ak gomultft juteilignicer, PU3l3llBllaZrilir WaimiLDAT By D.OOPSE, SANDERSON &Apo J. M. COOPER, a. et Basra. ALFRED SA2FDERSON Wm. A. MORTON', TEEMS—Two Dollars and Fifty Cents per annam, payable all cases in advance. OFFICE-8o avvias.i. CORNER OF CENTRE SQUARE. /Er All letters on business should be ad dressed to COOPEEL. SAlTnEsson dr. Co. rottrj. Oatcasts. A HOMELY CITY POEM They haunt the streets of the city by night, —But are banished from day forever; They come and go like the shadows cast By clouds on a flowing river; The ghosts of a sweetness long since lost, Unpitied and dead to pity, They wander lonely and tempest lost, Where blackness covers the city, They live their lives forgotten and dead, ; Forgiveness and forgiven— For the angel of childhood seems to smile Them back from the portals of heaven, While far away among eastern dales, In beautiful country places, .Old couples whisper in bed o'nights And talk of the absent faces. The old, old tale with dgleful end ! A heart either wicked or broken, A vacant place by the ingleside; A name that is never spoken. The end ?—lt is yonder beneath the grass ; The sin, the paint, and the patches ,• Or in yonder house where a woman dies To a chorus of drunken catches. The end ?—a shriek from the moonlit bridge' A plunge to the death beneath '.And a bubble of light. 'round a fluttering dress Whe,re the waters circle and seethe. What course lies yonder without the town Where the blue fresh rivers run, There, to the pastoral homes whose hearts Are smiled upon by the sun ? What taint is alive in that free clear air Which comes not hither to woo as, That it sends this pitiful shadow forth To mock arid to undo us? What blight is upon It, that It gives These wandering daughters to us They load the.girl with their homely gifts, They rear her in the wifely arts, They dream of the girl in her bridal dress While she sins and breaks their hearts. Alt, me! to see the faces that haunt The streets with ghastly mirth, To. watch the vacant delight, and see The women so grosti with earth, To find the sinner sweetening sin, Mad with a wild unrest And then to think of the mother's hope As she smiles on the babe at her breast? O City, rich In money, and • Maher In work divine! Whose is the sorrow, and whose the sin? And how much of the sin Is thine? Enough to know that the sill was born Of a bliler delight or sorrow; That the sorrow and sin can be cleansed away Neither to-day nor to-morrow; Enough to know that the broken heart Needs the beauty of Christ to mend it, That ere we labor to kill the sin We must labor to comprehend it. We men are narrow, and harsh, and vain, We are petty amid our scorn ! But, oh ! to gaze on the crowded street, Where the sinners wander forlorn, And then to kiss our daughters and wives And our little babes new-born ! To see tne sin and sorrow that flaunt When the beautiful day is done, And then to think of the homeless heart Which mourns for the absent one— Of the free, blue air :Ind the country dales, Where the bright fresh rivers run— Of the girl who sings in her mother's !must And the children that laugh in the sun. iterarg.° Lucretia Smith's Soldlei A War Story Tor Harper's Weekly" El= IMEEMMEI On a balmy May morning in 1861, the little village of Bluemass, in Massa chusetts, lay wrapped in the splendor of the newly-risen sun. Reginald de Whittaker, confidential and only clerk in the house of Bushrod fi Ferguson, general dry-goods and grocery dealers, and keepers of the Post Office, rose frinn his bunk under the counter and shook himself. After yawning and stretching comfortably, he sprinkled the floor and proceeded to sweep it.— He had only half-finished his task, however, when he sat down on a keg avails and fell into a reverie. "'This limy last day in this shanty," said he. "-How it will surprise Lucretia when she'hears I am going for a soldier!— How proud she will be—the little dar ling !" He pictured himself in all man ner of warlike situations ; the hero of a:, thousand extraordinary adventures; the man of rising fame , the pet of for tnne at last; and beheld himself, final ly, returning to his old home, a bronzed and scarred brigadier-general, to cast his honors and his matured and perfect love at the feet of his Lucretia Borgia smith. :At this point a thrill of joy and pride snfrused his system—but he looked down and saw his broom and blushed. He came toppling down from the clouds he had been soaring among, and was an obscure clerk again, on a salary of two dollars and a half a week. I=l At eight o'clock that evening, with a heart palpitating with the proud news he had brought for his beloved, Reginald sat in Mrs. Smith's parlor awaiting Lucretia's appearance. The moment she entered he sprang to meet her, his face lighted by the torch of - love that Was blazing in bighead somewhere and shining through, and ejaculated "Mine own!" as he opened his arms to receive rer. "Sir !" said she, and drew herself up like an offended queen. Poor Reginald was stricken dumb with astonishment. This chilling de meanor, this angry rebuff where he had expected the old, tender welcome, ban ished the gladness from his heart as the cheerful brightness is swept from the landscape when a dark cloud drifts athwart the face of the sun. He stood bewildered a moment, with a sense of gotieness on him like one who finds himself suddenly overboard upon a Midnight sea and beholds the ship pass :into shrouding gloom, while the dread ful conviction falls upon his soul that he has not been missed. He tried To speak, but his pallid lips refused their office. At last he murmured: "O Lueretia, what have 1 done—what is the matter—why this cruel coldness? Don't you love your Reginald any more !" Her lips curled in bitter scorn, and She replied, in mocking tones : " Don't I love my Reginald any more? .No, T clav't,, love my Reginald any more! Go Slick to your pitiful '.." i junk-shop and grab your pitiful yard stick, and stuff cotton in your ears so that you can't hear your country shout to you to fall in and shoulder arms! Go!" And then, unheeding the new light that flashed from his eyes, she fled from the room and slammed the door behind her. Only a moment more! Only a single moment more, he thought, and he could have told her how he had already, an swered the summons and signed his name to the muster-roll, and all would have been well—his lost bride would have come back to his arms with words of praise and thanksgiving upon her lips. He made a step forward, once, to recall her, but he remembered that he was no longer an effeminate dry-goods student, and his warrior-soul scorned to sue for quarter. He strode from the place with martial firmness, and never looked behind him. CHAPTER 111 When Lucretia awoke the next morn ing, the faint music of a. fife and the roll of a distant drum came floating on the soft spring breeze, and as she listened the sounds grew more subdued and final ly passed out of hearing. She lay ab sorbed in thought for many minutes, .and then she sighed and said, " Oh, if he were only with that band_ of fellows, how .1 could love him !" In the course of 'the day a neighbor dropped is, and when the conversation '.4: l ,:altt- , 0t0.