rE, PE;H:4O3A7. PHOHERTY, and (71;17c-
EHAL Ai/YEUTIHINu 7 Hew. H . 1111* for-14
first, and
tion. 4 oenta for each annatqueuit inser
pATENT hfitorcams and other adrera bitha , '
Column:
One coalman, 3. year.- ....
Ball eolcunn.J .. yeax... . . ..... ....-
Third r- - - -
oolnixTtio.
....... . ... .
r• column,: . • ... ... • .
j a; g Es 6 k CAR - Ps, ... ........ 01: ..... '
0710 year .......... ... ...
Easiness
.........
Sear ...........
.14ZGAL AND ' OTHICR NOT/CYS-:
Executors' notices. . _ ... ....... 2.06
Administrators' notices, ...
2.00.
Assignees' notices, .................. .... . 2.00
Auditors' notices, . __ . •
Other "Notices," ten lines, Or - less, • '
three times,_.__
LBO
ducer, or his agent, .the returns .will
properly be treated as premature : an d
not furnishing the necessary. prelirni- . ,
nary ground for the assessment or tey
ment of the tax.
Fire in the Rear; or Bill Jones Among-
the
The following story, contributed bja .
country friend to the N. 0. Delta; is - 160'
good to be lost; "though," says the
Deita," its raciness may hot accordwtth'
the exalted tastes of the Miss .Nanuyites
who dress the legs of their tattlestrilled . is
Inuitaletts, and faint over a ni,idri
cherub:"
Old Squire Parish was an hospltab
old soul. Every Friday evening IL W41.13 '
the delight of the girls at the Acacieniy
mid the buys at the schools and college to.
go.to old ~quire Parish's farm, about six'
miles faun "town, and stroll in the wOoda,
bathe in the creek, search the orchard
and hen nests, and turn everything about'
the premises upside down. And old
;Squire Parish would sit in the chimney'
corner, pipe in mouth, and tell then&
stories about the first settlement of the
country, and how " Old Hickory" had
whipp e d the Indians—for the old Squire
had been iti Jackson's army—and never
lei i , oys off wi trout at least one story
about the • • old man," as the Squire de
lighted ht call the General.
One :• - aturtifQ,-, about the middle of the
alternoon, Bill Jones, a wild harum
searum young man of sixteen winters,
rode up to the Squire's door, and hailed
tieLuuec. His summons was answered
y that black young rascal Josh, who
add Jones that the boys were gone
hunting; "but you better be
.lassa Bill," continued Josh,"
hat the gals is carrying on high.
\l'hy, Massa Bill, you can hear 'em
sqcanng up here.'' Jones soon learned
that the girls had gone to their usual
Lathing place, which was at the foot of
Ali prccipice, and only approached by
:oat si, e by a solitary loot-path, which
was uarded " Dinah." On the other
snis the creek lay a broad sand-bank,
so that none could approach it without •
ocing seen. Jones had been to the
tr . > hOlth, su often that he knew all
iris erodes by heart, and it was almost
t top, Ule to iind the boys in the woods,
so iii' determined to have some fun out
o. tile girls. About a quarter of a mile
op tin , creek lives "Old Aunt Judy,"
and there Jones and his attendant, Josh,
immediately proceeded, While Josh
went fo the aid ti °man, and for a four
pcnt c purchased the largest gourd Whet
jones slipped behind thegar
adi, and t brew iii his clothes; then cut
enough of the handle end of the
gourd to :1111110 his head, and making
o hole, for his eyes, lie slipped it on
his liead, turd jumped into the stream.
ru Soon :IS the gourd reached the point
ahoy the hafting place it commenced
'hfting towards the shore until within
a few yards of the bathers, when itdrifted
itgantsi a in-nt., hie!, overhung the
ream anti lodged. if Jones had looked
trough I lie loopholes, (he swears he
difin't,,, in would have seen a sight that
would.have made the gourd itself blush.
Ott one rock were three or four swim
mere, alternately squatting down and
rising up on their heels, and imitating
the cry of the bullfrog, and when one
uniu say chug" they would all plunge
into the water, frog fashion. At another
place they were trying to duck each
ntiter ; while a third party was leading,
y taro., into the water a coy damsel,
‘viio haul been too modest to undress he
tore so many talks. But Jones' gourd
did not reinnin lung unnoticed in the
rater, and the damsel who espied it
,ailed up to it, and with a slight resist
:dice it came and disclosed the curly
:icad of Bill Junes. Miss Betsy screamed
add Bill Junes yelled. Aliss Betsy and
Inc other bather, rushed up the bank,
and Junes, in his fright and confusion,
!allowed them. Here the girls turned
on him, seized kiln and threw him on
Lis lace, twined his arms around a sap
ling, anti having bound his hands with
kercli lel, Jones lay defenceless in the
power is l fis captors. The girls now lei
surely dressed themselves, and then each
provided herself with a trim birch or
willow rod, and without further cere
mony Ip•gan applying it to the back,
and legs of poor Jones. Jones
twisted and Jones writhed; he drew
himself up and spread himself out; he
begged and he prayed. But in vain.
I lis captors were insensible to pity, tut
ill their arms were fatigued, and their
rods frayed into ribbons. Alas, for poor
Jones; he was not yet to escape. Ris
tormentors provided themselves with
fresh instruments, and stationed them
-elves in a row along the footpath from
Jones' tree to the water's edge; and on
the rock front which he was to plunge
was posted a stout country lass, whose
strength be had often tried to wrestle,
and whoi.e endurance he had often
tested in a " bran dance." At bathe
was released, and told he must run the
gauntlet. lie could not but comply.
sq.raigh telling himself up and drawing
a 1,,t g breath he started at full speed, as
lie thought, but at every step something
touched hint that accelerated his mo
tions, and when he was about to take
the last final leap, such a blow fell on
his rear that the sparks flew out of his
eyes, and he hounded. half across the
,rout at one leap. The rock has been
known a s Jun es ' leap ever since.
Witii• t stopping to see any more of
Isis hide friends, Jones hastened to Aunt
Judy's cottage, dressed himself, gave
Josh a thorough kicking, borrowed a
sheepskin front Aunt Judy, mounted
Isis horse, and rode slowly back into
town. And from that day to this Bill
Jones has never shown his face, nor any
other part of him, in good old Squire
Parish's house, nor the stream that runs
by its door.
CHI I.I)}:EN.—A friend of ours—a pub
lisher—once thought of republishing a
Christmas story from a large collection
which he had imported. He made his
selection, and gave the balance to his
little son to read. Next day' the boy
rushed to his father with one of the
stories in his fist, and with glowing face
and sparkling - eye exclaimed : "0,
father : this is the story for Christrias ;
it's a real stunner, and will take crown
the world !" The father pUblished both.
His boy's selectiou went throbgh four
editions his own still lies unsold on his
shelves.
We know a little chubby-faced boy,
who, being taken down town, and suited
to a new jacket and pants by his father,
made the following remark as they were
about to take the cars for home : "Now,
father, you have spent so much money
on me to-day that I can't bear to have
you spend any more, so you plat jump
in the car and ride home, and..T.AL trot
along on the sidewalk and save - ,..y0u
three cents." There was..tiainikhtful
ness for an eight 7 year old age.
Egg" A despairivag maskteans
An enraged woman nt
her husbmadqi. o 7 : l ' s -"a