• - •• - • 1 ,j .. ' ..- .$.'it:Ot*S0..t .-, '' VOLUME 66 turned upon the soldiers ; the visitor said : ' Reginald de Whittaker looked rather down-hearted, and didn't shout when he marched along with the other boys this morning. I expect . its owing to you, Miss Loo, though when I methinr coming hereyesterdayevening to tell you he'd enlisted, lie thought you'd like it and be proud of —Mercy !• what n the nation's the matter with the girl ?' Nothing, only a sudden blight had fallen like a misery upon her heart, and a deadly pallor telegraphed it to her countenance. She rose up without a word and walked with a firm step out of the room, but once within the sacred seclusion of her own chamber, her strong will gave way, and she burst into a flood of passionate tears. Bitterly she upbraided herself for her foolishness of the night before, and her harsh treat ment of her lover at the very moment he had come to anticipate the proudest wish of her heart, and to tell her that he had enrolled himself under the battle-flag and was going forth to tight as soldier. Alas! other Iliaidens would have sol diers in those glorious fields, and be entitled to the sweet pain of feeling it tender solieitude for them, but she would be unrepresented. No soldier in all the vast armies would breathe her name as he breasted the crimson tide of war! She wept again—or, rather, she went 011 weeping' where she left off a monient berwv. In he? bitterness of spirit, she almost cursed the precipi tancy that had brought all this sorrow upon her young life. " T)rat it !" the words were iii her bosom, but she lock ed them there, and closed her lips against their utterance. For week , and weeks she nursed her grief in silence while the roses faded from hei- 'hacks. And through it all she clung to the hope that the old love would bloom again hat Iteginald's heart, and lie would write to her—but the long summer days dragged \V ~ 1 1rily along, and still no letter came. The. newspapers teemed with storiesolhattleand carnage, and eagerly she read them, but always with the same result: the tears welled up and blurred the closing lines—the name sought was looked for in vain, and the dull aching returned to her sinking heart. Letters to the other girls sometimes contained brief men tion of hiin, and presented' always the same lilt ure of hini—a morose, un smiling, desperate man, always in the thickest of the tight, begrimmed with powder, and mc.ving calm and un scathed througli tempests of shot . and shell, as if he 'bore a charmed life. But at last. in a long list of maimed and killed, poor Lucretia read these terrible words, and fell fainting to the floor:- R. D. Whittaker, private sol dier, desperately wounded!" On a couch in one of the wards of a hospital at Washington lay a wounded soldier; his head W::: so profusely ban daged that his featiNs Were not visible, but there was no mistaking the happy face of the young gid who sat beside him—it was Lucretkt Borgia Smith. She had hunted him out several weeks before, and since that time she had patiently watched I,vy him and nursed him, coining in the morning as soon as the surgeons hail finished dressing his wounds, and never leaving him until relieved at night fiat A ball had shat tered his hover jaw, and he could not utter a syllable; through all her weary vigils, she had never once been blessed with a grateful word from his dear lips; yet she stood to her post bravely and without a murmur, foiling that whet"' lie did get Well again she would hear that which would adore than reward her for all tier devotion. At the hour we have chosen for the opening 'of this chapter, Lucretia was in a tumult of happy excitement, forthe surgeon had told her that at last her Whittaker had recovered sufficiently to admit of the removal of the bandages front his heel, and she was now waiting with feverish impatience for the doctor to come and disclose the loved features to her view. At last he came, and Lu cretia, with beaming eyes and a flutter ing heart, bent over the couch with anxious expect:uu•y. One bandage was removed, then another, and another, and to ! the poor wounded face was revealed to the light of day. " I), my own dar--" " What have we hero ! With one hand covering - her upturned eyes, she staggered back with a moan of anguish. Then a spasm or fury distorted her countenance as she brought her fist down with a cr:tsh that made the medi cine bottles on the table dance again, and exclaimed: " O confound II eats, if I haven't gone and fooled away three mortal weeks here, snuffling and slobbering over the wrong soldier!" It was a sail, sad truth. The wretch ed, but innocent and unwitting impos tor Was Or Richard DilWOrtily Whittaker, of 'Wisconsin, the soldier of lo Mullig,l, of that State, and utterly unknown to our un happy Lucretia 13. I 4 lnith. Knelt is life, and thC; tail of the ser pent is over us all. Let us draw the curtain over this melancholy history-- for melancholy it must still remain, during a season at least, for the real Reginald de Whittaker has not turned up yet. Children and Parents Children and young people are fre quently wanting in gratitude to their parents. They may, and generally do, love them Sill( . .. rely and devotedly, and may even he willing to sacrifice them selves for them : but it never occurs to them that they have anything for which to he grateful. It seems so much a mat ter of course that all good things should flow to them from their parents, that they never give a thought to the source whence they are derived. They never imagine it could be otherwise, or - that they might have been treated with less kindness or consideration. They give no heed to the numerous sacrifices those parents are continually making for them—to the constant self-denial to which they submit, that their children may be benefitted. It is not until the tie is broken, parental hand withdrawn —till death or absence has marked the change—that they discover how much they owed to those that are no more. THE DIFFERENCE.-A tasty lawyer, lately in one of our courts, found him self bothered with a knotty witness, who wouldn't explain, as he desired, the difference between the "thick" and "long" kinds of whalebone.' " Why, man," he said, "you don't seem to know the distinctiorOetween the thick andlong." " Yaas, I dew." "Explain it, then." "Wall—you're pleaguy thick headed, bpt you ain't long-headed, no hepw," said the greeny. A Christmas Tree. Here was a large, brilliantly-lighted room ! At one end crackled a blazing wood-fire—at-the other shone the glori ous Christmas tree. The curtain had been drawn from before it, and there it stood shining in splendor. There were tapers on every bough, and rosy apples and gilt eggs and waving ribbons of all colors; the lower branches hung heavy with gifts more solid than they were glittering, and all over the tree were flowers that could spread a perfume. There were children to look at the tree, and old people and the servants, and black Elsie, the washer-woman, and they were all shouting and showing their pleasure in different ways. " Will the Christmas tree give every body what all the bodies want ."' asked Maggie. What everybody wants! All round in the houses that shut in the Chrismas trees there are wants— great ones and small. In the large rooms glowing with light and warmth and, comfort, out in the narrow streets, in the cold pathways, in thesmall, close houses, by the side of sickness, and of gayety and joy and poverty, there are wants: the deepest are those that are unexpressed—the saddest are those that gold and light and warmth cannot sat isfy. And what can the Christmas tree do, with its pretty sugar-plums and its wax tapers, to answer all these ? It shines in the largest and gayest rooms, where luxury seems to have left no space to ask for more. It will bring a few more little costly nothings to cover up the ta- I des already loaded, and more toys for the children to break, and more delica cies for their appetites, already dainty. It does not gleam in the (lark, narrow, saddened houses; in the close little rooms; in lonely sick chambers; it is too gay to come where want expresses itself aloud, and sorrow - and uneasiness are sitting alone and together. Yet this Christmas tree in this very room does more. Everybody has what each wants, and in this large room, among old and young, there were many sorrowing, and many wants. A won derful tree! The old grandfather is leaning back in his easy chair. After many restless days and sleepless nights, he rests his head on the pillow, and says, " If I could only sleep !" and sleep comes in the midst of all that light and gayety, and in a few moments lie is serenely dreaming back youth and strength ; and the children are all hap py. It is not wonderful that their wants can be gratified. It is only a lit tle while since they have come into a world all full of playthings, as it seems to them, with new holidays in every season, spring with grass and birds, summer with flowers, autumn with fruits, and winter with snow and ; the Christmas tree and ChristmaS day are hardly different to them from otiwr trees and days. The stolen fruit and the fruit that is their own, are both precious to them, and they find they have only to cry out their wants loud. enough, and they will have them satisfied. Everything that sparkles on the Christmas tree is a jewel to them. The little pewter skillet with its per manent red and yellow pewter fishes is as satisfactory to these children as the smell of broiling trout to the hunter in the woods, by his camp-fire. And all the children in this room are satisfied ; there is not a has lip or shadowy brow. Frank has his sled, just like Tom Taylor's. Fanny has her doll, whose eyes will open and shut, and will say, " Yes, ma'am," if the right string is pulled. There are rocking-horses stabled under that wonderful tree, and mechan ical mice and steam engines. • And Maggiesitsbefore her new kitchen furni ture,her eyes shining like the tin dippers. She has not learned the blase art of com paring one thing with another. The "comparison of adjectives" is the hardest lesson in all languages, but once learnt, it is most frequently repeated.— This singer we are listening to, is she better or worse than the once we heard - last week? This violinist, do we like him better tha* the one that is coming next month or not? As we grow older, how many of us, as we sit down to our feasts, begin by comparing them with what has gone before or what is to come, before we can settle the amount of our present delight! But little Mag gie cares nothing for the ideas of pro motion'or comparison. The dolls, Caro line and Alice, have sat in her baby house in an undisturbed equality,though Caroline is large enough to put alive easily in her shoe. And now she gazes with delight at the complete kitchen arrangements. She does not care if the tea-kettle is bigger than the kitchen stove, or if the 1 / 1 10111 will have to stand outside of the kitchen ; nor does it make any difference to her though l'atsey, already installed as cook, would break down one of the kitchen chairs were she inspired to sit in it. She does not stop to observe that Patsey's foot is as big as the cooking range, hut already smells ill fancy the imaginary steak that is to grill over the imaginary coals The college boy is laying aside die family " turnip " that has been serving him as a time-piece, as he puts on the more modern watch with its glittering chain. He has already been eloquent in debating societies, but it has been ob served that, like some other orators, when he feels most he is silent. In the corner of the room is great con fusion of tongues. Black- Elsie stands beside her want. It has been the want of many years, but she has never seen the Christmas tree to give it her till now. heavy want that grew sadder and more hopeless as the years went on—the child she left in Alabama, that was taken from her. He stands by her now, his head is as high as her shoulder, and she can scarcely recognize her want satisfied. Butsomething tells her what it is, and he has a tongue and she has, too, and joy is easier to believe in than sorrow, and she has to cry and to laugh with a joy that is to grow More real every hour and every day. And all the rest turn round to wonder and re joice at Elsie's joy, and to think it shines out beyond all Christmas lamps, while she heeds nothing of them. The golden logs above diamond coals, her joy would outshine all. - The mother's wants were as easily satisfied as the children's, because, they were the same. She never had any of her own, she was always trying to satis fy their's, and looked sad when she mirrored their sadness, and so shone now with the joy. She was covered all over with gifts, but her want was satis fied when she saw that their's were filled. But in the archway of the window stood Clara—pale, slender Clara. She was holding in her arms all she wanted, or rather he was holding her. For the lover had come home who had been lost nearly a year ago in the RocityLlSloun- LANCASTER, PA.., WEDNESDAY MORNING, JANUARY 18, 1865. tains. He had died then' for her—for everybody out of this physical world. Fever and cold and hardships and storms had conquered him. But he stood here now with strength and vigor manly as always, fresh and undainted. And Clara stood dazzled. All the last. year, pale and white, she had been slowly going to him whom she believed could never come to her. A heavenly happiness had begun to steal over her face that could scarcely shine more joyously now. But she held him ; the etapty place in her heart was filled. t A wonderful Christmas tree ! could it do all this! can one Christmas tree bring such joy For what did Christ come? To heal the broken-hearted, to !set at liberty them that are bruised, to raise the dead, to give the blind theiesight. Must not a Christmas tree do all this? Out of its shifting tapers, and from the green of its leaves, breathe the words, " Peace on earth, and goOd will to men." I have seen Christmastreesthathrought such peace and good will, that presented the gospel to the poor, The thickest stone walls cannot shut out such alight nor luxury smother it. It warms hearts that are shut up in a glittering show that looks cold outside,fit spreads into home as poor as the manager where Christ was born, and shines as glory to Ood iu the highest, bringing " Peace on earth, good will to men." Over the River BY BEV. J. L. COBNINP 'Fite day was just breaking when a messenger summoned me from my bed to visit a dying young man. I have been witness of many similar scenes, yet every'recurring one is fresh and singu lar, yes, I might almost say startling. The ties of sense and momentary solace prohibirour becoming wonted to the familiar truth of death. The young man was far from home when the dead ly typhus laid him low, and yet he had angel ministries, as who -hath not who can look into one face raying with love from every wrinkle, and utter the word " morher." She was there, the same gentle one who bore him into mortal life, now with multiplied pangs to go with him to the bitter,verge of immor tality. When I entered the power of speech had departed. " Has he spoken during the night'?" I inquired. "Yes, sir, a little, and' these were his last words: ' Mother, I am going over the river, and I can't go " I tried to stifle emotion, but the pregnancy of that sen tence fairly stunned me, and for these many weeks since that young pilgrim crossed the dark flood these last words haunted me like.an undying echo. Leaving the mortal casket composed and stiffening for the grave, I went into my Sabbath-school and preached a little sermon to the children from that solemn text, and the seriousness which gather ed upon many a little, round, ihddy face inspired me with the hope that sonic of the lambs of my flock were revolving in their thoughts the true problem of life. Walking down our noisest business street, the other day, I fell into conver sation with a lady professing religion She was manifestly in a melancholy mood—perhaps from ill health, perhaps from some heart-agony too sacred for a human eye to gaze upon. "Oh," said she, " if I only knew that I should go to heaven, I would like to dje to day." ",..1.1111 what sort of evid4ce would satisfy you that you are going to heaven ?" I asked. The question puz zled her , for, though title clear to mansions in the skies" had;been a sort of dream of religious sentimentalism with her, yet the manner in which it could alone be legitimately to the soul• had not been much considered. And so I preached to her there upon the sidewalk, while the carts and car riages rattled by, a short sermon upon spiritual nobilities and affinities, some what in this wise : " Heaven, my dear madam, is not the shadowy Utopia of your sentimental psalms,but a real con dition, a veritable home, `where the wicked cease from troubling and the weary are at rest.' Truth, rectitude, Purity, love—these may be called the elements of sustenance in yonder blessed life across the And the soul has here in its inottal confine ment relishes appertaining to that royal dietary. And so one noble soul has left an ancient page a testimony like unto this: `Our conversation, or, more literally rendered, our citizenship, is in heaven.' Exactly so; truth, rectitude, purity,love, made that grand old martyr Paul a dweller in the skies, a denizen of the celestial city, even while the flesh held him down to earth and time. Immorality will become a felt destiny with a man only in so far as it is a felt hunger. All your inert mus ings about heaven, madam, will not rob death of its artillery of terror. God gives every saint a miniature heaven in his own bosom, as a foretaste of the grainier fruition in 'reserve." I tried to say a word in season to my friend, for I was not ignorantof the fact that she was one of mapy professing the name of Jesus who refuse to recog nize the humanity of those sable broth ers and sisters for wLom lie died, and I hoped she would take the:hint thatlove to man is one essential voucher of future fellowship with God, and Christ, and all the shining ones on high. As we parted I fell into a , sort of voiceless soliloquy: "To go over the river alone! Horrible thought ! . And yet, as regards my wonted earthly canpanionships, this is a destiny quitainevitable. These loving ones, who strew flowers for me on the descending path to the dividing stream, can go with me to the margin, till the cold waves w.et, their feet and, admonish them to retreat. But beyond that I must go aline, and, forsaken of I human helps, battle the billows. And yet not alone. I hear a stanza from an ancient psalm echoing 'down the cen-' turies in those blessed monosyllables : `For thou art with me.' Yes, it is a fact of history, ancient and modern. God is with us,' said, John Wesley, on his cly4pg-bed. The royal singer with his scepter, and the Methodist itinerant, with his pack, had one and the same companionship." The company of God ; let me think ; this is at first blush an abstract idea. But God has representatives upon earth and in the human sunl is a witness of that regal presence whigh in whelming billows makes it buOyant, and amid all terrors makes it brave. A cheerful life must be a busy one. And a busy life cannot well be other wise than cheerful. Frogs do not croak in running water. .Active mindg are seldom troubled with gloomy forebod ings. They come up only from the stagnant depths of a,spirit unstirred by generous Impulses or the bloated neces sities of honest toil. An Indian Love Story. In General Scott's recently published 4utobiography, 'among his 'experience in the Black Hawk war, occurs the fol lowing romantic episode: The summons for the conference was now given to all the tribes and obeyed, and the grand councils of war for the settlement of the treaties commenced. While these were pending a demand came up, from a judge of Illinois,!some sixty miles below, for an Indiau.mur derer, his name unknown, but who had been distinctly traced to the camp of the great body of Sacs and Foxes whom the chiefs had contrived to hold in neu tralityduring the recent hostilities, influ enced mainly by Keokuk, not a heredi tary chief, and only a principal brave or warrior, the sense bearer, orator and treasurer of the confederacy. The de mand was communicated to this re markable man. After a little musing, the painful truth of the story seemed to flash upon him. With , candor he stated • the grounds of his fears. A young brave of some twenty years of age, the son of a distinguished chief, had long sought to marry a handsome young squaw, the daughter of anbther famous chief; but the maiden repulsed the lover, applying to him the most op probrious epithet—squaw—he never having taken a scalp, killed a grizzly bear, nor, by surprise, robbed an enemy of his arms, horse or wife. Hence; she said her lover was not a brave but a woman. Her sympathies were, more over, with Black Hawk—her ° only brother having run off with tlialfeek less chief. All these particulars were na yet known to the wise treasurer ; for he had only been surprised at the change Of con duct in the belle sauvuye, who had so suddenly married her lover: Keokuk, in good faith, said he would enquire, for his great care had been to save his peo ple from destructive war and entire spoliation, with which Black Hawk's conduct had caused them to be threaten ed. The next day he called at headquar ters and whispered that his fears had proved prophetic; that the happy bride groom had, for the good of the confede racy confessed himself to be the guilty party, and was at hand : hut begged the general to repeat, in a full council, the demand, etc. This was accordingly done, and as soon as Scott's peroration —I demand the 21 1 ardcrer!—was in ter - pr ete dthe young Apollo stood up and I said: am the maul ! With a violent stamp and voice Scott called out—the guard ! A sergeant, with a dozen grenadiers,- rushed in, seized the often der, and carried him off. When the blacksmith began to place and rivet irons upon him he struggled furiously, It took several of the guard to hold him down. - He said he did not come forward to be ironed ; he did not wish to be tried, that he preferred to be shot at once. He was sent down to the Illinois court then insessiou, put on his trial, and notwithstanding the strong circumstantial evidence, and that it was proven he had acknowledged qlic kill ing, in a hand-to-hand tight, a. tricky lawyer, well provided with the means of bribing, no doubt by the chiefs of the confederacy, obtained from the ;jury a verdict of not guilty. The acquitted had yet to pass another ordeal—one of fire and water. A swift horse, halfway between the court and the Mississippi, (a few hundred yards off,) had been provided for the occasion; but frontier men always have their rifles in hand, and their horses ready, The lawyer hastened his client out of court, and gained for him a good start. " young man, or your dear bought Helen will soon be a widow !" En a minute, followed by some whizzing shots, ite was in the saddle. In another, " horse and rider" were plunged into " toe great lather of waters," swimming side by side. Now came up furiously a dozen riflemen, who threw away their lead at the two distant game. The last news or the romantic act represented him as the happy father of a striving family of " young barbarians," by more than a " Dacian mother"—all far beyond the Mississippi. A Rich Story Some time since, when Jackson coun ty was in its infancy, and the natives were governed by laws by them: enact ed and enforced at will, there was a character among them known as fid dling Joe. This num Joe was a charac ter not at all known among the " cane biters" as being devoid of fear, particu larly upon the subject of future punish ment, being the offspring of rough, though Christian parents. The Methodist Church, with its usual care for those who are unable or unwil ling to employ ministers to purchase Bibles for the dissemination of Christian truths among them, sent a missionary to furnish the inhabitants with Bildts and preach the Gospel for their :bench t. On a bright Sabbath morning, in the pleasant month of May, the minister in passing from one appointment to another, came upon the aforesaid Joe, sitting astride a log, playing a favorite tune of " Soap Suds over the Fence," to his entire satisfaction anil that of " Old Ring," who wagged his tail' in appreciation of his master's endeavors. The minister approached, and quietly addressed the fiddler: " My friend, are you not aware that you are doing wrong—that you are vio lating the teachings of the Bible by playing your fiddle to-day "Fell, I dun'no," said Joe ".Then let me inform you, my friend, that you will be called toaccount for this violation of the ordinance of the Bible at the day of Judgment." Joe ( excitedly;—liold on there, parson, you have hit on the very thing I want to ask you about. I . want to 4now, is there but one day of Judgment?" "No, my friend, there is to 4ebnt one day when all men are to be judged ac cording to-the deeds done in the body." Joe, (resuming his favorite pastime.) "Well, old hoss, you can passon. Tam safe enough if there 'aint but (me day of Judgment, for there's an old cock-eyed Judge, for the County Com t in these parts, who has the brown critters, and will die just afore me, and I'm ready to swear that his case will take up that day, sure." The parson s of course, passed on. • 1- _ fltis) It would appear, from the care fully conducted investigations of M. Heffelseim, that the heart recoils after every contraction, somewhat in the same manner as a cannon which has j ust been fired. The writer states that the moment the ventricles contract and poud their volume of blood into the aort.s and pulMonary artery, the double liquid jet which is thus produced neces sarily determines a movement of the heart in the opposite direction ; that is to say, an actual recoil movement at every pulsation. The reason why, dur ing its contraction, it assumes its proper position, is that the elasticity of the surrounding structures neutralizes the effect of the-recoil. —Children and fools, says the old adage, always tell the truth: "Mother sent me, said a little girl to a neighbor, to ask you to come and take tea with her this evening.' " " Did she say what time, my dear?" " No ma'am ; she only said she would ask you, and then the thing would be off her mind ;• that was all she said. .."Much remains unsung," as the torn-cat said when the brick-bat cut short his serenade, - A Man of Sympathy. am a man of sympathy. The mis fortunes of my fellow mortals have moved me with pity, their wrongs with indignation, and their happiness with gladness. Thus from the days of my childhood have my friends poured into my sympathizing ear the stories of their grief, anger and joy, always sure to awaken in my breast kindred emotions. How often when at Boarding-school have my comrades besought me to conceal in my room the sack of apples which they were suspected of stealing ; and how often, when the sack of apples was discovered, have I—in durance vile, smarting frOm the effects of rattan— heaped imprecations-upon that fruit so productive of woe to the human race, from our grandmother Eve down to the sympathizing schoolboy, Samuel Wil kins. When Dick came to me with a graphic account of Tom's tyranny, ply heart became brimfull of indignation, and when, an hour or two later, Tom came to me with a graphic account of Dick's meanness, how my contempt found vent in words only less vehement than those of Tom's, and how the next day—Tom and Dick having become fast friends again, and having administered to me a sound thrashing for my " double-faced hypocrisy "—did I de plore toy sympathizing nature. It is a matter of no little wonder to Inc that I have found, throughout my life, so many friends involved in pecu niary difficulties, who confide to me their misfortunes in such heartrending terms that I at last fairly implore them to make use of my purse as if it were their own—which request they have so literally complied with, that I have never received a cent of the money back. And now although it may pain me excessively to enter into the details of the great misfortune of my life, yet for the warning of all young men who like myself are possessed of a soul easily moved to pity, f will do violence to my own feelings and relate as calory as pos sible the sorrowful event. I was devoted to Miss Brown, and al though naturally modest, flattered my self that I did not altogether waste my affections on the desert air. On the evening of the 25th of June, l8—(I shall never forget the date,) I-nerved myself and directed my steps tothe residence of Miss Brown, resolved to end my sus pense and offer my heart, etc., etc. But Miss Brown was not at home. As I sorrowfully wended my way homeward, I passed the residence of Miss Robinson, a young lady who was fast approaching that dubious period denominated a "cer tain age." My evil genius prompted me to enter. I found Miss Robinson appar ently sunk to the deepest depths of dis pai r and wepping. Profoundly moved, I approache'd and implored her to con fide to me the cause of her grief, so that if I could not assuage it I might at least mourn with her. She at first refused, but at last moved by entreaties, in broken utterance told me the story of her woe. Mr. Codrington, having ensnared her youthful affections, and having repeat edly avowed his love, now had ceased calling on her, and was paying great at tention to Missßrown. My first impulse was to proceed immediately to castigate the heathen, Mr. Codrington, but re membering that he was reported to be an adept in the manly art, Idesisted, and contented myself with muttering "Base villain !" " —to act thus toward a young and helpless orphan!" she cried. "Weep not," I said, consolingly; will he your father, mother, brother, husband." " Ah !" she exclaimed, sinking upon my shoulder. At this momeut the door opened, and Robinson's Miss elder brother entered. I rose, and Miss Robinson, with the greatest sang froid, said: " Augustus, I believe you are already acquainted with Mr. 'Wilkins, but let me introduce him as your future broth er-in-law." I stood struck with amazement as he grasped my hand. " Mr. Wilkins," he exclaimed, " know of no person I would prefOito you as a brother." " But—" I endeavored to explain. " One who possesses so many quali ties of the head and heart to make him self beloved by all his friends," he con tinued. " But really—" I again commenced, when a gentleman entered the apart " Mr. Smith—Mr. Wilkins." I glared 'furiously at the individual who had thus interrupted me by his un timely visit. He drew back timidly, and sank into a chair. "My future brother, Augustus," soon after left. I am convinced that Miss Robinson must have passed a very pleasant evening. Mr. Smith evidently endeavored to be very agreeable; but in the midst of a sentence, his eye would catch mine fixed upon him with an expression of intense hatred—the sentenee ended in an in distinct murmur, and he moved his chair farther from me. I endeavored to speak ; but my tongue lave to the roof of my mouth. Thus we sat in silence, only broken by convulsive but vain attempts at con versation, while hour after hour passed by. I was determined not to depart until I had au explanation with Miss Robinson, but Mr. Smith, his counte nance strongly expressive of embarrass ment anti fear, sat immovable. lat last gave up the contest and, bowing dubiously to Miss Robinson, stiffly to Mr. Smith, leftthe house. How I hated that man! I have since learned that he thought I was an escaped lunatic, and was determined not to leave Miss Robin son unprotected. No words can portray the agony I experienced fur the next day and night, as I sat in my room contriving means to escape from my involuntary engage ment. But no plan presented itself, and, unable to bear the solitude any longer, on the evening of the 27th I called on Miss Brown. She was "not at home." For four successive even ings I went despairing from her door, but on the fifth I was admitted. Miss Brown greeted me warmly, and intro-. duced me to Mr. Codrington. I was hardly seated before she com menced to congratulate me on my ap proaching marriage with Miss Robin son. In vain did I attempt to deny it. Miss Brown said she-had it on good au thority, and laughingly asserted that it was always the way, but she thought it was nonsense to make any secret of it, and finished the sentence with an ex pressive glance at Mr. Codrigton, which individuars'Vacant countenance was immediately illuminated with a con ceited simper. I could stand it no longer, and hurriedly left. On entering my gloomy 'domicil, I found a note awaiting me, running thus: NUMBER 2. " Mr. WILKINS :—Your conduct is in famous. My brother threatens to horse whip you, but I have restrained him, and he promises to wait until to-morrow. MATILDA ANNA ROBINsoN. " P. S.—l will be at home this eve ning." I no longer hesitated. The next day's steamer carried me to Europe, whence I did not return until I heard of the marriage of Miss Brown to Mr. Codrig ton, and, at a Icing interval, that of Miss Robinson to Mr. Smith. The First Thrnpike Exactly five hundred years have elapsed since a hermit, weary of the labor of having nothing to do, and tired of sitting the (lull day through by the side of the stone which supported the sun dial in front of St. Anthony's' Chapel, on Highgate Hill—that stone which subsequently became known Whittington's—resolved to mend the ways between the summit of the hill , and the low part of the vale ending in Islington. This hermit was a man of some means, and he devoted them to bringing gravel from the top the hill and laying it along the unclean track, which then, as now, bore the name of "Hollow Way." I3y digging out gravel, lie gave a pond to the folks on the hill, where it was greatly needed; and he con tributed cleanliness and security to the vale, where neither 'ittni , hitherto been known. Travelers blessed the hermit who had turned constructor of highways; the pilgrims to St. Anthony's found their access to the shrine of the saint made easy and pleasant by him ; and as for the beneficent hermit himself, his only regret was that, in accomplishing his meritorious act for the good of his fellow men, he had entirely exhausted all his fortune. The king, however, came to the rescue. He set up a toll-bar, and published a decree addressed to " our well-beloved William Phelippe, the her mit," that he and the public might know wherefore. The king declared that lie highly appreciateWthe motive which had induced the hermit to benefit "our people passing through the highway between Highgate and Smethfelde, in many places notoriously miry and deep.," And in order than the new way might be maintained and kept in repair, the king licensed the hermit to take toll, and keep the road in order, and himself in comfort and dignity. This was the first road-bar erected in England ; and William Phelippe, the hermit, was the father of that race of turnpike-keepers whose sovereignty of the roads,within fifteen miles of London, came to an end, after a reign of five cen turies, on the first day of the month of July, of this present year 18tfl.---jeorft hill Magazine. The New York Dry Good Market The importations of foreign dry goods for the spring trade, including the \N"eek: end ing December 7 to January 6, are only about twenty-live per cent. of the amount imported last yea r, the actual figures being, this year, 2,1190,951. against 57,571.966 for the corresponding period in lstt The following comparative table, f(r the weeks ending on the dates name , l, shows the great decrease in this branch of the trade: 1892. 163. Dec. 9 S 838,019 $1,187779 Dee. 16 832,326 1,31;; ' 91 Dec. 23 730,661 1,512, -, ;3 Dec. 30 1,0-13,330 1,.;26,826 • 1'63. Jan. 6 ,303,5!17 ;, - 101 ; 126 5532,3 s Some of the large jobbers are looking round, but importers are not yet disposed to submit their stocks to the inspection of buyers. The business in foreign spring cassimeres is trifling eompared with fernier years, owing to the limited importations caused by the high tariff, which is almost prohibitory. German black doeskins, teen; the same cause, are now superseded, to a great extent, by the domestic article. Im porters are indifferent about selling unless they obtain full prices, being satisfied that the stocks of merchandise brought open the market this spring are likely to be touch less than the demand for consumption. The stocks of domestic goods in the hands of commission merchants are smaller than usual, and every description of desirable merchandise is held firmly it full quota tions. Some of the jobbers are canvassing the market keenly, under the impression that our military success and the prospect of (meting the cotton trade at Savannah furnish a favorable opportunity for buying goods cheap. Their eflhrts to bring clown prices, however, have not been suceessful in desirable goods, although some undesir able lots have been sold under the regular market quotations. Manufacturers and their agog are not dispored to view the opening of the cotton trade of the South as likely in any way to lower prices for the spring trade. The production of the mills is less than half what it was last year, and even if a large amount of cotton was received fro tu Savannah, it could not arrive soon enough in this market to he manu factured into saleable merchandise i , in time for the spring business. 'rho reeei pts of cotton from the South are impeded by in , squabbling between military out horn ies d Treasury - Department agents, and enormous charges cif Government - and other harpies who are preying on till commerce of the country. In New.' Weans the government charges are so ply - willow- , that it is cheaper to cart cotton overland from Red river to Matamoros. The practi cal working of our military occupation of southern cities is to decrease the quantity of cotton which is obtained from the Southern States. More cotton escaped out of the Southern States when every port was strictly block aded than the general receipts since New Orleans canoe into our possession. The of- ficial mismanagement of the cotton trade in New Orleans promises to he repeated in Savannah. Our manufacturers understand this question, and the firmness with which they maintain their present high prices evi dences plainly that they have no fear'rd* any sudden or fair opening of the cotton trade so long as the present Administration con tinues in power. The trade in domestic woolen goods pro- Ceeds with a healthy proportion between supply and demand. The manufacturers are running their mills on full time, but manage to keep light stocks on hand by meeting the market liberally in their prices according to the views of reasonable buyers. Bleached shirtings are dull. Some old lots , of second-rate goods were sold last week below the market quotations, but prices for regular standard qualities are steady. The agents prices for New York Mills are 65c.; Wamsutta, 60e.; Lansdale, 50e.; and Balton, .15e. Brown sheetings are steady at Ole. to GI , . for standard qualities, with limited transac tions. Printing cloths aro st ronger than last week and 28e.0.30e. is asked for standard but without 'effecting sales, There is very Little demand for prints of either old or new styles. The spring styles of Pacific, Rich niond and nmnell arc not yet out. NV( quote Merrimacks 410,,e. net W, and Mc. foi Providence cloth ; Spragues are quoted a 40c.; Mourning Mc, regular ; the American print works ;Pc,. reguhir ; Aliens 36c. net for fancy; 37e. for frocks, and 371 c. for high colors. inghams are:excetlingly ann. 'Therein very little movement in mousseline;. fetal nes. The spring styles are not yet on ex hi Lit ion. Dark goods continue at 42), 6!, 45e ; light work is likely to open at 45c. There is a Steady demand for spring fancy cassimeres, and good styles sell at Lull prices. There is an active demand from the cloth in! , trade for medium grades of fancy coatings, which are not plenty. Brown drills are nominal at 5961 (toe.— Jeans are unsettled. We quote: N atunk eau:, 41lc. for regular, and 45e. for .att,en.; ; Washington satteens, 45e.; Amoskeag light, 4.1ie.; Androscoggin, Bates, and Indian chard, 33ic.; New Market and COLltiflollLal, 34e.1:35e. There is a scarcity of stripes, ticks and denims; prices are the same as last week ; Manchester denims are quoted at 62c. There is a moderate demand for satinets, at about late prices. The demand for army kerseys continues dull, and the price weak ; no important sales could be of at over $1.40 for standard goods. Army flannels are quiet at about j7',c. Kentucky Jeans are more in demand and rather firmer, es pecially the higher grades. There is yet very little doing in carpets. We quote Hartford as follows: Medium superfine, $1 87/ ; superfine, $2; imperial. three-ply, ;:k2,40; extra three-ply, $2,60; Brussels, s3,os@o,2s.—Tuesday' .3 N. Y. IVorid. A bright thought pierces the dark drizzle of nature and of the soul, re solving itself into a white mist, and the mist again into glittering dew, and the dew may fall on flowers.. ,BATEs_or year—per: 2 - square of ten lines; ten per cent. increase.for trutiona of ayOrt. Blum Pattiz; PERSONAL PS NEAL ADVERTISING,. 7 cents aline - for-- the first, and 4 cents for ; each. sub - sequent inser tion. . . . PAT.eac, 3.lEntatrrls and other raver% by the column: One column, 1 year - - $lOO Half doldmn, 1 year__ .. 60 Third column, Iyear, 40 Quarter column - 80 . BUSINESS CARDS, of ten lines or less, one year, , Business Cards, five lines or less, one year, LEGAL AND OTHER NOTICES— Executors' notices Administrators' notices Assignees' notices, Auditors' notices Other "Notices," ten lines, or less, three times, 1.50 pisallanrouo. History Teaches In discussing this important subject, it is not necessary to inquire by what a_ eneies the difficulties which now diVide the States, were projected, en couraged and made potent for evil. It is enough that separation, - alienation and bloodshed is a fact; and that our whole system of government is in im minent danger of being permanently congealed into a cold, formal despotism, or overwhelmed in the wild waves of mad and destructive anarchy. Capi talists and peaceful men will tire of taxes and commotion, the waste of sub stance, and derangement of business ; while the idle, the dissolute and the adventurous will long for a wider field in which to operate. These influences, working upon the classes we have named, may hasten events with un thought-of speed in this country. The Consulate and the Empire in France were the legitimate offspring of the mad passions of blinded partisans, who decked the guillotine and crowded the prisons with those who differed front them, while at the same time all the business and material interests of the country were up-rooted and made deso late. Those who wished to labor, and upon the proceeds of that labor to rear their families, and enjoy the pleasant fruits of that peace which flows from a stable government, were amazed and alarmed at the strides of misrule which had protected them ;• and, eager for any escape from a condition so dreadful, were reatly to clasp the mailed hand, though its grasp was that of a giant.— This brought the Empire in Franco. In England, tln long and desolating war of the "hoses," .luring \Odell the king dom was Illade a waste, and was• was the only occupation that brought a re turn, produced like results upon the producing classes—the men upon whose capital and labor a nation must at all times depend for permanent advance ment. wearied of the strife. The mad ambition of the rival houses of Lancaster and York grew distasteful to those who held their lives and property at the mercy of a mob rather than under the protection of laws administered by a legal and well-established govern ment ; and Hien came the change in England and the founding; of a different dynasty. In both cases the people needed repose ; they hungered for peace and the protection or hiw, under which they could pursue in safety their or inary occupations ; and they accepted any change that would bring the de sired end. These plain teachings of history should nut be lost upon us at this sim ilar crisis in our national progress. We are not essentially different from the peo ple of other countries. Peace and pros perity depend upon law and order here, as touch as they do in France and Eng land. The mad ambition of aspiring men will take the same direction in this country as in other lands. Labor will not always willingly consent to be the packhorse of 'unitary ambition, nor will the capital of the nation be afraid to lift its eyes for help to those hilltops on which first rest the sunbeams of coming succor. The merchant and the mechanic, the laborer and the artist, here, as in other lands, may cease to dilibr as to mere theories of Z. - 06 - 111 1 - , WI - `ll 4.1 1) - 1 , 6 ). government, and come nearer hi what they most need, a government that will awl Call 011 . 111 peace, and insure a return W.; their exertions that is not made almost valueless by taxes and levies. This was the issue forced upon the people of France by the anar chy that followed the Revolution—au issue springing naturally wit of con vulsed soeiely—and engulfed labor in that nation in ITU:I; an issue forced upon the people of England by the devastating \Var of the Roses. What is there in philosophy, history or reason to warrant belief that "like causes will not pro duce like results" in this republic? But how shall the pendingdifficulties between the States be settled, and the lung and bloody experience of France and England avoided '.".rhe answer is, not by a continuance of strife and com motion, of attacks upon property and aggressions upon peace and repose, un less we wish to repeat the history of those lands, and change our form of govern ment in all its essential elements and at tributes. In France the people willingly exchanged a miscalled republic, which gave no peace to the citizen, no security to labor and property, for a monarchy, under which they hoped for both these blessings, and the strife of the Lancas ter and York houses was terminated by the elevation to power of a different line, in whose more potential presence they expected to enjoy the protection of law and responsibleauthority. But such a consumniation is not that which the Ilion people of this country desire. 'they wish for and desire peace ; they pray for a return of the time when men will be secure in their persons and pro !wily Irian the rude hand of military :rung; whim' tile labor and capital of the country (!11.11 be employed in benefit ing mankind, in developing the wonder ells resources of the nation, rather than in paying men for cutting the throats of their brother men. But they wish that IR= all these blessings may come without such a change as that which was made necessary in France and England. Un ler the old Union, beneath the protection of the Constitution of 1798, the nation . had peace and prosperity ; property and. personal right:- were secure; and hence the whole patriotic heart of the nation' is heating l'or a return to the old system. 'rile real 11i011 sentiment of the nation is the ark in which is deposited the hopes of the people for the Mture ; and no settlement of the pentlingdifticulties should be thought of, or, if effected, would be permanent which is not founded upon this sentiment. If the revolted States are to be brought back in hi the 170100, the wishes and opinions of that class of their citizens who favor such return must be consulted.' It would beovorse than idle, it would be wicked and crimi nal for those having power, to force upon the Union men of the South terms and conditions which are not tolerated by the spirit of the original compact, and which they cannot accept without a plain and humiliating abandonment of their political rights and personal manhood. Even if such conditions could be fin - ced upon those who have al ready made sacrifices of no ordinary character for the 01(1 Union, the minor ity would be so large and potential as to make a peace, effected under such auspices, or LLle value. This Union sentiment in the revolted States was true to the old Union ' and'only .sundered when Abolition legislation left it no inch of constitutional ground upon which to stand and combat sec tional action within the Southern States. And now, when it is proposed to settle' this disturbance, the same mad policy must not be allowed to intrude its Gor gon head and turn men's hearts to stole. If we would have the Union, we must use Union means togetit. We must deal with the real friends of the Union, and on a Union platform.. It will not do to turn a meeting of com missioners empowered 'to discuss and settle difficulties with reference to the rights of the States under the Union, into an Abolition meeting. The true and sincere Union men alone are competent to deal with this matter; and they will propose no terms that are inconsistent with the rights of thesever al States—nor which may not be accept ed by the true Union men of the nation in South Carolina and in Massachusetts, in Delaware and in California. This is the true starting point of all acticin look ing towards an early, honorable and. permanent settlement of our difficulties. The honest, patriotic men of the nation must accept and act upon this principle, or woe betide us as a people and a na tion. Let us be warned in time by the voices speaking in the history of France and England.—Age. te,.. A Western paper says : " we were in hopes to present to our readers, this week a marriage and adeath asoriginal matter - , but a storm broke up the" wed ding and the doctor was taker nick, so the.patitnt iecovered," . ,
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers