I n t Pfrritrltsr' .P,1jE1ia8 5 i6,14),E 1 17326 .. 7.WEDiTZSDA.Y . , COOPEA, I S A NDER.SON et CO J. M. COOPZIto s. G lUMOX. Al MO) S.U,MERSON QPx 'A *O TON. TEEMS--Two Dollars and Fifty Cents per annum, payable all oases In advance. OFF/CE-SOUTHWEST CORNER OP CENTEE SQ,1:11011E. "Kir All letters on business should be ad dressed tO COOPER. SANDERSON & CO. Titerarm. TWO LIVES IN ONE. A Stster's Story or a Brother. More than fifty years ago my brother Stephen and I lived together, in a vil lage about ten miles south of London, where he was in practice as a surgeon. Stephen was thirty-two, I eighteen.— We had no relations but a sister, five or six years older than myself, and well married in London. Stephen was a solitary and studious man, living some what apart from his neighbors, and standing almost in a fatherly position towards me. Through the years we had lived together no one had thought of his marrying. Thus it was when the events I have to tell began. The house next to ours was taken by a Mr. Cameron, a feeble looking man, rather past middle age, with one daughter, Marian by_ name. How shall I describe her, the most beautiful creature I ever saw ? She was perhaps twenty years old ; I never knew precisely. A tall, slight form, fair complexion, dark chestnut eyA and hair, and an expression more like that of an angel than a human being.— Though I was much struck with her ap pearance, Stephen did uot seem to notice it ; and we mighataave remained unac quainted with ti`iem forever, but that he was required to help Mr. Cameron over an awkward stile opposite our house. Acquaintance once made, they „soon grew fainiliar ; for they had two feelings in common, a love of tobacco and Swedenborgianism. Many a sum mer evening did they pass, smoking the one and talking the other, Marian some times joining in, for she generally walk ed with them, while my chest, which was weak at that time, kept me at home. One day they quitted Stephen at the gate, and as he entered the door I said to him : "How lovely Marian is! lam never tired of looking at her?" "Look at her while you may," said he ; " she has not three years to live." It was only too true. She had some dreadful complaint—aneurism, I think it was—which must carry her off in the flower of her days. Stephen told me that he had consulted the most eminent doctors without getting any hope ; and the emotion, rare enough in him, that he displayed, told me that he loved Marian. I said no word to him about it, I knew better ; but I saw with what dreadful doubts he was perplexed. Ex citement might shorten Marian's life— such an excitement as a declaration of love from him might be of material in jury; and even if it did not prove so, .how Could he condemn himself to the prolonged torture of seeing the life of a beloved wife ebb away, day by day'.'— Besides, he did not think she cared for him. I, who had watched her ceaseless ly, knew that she loved him with her whole heart. He struggled with him- self fiercely ; but he won the fight. He left home for six weeks, and returned, looking older and paler; but lie had learned to mention her name without his voice quivering, and to touch her hand without holding his breath hard. She was pining away under the influ ence of his changed manner, and I dared not help my two darlings to be happy. An unexpected aid soon came. Mr. Cameron, who was in bad health when we first saw him, died suddenly. Poor Marian's grief was terrible to see. Her father was dead ; Stephen, as she thought, estranged; and there was no one else in the world who cared wheth er she lived or died, except myself. I brought her home with me, and was with her hourly until Mr. Cameron's funeral. How we got through that time I hardly know. Then came the necessary inquiries into his affairs. He had died, not altogether poor, but in re duced circumstances, leaving Marian au annuity that would scarcely give her the luxuries her state of health required. And where was she to live and what to do? Stephen was the sole executor, the one advisor to whom she could look. He took two days and nights to consid er, and then oflered her his hand and home. At first she could not believe that his offer arose from anything but pity and compassion ; but when he had told her the story of the last few months and called me to bear witness to it, a great light seemed to come into her eyes, and a wonderful glow of love, such as I had never seen, over her face. I left them to themselves that evening, till Stephen tapped at the door of my room, and told me all—nothing, in fact, but what I knew before. In theirease there was little cause for delay. Trousseaux were not the important matters in my day that they are in my grandchildren's, and Marian was married to Stephen, in her black-, within a month after her father's funeral. =The next few months were a happy time for all of us. Marian's health im proved greatly. The worried, frighten ed look she used to wear left her face as she recovered from the depression caused by her constant anxiety about her father, and the loss of rest she suffered in attending upon him at night. It seemed as if she was entirely recover ing; and Stephen, if he did not lose his fears, at least was not constantly occu pied with them. How happy we used to look forward to the future, for Stephen was beginning to save money ; and many were our day dreams about professional eminence for him, and fashionable life in Loudon, partly for Marian, butmost ly for me. I have tried fashionable life in London since, but I never found it so happy as our days in that dear old Sur rey village. Well, our happy time did not last long. Marian caught a cough and cold as the winter came on, and was soon so ill as to be taken to London for advice. Stephen came back alone, with a weary, deathly-looking face. Marian had bro ken a small blood-vessel on the journey —not anything serious in itself, but em nious enough. They were to go at once to a warmer climate—not a.day to be lost. Sorrowfully I packed up the neces sary things, and went with Stephen to London the next day, to bid good-bye to Marian, who had been forbidden to return home. The same afternoon they were on board a trading vessel, bound to Leghorn. Luckily, Marian was a good sailor and well used to ships, for she had made more than one voyage to • Madeira with her father. Much as I wished to go with them, and much as the wished it too, it was outof the ques tiol Stephen had saved but little mo ney, and could hardly see how he and Marian were to live, unless he could make practice somewhere among the English abroad, and his taking me also was not to be thought of. I was to live for the present with my married sister. It was very sore to part with Stephen, with whom I had lived almost all my • life; it was sorer still to part with Ma . Tian, whO had been more than a sister .10 me ever slum I paw* her. Stephen. . . . . .. .. ... . . . ._. fie,' .:.. .: . . ; $ I:i d i . • .... . ...,... , , ::: .• '..,i_ ...... .... - . , • . , L'-'- - --.."-- •' ' ' • ' , a .t.i. -.).,:, 1.1 . :,L i '1 , ••. • • • Ir./ 'O. !-:.'...-'l. e.., - ' A. .• . .. . - :-- •.! .1 •:.: I . : I. . • .: .. , ,bz.,t , . , =:::_ - :r ,_-..': .. 7 . - .1. , .: - . -, lii - a• ' Al u , 1 7, ~, .: .. .-: : ,' , . • .. • - . . . . . . . . ... . . VOLUME 66 and I were nearly overcome with emo tion ; but she was calm and silent, with; an intent, wistful look about her lively face that has haunted me all my life since. I can see it now when I shut my eyes, though it is fifty years ago. Need I say that I never saw her again? I went to my sister's house, and began the fashionable life I used to wish for.— It was not all that I pictured it, though it was pleasant enough to occupy me in the daytime ; but at night I longed sad ly for my darlings. Stephen wrote letters full of hope, and talked of returning after spending two years in Italy. Marian, too, wrote fa• vorably of herself, and my anxiety be gan to lessen. There was another reason for this at the same time—my late hus band, the friend and partner of my sister's husband, was at that time be ginning to pay his addresses to me; and the tender troubles of my own case made me careless of others. Summer came round again ; 4 one day as I was half wishing for my country home again, a letter arrived from Stephen. Marian's complaint was at a crisis, and a great change would take place, one way or the other, in a few days. I was to go home, put the place in order, and be ready to receive them. I did not know till afterwards that Marian had begged to be allowed to die at home, if the change was for the worse ; if it had been for the better, there would have been no reason for her staying abroad. Well, I went home, arranged every thing, and waited for them. Three weeks passed (the usual interval), and no letter ; a month, and I supposed they were travelling slowly to avoid fatigue. On the day five weeks after I had re ceived that last letter, I was sitting alone, rather late in the evening, when a quick step sounded in the road out- side, and Stephen came to the gate, opened it, entered the house, and sat down in silence. He was dressed as usual, and looked tired and travel-stain ed; but there was no sorrow in his face, and I felt sure that Marian must be safe. I asked him where she was. He said she was not with him. " Have you left her in Italy ?" I ask- " She is dead," he answered, wallow a shadow of emotion." "41ow ? Where ?" I was beginnin_ to question him, but he stopped me. "Give me something to eat and drink,' he said : " I have walked from London and want to sleep." I brought him what he wanted. He bade me good night ; and as I saw he wished it, I left him and went to bed, full of grief, but even more of wonder that he, who truly loved his wife if ever man did, could speak of her, not a month after her death, without his voice faltering or his face changing in the least. " To-morrow will solve the ques tion," I said to myself, as, weary with crying, I felt sleep coming over me.— But to-morrow did not solve the ques tion. He told me as before, without emotion, what he, wished me to know, and from that moment we spoke no more on that subject. In every respect but this he was my own Stephen of old —as kind and thoughtful as ever, only altered by a rather absent and abstract• ed manner. I thought at first that he was stunned by his loss, and would rea lize it more painfully afterward ; but months passed on without a change.— He used Marian'schair, or things of her work, or sat opposite to her drawings without seeming to notice them; indeed, it was as if she dropped out of his life entirely, and left him as he was before he knew her. The only difference was, that he, a man of sedentary habits, took a great deal of exercise, and I knew that he kept laudanum in his bedroom. At this time my lover was pressing me to marry him, and with much diffi culty I consented to tell Stephen about it, though I had no intention of leaving him. To my surprise heseemed pleased. I told him that I would never leave him alone, not for all the husbands in world; but he would not hear me. " I think it is your duty to marry him, Margaret," he said " you love him and have taught him to love you, and you have no right to sacrifice him to me." "My first duty is to you, Stephen. I will not leave you alone." " I see that I must explain to you," he said, after a pause. " When you leave me I shall not be alone." " Who will be with you ?" I asked, wondering. " Ma; n:" I,started as if I had been shot, for I thought he must surely be mad ; but he continued, quite calmly and as usual, without emotion. " She died at mid-day. Till night I did not know what I did. I felt stun ned and broken and dying myself; but at last, worn out as I was with watching and sitting up, I fell asleep ; and by God's mercy she came to me in my dreams, and told me to be comforted.— The next night she came again, and from that time to this has never failed me. Then I felt it was my duty to live; that if my life was valueless to myself, it was not so to you. So I came home dare say it is only a freak of my im agination. - Perhaps I even produce au allusion by an eflbrt of my will ; but however that is, it has saved me from going mad ,Or killing myself. How does she come? Always as she was in that first summer that we spent here, or in our early time in Italy; always cheerful and beautiful, always alone, always dressed as she used to dress, talking as she used to talk—not an angel, but her self. Sometimes we go through a whole day of pleasure, sometimes she only comes and goes ; but no night has ever yet been without her; and indeed I think that her visits are longer and dearer as I draw nearer to her side again I sometimes ask myself which of my two lives is the real one. I ask myself now, and cannot answer. I should think that the other was, if it were pot that while I am in this I recollect the other, and while* I am in the other I know nothing beyond. And this is why my sorrow is not like that of others in my position. I know that no night will pass without my seeing her; for my health is good enough and I never fail to sleep. Sleeplessness is the only earthly evil I dread, now you are pro vided for. Do not think me hard to you in not having told you this before. It is too sacred a thing to be spoken of without necessity. Now write to your husband that is to be, and tell him to come here." I did so, and the preparations for my marriage began. Stephen was very kind ; but his thoughts wandered, fur ther and further every day. I spoke to a doctor, a friend of his, about him, but it seemed that nothing really ailed him. I longed, almost to pain, to ask him more about Marian ; but he never gave me an opportunity. If I approached the subject he turned the talk hi another direction, and my old habit of submia- L don to him prevented me from going on. Then came my wedding day. Ste phen gave me away, andsat by my side at the breakfast. He seemed to hang over me more tenderly than ever, as he put me into the carriage and took leave of me. The last thing I did as I leaned out of the carriage window was to tell him to be sure to be my first visitor in my own home. "No, Margaret," he said, with a sad smile; "say good-bye to me now, my work is done." Scarcely understanding what he said,l bade him,good-bye ; and it was not until my husband asked me what it meant, that I remembered his strange look and accent. I then felt half frightened about him, but the novelty of my first visit abroad made me forget my fears. The rest is soon told. The first letter I received from England said that on the very morning after my marriage he had been found dead and cold in his bed. He had died without pain, the doctor said, with his right hand clasp ing his left arm above the wrist, and holding firmly, even in death, a circlet of Marian's hair. THE OLD CLOCK; 0 R, Ralph Vane's Wooing The sunset was piling its temples of fire and amethyst over the dark hills that seemed to touch the flaming West —the whipporwill, moaning its plain tive cadence on the ruinous fence be yond the old mill, was answered by the ripple of the stream in the glen below, and the whole landscape was wrapped in the sweet, dreamlike repose of a slim- tiler twilight Ralph Vane had stood waiting at the mossy stile for two long hours—waiting and watching in vain. "She is coming at last—at last!" he muttered between his set teeth, as a slight rustling in the bushes struck his ear. No—it was but a robin darting home ward to its nest, halt' terrified at being out so late; and once more the deep, peaceful quiet brooded above the silent meadows. " It is too late," he said, as the village church spire chimed nine. " She will not come now, and I have the ineffable satisfaction of knowing that I am a fool ! She never loved me—she never cared for me, else she would have come here to tell me good-bye. It mays be the last time she will ever look upon my face. Much she cares, the pretty, deceiving little coquette—yet I fancied, blind blockhead that I have been, that the loved me." He dashed a suspicious drop of mois ture from his eyelashes as he spoke, and plunged iu the dense, fragrant woods, as if he would fain bring him self away from human ken. " Such magnificent wild strawberries as I have found down in the pasture lot, mother. Only look!" And Rachel Bensley held up her apron full of scarlet berries blushing through silver-green leaves. She was a pretty, rosy girl, with shilling black hair, and brown eyes that had the velvet softness of a gazelle's —a rustic beauty, whose sunbonnet was tied as coquettishly under her chin as if it had been a French chip hat that had cost forty dollars. " Put them down, daughter," said Mrs. Bensley. "Widow Moore has just been here, and what do you think she says ?" "I don't know." "She says that Ralph Vane has en listed and gone off to the wars. He left the village last night." Rachel sat down, the rosy bloom dy ing out of her cheeks and leaving a ghastly pallor b4ind. "Mother," she wailed, " do you be lieve that it is true ?" "I am afraid so, daughter. Do not fret—he isn't worth it, to leave you in this sort of way—you that he was as good as engaged to ! Oh, Rachel, 1 couldn't have believed it!" Rachel laid aside her bonnet, and a gan mechanically to pinch the green stems from her strawberries, but she said no more. From that moment she never mentioned Ralph Vane's name ; all the tears she shed were wept in se cret. And Farmer Bensley, , leaning agains the porch pillar, drew a long breath o relief. 'She don't take it very hard aftera he muttered, "I'm glad it's well over. Ralph Vane never would have made a good husband for her." Three years passed away, and li Captain Vane was walking up a crowded city street, absorbed in hisown meditations, when suddenly he stopped. " Now what was it brought the wide old kitchen at Farmer Bensley's so sud denly to my mind just then ?" he thought. " I could take my oath I saw the old clock, just as it used to stand above the chintz-covered settee. And —hallo ! there it is !" There it was—ticking monotonously away in the window of a dingy little second-rate pawn broker's establishmen t on the corner where two narrow streets met. Following the first impulse of the mo ment, he opened the door and went in. " What is the price of that old flish ioned clock in the window?" he asked. " That clock?" said the Jewish-look ing individual in attendance. " Well, you can have that clock cheap, bein' there's somethin' ails the striking ap paratus, and it was such a shackly old thing we didn't care to liave it over hauled. Two dollars for that clock is sayin' pretty fair." " I should think so," observed Capt. Vane, "as it probably cost no more than than that when new. However, I'll take it—for the sake of old times," he murmured to himself. "Yes, sir ; I'll do it up directly." "By the way, where did you get it ?" he asked, with an affectation of care lessness which he by no means felt. "Well, sir, it was left here by a re spectable old female, about six weeks ago. I believe I've got her address somewhere, for they've brought a good many little items here one time and an other. Oh, here it is—Rebecca Bennley, No. Barker street. . Ralph Vane laid down his two-dollar bill and walked out of,the store, with the little clock under his arm. " Why did I ask any questions ?" he muttered. " What axe they to me? And yet it gives me a keen pang to think of Rachel's mother being destitute and in want When I heard of Farmer Bensley's death I never fancied they would be left in indigent circumstances. How strange the wooden clock looked on the carved marble mantel of his ele gant parlor at the St. Ambrose Hotel— how singularly its solemn "tick, tick," blended with the silver chime of bells and the rumble of omnibusses on the pavement beloW.• Yet Captain Vane LANCASTER, PA., WEDNESDAY MORNING, JUNE 21, 1865. felt his heart soften as he looked at the time-worn dial. "I wonder what ails the striking ma chinery," he thought, opening the little door. "linsed to haves genuine Yankee facility for tinkering—perhaps it has not entirely deserted me yet." He drew out the dusty weights—they were wedged in by some stiff paper; he examined it more closely. " The very letter I wrote to Rachel Beasley, three years ago—the letter entrusted to her father's care, with the seal unbroken still." A flood of light seemed to break in upon his throbbing brain. " Jacob Bensley !" he ejaculated be tween his set teeth ; " may Heaven for give you for this deed of treachery, for it seems to me that I never can !" How late is it, Rachel ?" Six o'clock, mother. Are you better, now ?" Yes, but my head aches still." " I will come and bathe it for you mother, when I have finished this piece of work." " You are tired, dear—l am afraid you overtilark yourself. If I could only help youbut my sight fails with every day. 0, my daughter! what is to be come of you when I am gone ! ' "God only knows !" sighed Rachel, her fair head drooping over that endless basket of work. " Mother, I dare not fancy what the future may bring forth." She rose to open the door, as a gentle tap sounded on the panel4—a tall officer in the uniform of a captain in the Fed eral army stood before her astonished eyes. " Rachel!" " Ralph Vane!" " Nay, I scarcely wonder that you look coldly at me, Rachel, but I have been true to you all these years. Here is the letter I gave your father for you, three years ago this very summer. When you gave me no answer either by look or word, I fancied you had been playing with my affections. Now I see how erron eously I have judged you. Rachel, will you read the letter now ? Will you give me the answer I waited for, so long and vainly, the night before I enlisted?" She broke the seal with trembling hands, and glanced over the contents of the time-yellowed note. " Oh ! Ralph !" she murmured, burst ing into tears, "can you ever forgive me for the hard thoughts I have cherished towards you ?" "Then you will be my wife, now Rachel ?" " I cannot tell you how gladly—how willingly !" " Will you give her to me, Mrs. Bens ley ?" said the tall soldier, kneeling on one knee beside the widow's chair. "May God deal with you, as you deal with my child, Ralph Vane!" uttered Mrs. Bensley, solemnly. Late into the glorious moonlight of the August night they sat and talked. Rachel learned that riches and honor had been showered upon her betrothed husband from fortune's liberal hand since he had left the little New Eng- ldn,d village and " gone soldiering," and he in4ils turn listened to the sad story of old Jacob Bensley's failure and death, and his widow's poverty. And then he told them how the an• tique fingers of the little old-fashionod clock had guided him back to the heart whose constant love wasto be his wife's sunshine henceforward and forever. And the most treasured ornament in Mrs. Captain Vane's exquisite boudoir is a wooden clock, time-stained, and rudely carved. Yet she would not ex change it for the costliest time-piece of alabaster and gold, that ever sparkled through Tiffany's plate-glass windows. The Doctor and ills Patient. Of all the professions, trades and oc cupations that engage the minds of men, that of a physician is the most diversified. In locating he has to find out the constitution of those he is called on to visit, for it is frequently the case that success may be owing more to a deep and thorough knowledge of the constitution of the patient than mere common place application. As anlllus tration of this, we will relate an anecdote of one of our physicians, who "If he finds physic will not cure, tries other means as the means may require." Dr. D. had long been attending phy sician of a lady long past her teens, af fected with certain disorders incident to a want of occupation and care of a fami- ly. She sends for the doctor in season and out of season ; he rushes out in a 2.40 pace, and finds his patient, physi cally, perfectly well, but sad and lonely and, of course, afflicted with the blues. All he can do is to administer a "tinc ture," with a few drops of peppermint, and the patient, is well for a day. On the occasion, a cold, blustering night, the doctor had just turned in, wrapping himself snuggly in his blan kits, with the hope of a quiet sleep, when a loud rap aroused him. "Who is sick?" inquired the doctor murmuring. "Miss Sally Strickland, sir, she's Most dead; expect she'll die before you get there." " I'll be along," says the doctor, and exclaiming to himself, " I'll try to cure her this time." The doctor plods along through mud and mire, cold and rain, studying his application. When he arrived at the dwelling of Miss Sally he found her, as usual, in a rather depressed state o mind. " Doctor," she said, feebly, " I expect to die every moment. lam very low. Can you do anything for me?" The doctor felt her pulse; nothing the matter, merel l ifanted company. The doctor becom mmunicative. " Miss Sally, I w having a terrible dream when your servant awoke me. " I dreamed I was dead," continued he doctor, lower regions, where I met the Old Scratch, who invited me to view his dominions. The Inmates were engaged in different occupations—some playing csAds, others swindling their neighbors ; insane, all the pursuits they followed during life they continued there. When he got through he proclaimed to the four quarters of his dominions that all should go to bed,.' for,' said he, Sally Strickland will be here directly and there'll be no sleep in hell for a month.'" The doctor's speedy departure was in creased to flight by thesightof a broom stick flourishing actively in his rear, but the remedy was effectual. Donald McShorb, formerly in the rebel service, and captured while trying to esca¢e to Scotland, has been pardoned by the President before the promulgation of the sentence of the court martial by which he has been tried. Thirty buildings—nearly all the busi ness portion of Brantford, C. W.—were de stroyed by fire yesterday.. The property 113 estimated to be worth from $lOO,OOO to $125,- 000. lnsured for $50,500. The lire is sup posed to have been the work ofartiitcendlary. " Out again to-night?" said Mrs. _Hayes, fretfully, as the husband rose from the tea table and donned his great coat. " Yes, I have an engagement with Moore ; I shall bein early; haves light in the library. Good night ;" and with a careless nod, William Hayes left thn room. " Always the way," murmured Liz zie Hayes, sinking back upon a sofa. " Out every night. I don't believe he cares one bit about me; now, and yet we've been married only two years. No. man can have a more orderly house, I am sure, and I never go anywhere, I am not a bit extravagant, and yet I don't believe he loves me any more. Oh ! dear, why is it ? I wasn't rich, he didn't marry me for my money, and he must have loved me then—why does he treat me with so much neglect ?" and with her mind filled with such fret ful queries, Lizzie Hayes fell asleep on the sofa. Let me paint her picture as she lay there. She was a blonde, with a small, graceful figure, and a very pretty face. The hair, which showed by its rich waves its natural tendency to curl, was brushed smoothly back, and gathered into a rich knot at the back ; " it was such a bother to curl it," she said ; her cheek was pale, and the whole face wore a discontented expression. Her dress was a neat chintz wrapper, but she wore neither collar nor sleeves ; " What's the useof dressingup just for William ?" Lizzie slept soundly for two hours, and then awoke suddenlyebShe sat up, glanced at the clock, and sighed dreari ly at the prospect of the long interval still to be spent alone before bed time. The library was just over the room in which she sat, and down the furnace flue, through the register, a s p ice came to the young wife's ears; it was her husband's. Well, Moore, what's a manto do? I was disappointed, and I must have pleasure somewhere. Who would have fancied that Lizzie Jarvis, so pretty, sprightly and loving, could change to the fretful dowdy she is now? Who wants to stay at home to hear his wife whining all the evening about her troublesome servants, and her head ache, and all sorts of bothers? She's got the knack of that drawling whine so pat, 'pon my life I don't believe she can speak pleasantly." Lizzie sat as if stunned. Was this true? She looked in the glass. If not exactly dowdy, her costume was cer tainly not suitable for an evening, with only William to admire. She rose, and softly went to her room with bitter sor rowful thoughts, and a firm resolution to win back her husband's heart, and then, his love regained, to keep it. The next morning William came into the breakfast room, with his usual careless manner, but a bright smile came on his lips as lie saw Lizzie. A pretty chintz with neat collar and sleeves of snow muslin, with a wealth of soft, full curls, had really metal:ter phosed her; while the blush her hus band's admiring glance called up to her cheek did not detract from her beauty. At first William thought there must be a guest, but glancing around he found they were alone. " Come, William, your coffee will be stone cold," said Lizzie, in a cherry pleasant voice. " It must cool till you sweeten my breakfast with a kiss," said her hus band, crossing the room to her side, and Lizzie's heart bounded, as she recogniz ed the old lover's tone and manners. Not one fretful speech, not one com plaint fell upon William's ear through the meal. The news Paper, the usual solace at that hour, lay untouched, as Lizzie chatted gaily on every pleasant subject she could think of, warming by his grateful interest and cordial manner. "You will be at home to dinner ?" she said as lie went out. " Can't to-day, Lizzie ; I have busi ness out of town, but I'll be home early to tea. Have something substantial, for I don't expect to dine. Good bye," and the smiling look, warm kiss and lively whistle, were a marked contrast to his lounging, careless gait the previ ous evening. " I am in the right path," said Lizzie in a low whisper. "0 ! what a fool I have been for two years!" "A fretful dowdy." " William, you shall never say that again." Lizzie loved her husband with real wifely devotion, and her lips would quiver as she thought of his confidence to his friend Moore ; but like a brave little woman she stifled back the bitter feelings, and tripped off to perfect her plans. The grand Flano, silent for months, was opened, and the linen covers taken front the furniture, Lizzie thinking, He shan't find any parlors more attractive than his own, I am de termined." Tea time came, and William came with it. A little figure, in a tasty, bright, silk dress, smooth curls, and oh! such a lovely blush and smile, stood ready to Welcome William as he came in ; and tea time passed as the morning meal had done. After tea, there was no movement, as usual, toward the hat rack. William stood up beside the table, lingering, chatting, till Lizzie also rose. She led him to the light, warm parlors, in their pretty glow of tasteful arrangement, and drew him down beside her on the sofa. He felt as if he was courting over again, as he watched her fingers busy with some fancy needle-work, and listened to the chserful voice he had loved so dearly two years before. " What are you making, Lizzie?" "A pair of slippers. Don't you re member how much you admired the pair I worked for you, oh! ever so long ago?" " I remember; black velvet with flowers on them. I used to put my feet on the fenders and dream of blue eyes and bright curls, and wished time would move faster, to the day when I could bring my bonnie wee wife home, to make music in my house." Lizzie's face saddened for a moment, as she thought of the last two years, and how little music she had made for this loving heart, gradually weaning it from its al legiance ; then she said : " I wonder if you love music as much as you did then ?" "Of course I do. I, often drop in at Mrs. Smith's for nothing else than to hear the music." "and descended into the The Way to Keep Him. " I can play and sing better than Miss Smith," said Lizz4 half pouting. " But you always say you are out of practise when ask you." " I had the piano tuned this morn ing. Now, open it, and 7 will see how it sounds." William obeyed joyfully, and, tossing aside her sewing, Lizzie took the piano stool. She had a very sweet voice, not powerful, but most musical, and was a very fair performer on the piano. "Ballads, L . 'ie?" "Oh ! yes, I know you dislike opera music in a parlor." One song after another, with a noc turne, or lively instrumental piece, oc casionally, between them, filled up another hour pleasantly. The littlemantle clock struck *yen! "Eleven! I thought it was about nine.—l ought to apologize, Lizzie, as I used to do, for staying so long; and I can truly say, as I did then, that the time has passed so pleasantly I can scarcely believe it is so late.' The piano was closed, Lizzie's work put in the basket, and William was ready to go up stairs; but, glancing back, he saw his little wife near the fire-place, her hands clasped, her head bent and large tears falling from her eyes. He was beside her in an instant. "Lizzie, darling, are you ill? What is he matter?" "Oh! William, I have been such a bad wife! I heard you tell Mr. Moore last evening, how I had disappointed you; but I will try to make your home pleasant, indeed I will, if you will for give and love me." "Love you? Oh! Lizzie, you can't guess how dearly I love you!" As the little wife lay down that night she thought, " I have won him back again ! Bet ter than that, I have learned the way to keep him!" Physiological Economy. From some statistics recently pub lished with reference to Massachusetts one gets some suggestive facts. Among some figures in relation to births, we find that the number of children born of purely American parents is about 13,000, and those born of foreign parents something over 14,500. The figures also show that the number of births among native Americans is steadily decreasing, while that of the foreign population is as steadily increasing. There is a comforting assurance in the contemplation of these, facts that goes far towards dissipating the fear, enter tained by many, that Puritanism is about to inundate this continent.. One can notice in this decrease in the native New England stock the working of one of nature's wisest provisions. We find in examination tile economy of annual reproduction that fecundity in a species is in the reverse proportion to its harm fulness. Lions, tigers,elephants,hyenas, and other beasts of destructive natures, propagate with difficulty and only at long intervals. On the other hand, animals whose existence is of value to the world multiply with rapidity an to an extent that defies extinction Man is only a sort of superioranimal; and there is no reason to doubt that nature has embodied in the economy of the human race the same provisions which are used to regulate the increase of inferior species. It may be that pre cisely the same means are not employed in the case of rapacio4and destructive races of men that are used to hinder the undue increase of the same types among the lower orders of animal life. Thus, while the constitutional charac teristics of the blood-thirsty tiger or the destructive elephant prevent procrea tion beyond a certain and limited ex tent, the same result is reached by different, but not less sure means, in the cases of destructive classes of man kind. If we take the case of the Ashantee race in Africa, we find that in place of putting the -limit to increase in the physical constitution of this people, it has been placed in their own inherent barbarity and in the hostility of man kind. The Ashantee mother brays her children in a mortar and consumes them with all the gusto thatattends the swallowing by civilized people of a toothsome bonbon or a bouillon con structed by a first-class artist of the kitchen. By thus eating a majority of the children, and by a continuous sys tem of internicine strife, Ashauteeism is prevented from assuming proportions that would inflict injury upon the hu man race. In somewhat the same manner is be neficent nature providing for the re pression, and possibly the extinction, of a subdivision of civilization which, having performed all thegood of, which it was capable, has latterly become ag gressive, noxious, destructive. This manner differs from that adopted to wards Ashanteeism ; for, while the fe male of the latter race eats her offspring, and thus prevents increase, the same end is reached in the case of the other by the absence of births. What might be called positive processes are used to prevent the spread of Ashanteeism— that is, children are born, butare served up as a ragout for the maternal parent. In the ease of the other, negative pro cesses are made use of—that is, children are not born because there is a decrease in marriages, in powers of reproduction and in a desire for a union of the sexes In place of putting " rats and mice' in her front hair, and cultivating her back-hair, and her appearance and emo tions with reference to securing a hus band, the Massachuestts miss puts on a pair of spectacles,and cultivates theology and philanthropy with reference to the amelioration of the condition of the odorousbondmen of the south. In place of gravitating towards maternity, the puritan daughters tend towards school teaching. Instead of anxiously anticipating the time when she shall love, care for, and educate her owu children, the New Eng land maiden looks forward to the time when she shall be permitted to super intend a few dozen young niggers some where in the sunny south. It is by a substitution of school marm instincts in place of those of maternity that nature has provided for a repres sion, and possibly the extinction, of Puritanism, In the estimation of the women of New England, a man is not regarded in the light of a husband and a possible father; but rather as areform story sort of an institution, with an umbrella, and his hair behind his ears, and his thoughts mainly intent upon some sort of a missionary enterprise to the barbarians outside of Boston and its dependencies. Men with broad shoul ders, deep chests, clear eyes, and who develop muscularity and perpendicu larity, are unappreciated and usually at a discount in New England. The man with spectacles,and a"pallid brow," and an intellectual "stoop" in his nar row shoulders, is the beau ideal of the Massachusetts woman, as in some dis tant southern school room she reflects a little upon manly men and a good deal upon the future of the woolly flock that surround her. We warn the Puritans that they have by their aggressiveness excited the hos tility of nature, and that nature is al ready at work environing them with a network of destruction. They must cease to be aggressive and destructive, or they will speedily cease to exist. Let the men quit reform as &profession, and cultivate muscle ; and let the women take more to maternity and their own children, and less to spectacles and the children of southern darkeys ; or in less than a century there will not be a soli tary descendant of the original cargo of the Mayflower left upon this continent. —Chicago Times. Dickinson College. The following Is the order of exercises for the coming commencement of this institution : Junior Prize contest June 25th, 8 o'clock, P. M. Baccalaureate address by Prof. John K. Stayman, A. M., June 28th, 8 o'clock, P. M. Oration before the Literary Societies by Hon. John W. Forney, June 28th, 11 o'clock, A. M. Oration before the Alumni Associa tion by Rev. Henry B. Ridgeway, A. M. June 28th, 8 o'clock, P. M. Commencement June 29th, 10 o'clock NUMBER 24. piActlbiztotto. The ReTooled Testimony. Sanford Conover vs. James W. Wallace— Affidavits of the Beal Wallace—Five Hundred Dollars Reward Offered for the Arrestor Conover—WhatThompson Said About a Proposition to Destroy Water Works In Northern Cities—lm teresting Depositions. !From the Montreal Evening Telegraph, June 104 To the Editor of the Evening Telegraph : Ste': Please publish my affidavit now handed you and the advertisement I subjoined. will obtain and furnish others for publication hereafter. I will add that if President Johnson will send me a safe conduct to go to Washington and return here, I will proceed thither and go before the military court and make profert of myself in order that they may see whether or not I am the Sanford Conover who swore as stated. JAMES W. WALLACE. Montreal, June 8, 1865. PROVINCE OF CANADA, 1 . District of Montreal. j James Watson Wallace, of the city and district of Montreal, counsellor at law, being duly sworn upon the Holy Evangelist, doth depose and say : I am the same James Watson Wallace who gave evidence on the subject of the St. Albans raid, which evidence appears on page 212 of the printed report of the said case. lam a native of the county of Loudon, in the Commonwealth of Virginia. I arrived in Montreal in the month of October last past. I resided during a portion of last winter and spring in houses in Craig street and Montague street, in the city of Montreal. I have seen and examined the report of what is the suppressed evidence be fore the court-martial now being holden at;-Washington City on Mistress Sur ratt, Paine and others ; and I have look ed carefully through the report of the evidence in the New York papers of a person callinghimself Sanford Conover, who deposed to the facts that whilst in Montreal he went by the name of James Watson Wallace, and gave evidence in the St. Albans raid investigation ; that the said Sanford Conover evidently per sonated me before the said court-mar tial ; that I never gave any testimony whatsoever before the said court-martial at Washington city ; that I never had knowledge of John Wilkes Booth ex cept seeing him upon the stage, and did not know he was in Montreal until I saw it published, after the murder of President Lincoln ; that I never was a correspondent of the New York Tribune; that I never went under the name of Sanford Conover ; that I never had any confidential communication with Mr. George N. Sanders, Beverly Tucker, Hon. Jacob Thompson, General Carroll, of Tennessee, Dr. M. A. Pallen, or any of the others therein mentioned. That my acquaintance with every one of these gentlemen was slight; and in fine I have no hesitation in stating that the evidence of the said Sanford Conover personating me is false, untrue, and un founded in fact, and is from beginning to end a tissue of falsehoods. I have made this deposition volun tarily, and in justice to my own char acter and name. (Signed) J. WATSON WALLACE. Sworn to before me at Montreal this eighth day of June, 186.5. G. SMITH, J. P. I, Alfred Perry, of Montreal, do here by certify that I was present when the said James Watson Wallace gave the above deposition and that he gave it of his own free will; and I further declare he is the "time individual who gave evi dence before the Honorable Justice Smith in the case of the St. Albans raiders. ALFRED PEER \ Montreal, June 9. Extract from suppressed testimony given at Washington before the mili tary commission by Sanford Conover, alias J. Watson Wallace, on the first two days of the proceedings, as pub lished in the New York papers : Q—State whether you did testify on the question of the genuineness of -that signature of Seddon? A—l did. Q—ln what court? A—l testified be fore Judge genuine. Q—State to the court whether you are acquainted and familiar with the hand writing of James A. Seddon, the rebel Secretary of War? A—Yes, sir. Q—State to the court upon your oath here whether the signature of the blank commission you saw was the genuine signature or not? A—lt was his genu ine signature. * * Q—Did you go to Canada by the name of Sanferd Conover? A—No, sir. Q—What name did you go there by? ' A—James Watson Wallace. PROVINCE OF CANADA, District of Montreal. j William Hastings Kerr, of the city and district of Montreal, esquire, ad vocate, being duly sworn, doth despose and swear that he knows James Watson Wallace, late of Virginia, but now and for the last seven months resident of the city of Mon treal, counsellor at law ; that he, this deponent, was one of the counsel en gaged for the defense in the affair of the investigation before the Hon. Judge Smith into the St. Albans raid ; that he was present in court and examined the said James Watson Wallace whilst the said investigation was going on and re port of whose testimony appears at page 212 of the printed case, published by John Lovell, of the said city of Montreal; that this deponent has fre quently seen the said James Watson Wallace on private business, and has acted as the said James Watson Wal- lace's professional adviser in Montreal that this deponent yesterday saw the said James Watson Wallace in the said city of Montreal; that he was present whilst the said James Watson Wallace denied that he, the said James Watson Wallace, was the person who, under the name of Sanford Conover, gave before the military commission or court martial now and for some time past assembled in Washington, evidence which has since been published as the suppressed evidence in the New York papers.— He, the said James Watson Wallace, then and there declaring that some person had personated him, the said James Watson Wallace, and had given testimony which, from be ginning to end, was a tissue of falsehoods; that this deponent was present whilst the statements and denials of the said Jas. Watson Wallace were reduced to writing in his presence, and signed by the said James Watson Wallace, and sworn to by him before G. Smith, - Esq., one of her Majesty's justices of the peace ,• that the said James Watson Wal lace then and there declared that lie made the said affidavit voluntarily, and in order to clear himself from any sus picion of being the Sanford Conover in question. And this deponent saith that no force or violence was used toward the said James Watson Wallace, nor were any menaces or threats made use of toward him by any one, but he seem ed to be anxious to make the said affi davit, and to use all means in his power to discover the person who had so per sonated him, the said James Watson Wallace, before the military commis sion ; and further, this deponent saith , not, and hath signed. Wm. H. KERR. Sworn before me at Montreal, this ninth day of June, eighteen hundred and sixty-five. JAs. SMITH, J. S. C. Five hundred dollars reward will be given for the arrest, so that I can bring to punishment in Canada, the infamous and perjured scoundrel who recently personated me under the name of San ford Conover, and deposed to a tissue of falsehoods before the military commis sion at Washington. JAMES W. WALLACE. PROVTERCOF CANADA, 5 City•ofislonteleSet. DmiticrovMoynt'L. I, John Cameron, being duly sworn on 'the Holy Evangelist, do, on my solemn oath, ,deposeth and say : I am about .% years of age. I am a native of West, am now, and have been Kemptville, Canada, for some time, a resident of. Montreal. During the year 1864 I went into the so-called Southern Confederacy from Canada by sea, and returned here by land about the middle of February BATES OF ADVERTISING. BUSINESS ADVMUOGSZEIMMI, 812 a year per square of ; tee Per Oeut.hus2SWl Itt.en Berea's., Q nen l'aoManci e .inia °VP P.BAL:AG Cent& S'Uneirdlt 11 first, and for each subsecreent user on. PATE2r ItiIEDIGENES and Other adir,er'S br the One column, 1 year,— .... Half coltmin, 1 year 4- ...... 60 Third column, 1 year,............. 40 Quarteraolnmun. . 00, ffrfsrarass came, iirii7 . o;/08" 37, one year,- . Business Oladir.iriViiii 67 : l6l ,; 2l year . LEGAL Arm (Mal iraicirs- . Executors' notices.. 2.00 Administrators' 100 Assignees' notices Auditors' notices 1.50 Other "Notices," ten lines, or /ess, three times, last. I went on my own private affairs, among which was to ascertain the prac ticability of running medicines into the Southern States. I sympathized strong ly with the Confederate cause. I have read what purports to be a synopsis of testimony said to have been given by a person calling himself Sanford Conover before the m ilitary commission at Wash ington city for the trial of Harrold, At zerott, Paine and others, respecting the killing of President Lincoln, which is published in the New York papers of the sth of June instant; and, likewise, what purports to be a full report of said testimony, contained in the aamenews- papers of the 6th and 7th of June inst. I have noticed that in the said testi mony it is stated that said Sanford Con over passed in Montreal by the name of Jas. Watson Wallace. I know James Watson Wallace who has made an affi- davit denying that said testimony Is true and deposing that some person hath personated him, and that said pre tended testimony is false and forged. I am satisfied that the Wallace who made said affidavit is the same James Watson Wallace, who gave his evidence before the Hon. Judge Smith in the St. Albans raiders' trial, as he states. He told me in February, March and April he gave his evidence in the raiders' case. My attention has been directed to vari ous allegations contained in the testi mony of Sanford Conover, respecting Hon. Jacob Thompson, Hon. Clement C. Clay, George N. Sanders, Esq., John Porterfield, Esq., Gen. Carroll, Doctor Montrose, A. Fallen, Commodore Ma gruder, octor Blackburn, J. W. Booth, and others, and especially to that part re lating to myself. I declare that so far as I know and believe the entire state- ment made by said persons, who hath so falsely assumed (as I believe) the dame of Conover, is an utterly untrue and malicious fabrication from the be- ginning to the end, and that I have no doubt said person was bribed and su borned to make it, or else made it un der threats, compulsion and terror. So far as relates to what is said to have been sworn to by said person calling himself Conover, I have to say that I cannot truthfully state anything tend ing directly or indirectly to implicate any of the persons named in said depo sition, or any others, in burning any Northern cities or towns, or kidnapping or killing any body, or poisoning any reservoirs or Water works, or spreading any infectious or contagious disease. I never heard of J. W. Booth till after Mr. Lincoln's death, and I do not be lieve any person in Canada was con cerned in or had any knowledge that Booth intended anything of the kind. I have heard at different times several of the Southern gentlemen referred to and above named speak on different topics, but I never heard anything or saw anything to justify the slightest suspicion of any one of them being con cerned in or of having any knowledge of the burning of cities or towns, or poisoning cisterns or reservoirs, or kid napping or killing anybody, or intro ducing infectious or contagious diseases, and I never told Conover nor Wallace, nor any one else, that I was to get some compensation for aiding, abetting, or as sisting in any such infamous deeds or anything of like character. At differ ent times in February, March and the - first part of April last,l heard Confeder ates, refugees in Canada—escaped pris oners of war—allude to practicability of expeditions being made upon towns en the Yankee side of the lakes, and of the St. Lawrence river, and I agreed with them who thought such expeditions feasible, and especially as to an attack on Ogdensburg. 1 never heard Mr. Thompson, Mr. Clay, Mr. P Sanders, General Carroll, Dr. allen, Dr. Blackburn, or Commodore Magru der say anything on such a subject. It was understood that Mr. Thompson and Mr. Clay had something to do with the raids on Lake Erie and at St. Albans, as agents of the Confederacy ; but it was notorious that the others above named, and many other Southerners, however, were opposed to and discountenanced all such raids. I heard several of them express such sentiments after I returned home. Ido not conceal that I favored some of the raids talked about, and was willing to join them. I carried a letter to Mr. Thompson some time in March, 1 believe, from a person whose name I decline to state, sug gesting the destruction of some water works of a Northern city. After Mr. Thompson had read the letter, he asked me if I knew the contents ofi it, and when I said "Yes," he replied, "Is the man mad? is he a fool?" and he ta booed the:proposition. I further state that when I went South in September, in 1864, Dr. Blackburn was not in com pany with me at any time on the voy age. I never was in Bermuda. r never heard the Doctor say anything about yellow fever, never was employed by him, or any one else, to introduce infeo tious clothing, as Conover is made to state. That I was not in Canada in January, 1865, when Conover says I was.iio employed ; and that the whole statement by Conover in reference to myself and yellow fever of Dr. Black burn, is an infamous fabrication and falsehood. I further state that in February, 1865, an acquaintance who claimed to be a Confederate, took me into room No. 4, St. Lawrence Hall, to introduce me to an elderly gentleman, who he stated was the counsel from the States for the St. Albans raiders, and, while there, al lusion was made by my acquaintance to raids, and, I believe, to one talked of on Ogdensburg, when the gentleman to whom I was introduced appeared to get out of temper and used harsh language to my acquaintance, swearing quite hard and saying he did not want to hear about such matters, and that if made known to him he would inform the Ca nadian authorities, or something to that effect. I recollect afterward as we retired observing he was quite crusty and not very polite. I have not concealed anything re specting myself at any time, and I have been approached by several persons to worm something out of me to the pre judice of some of the gentlemen I have mentioned, and have heard of misrep resentations of what I have said in re-. spect to them. Consul General Potter, and Mr. Bernard Devlin, lawyer for the United States in this city, have both . sought to get me to go to Washington city to give testimony before the mili tary court martial there, but I refused, because I knew nothing of the slightest - relevancy or consequence to the case on trial there. I have heard that it has been reported that I did go to Washington city, or that I did give some testimony in this city to be used before the military court at Washington, but both reports are un founded. I suppose some base man has gathered a batch of suspicions and con jectures and rumors and reports and hearsay and gossip of streets and grog genies and gone off to Washington and assumed the false name of Sanford Conover, and made oath to such budget, and sold such testimony to the prosecu tors in that case. I have heard some of the trash contained in Sanford Conover's testimony in circulation here, some of which, as well as projects of raids and the like, I was satisfied was manufac tured and put afloat by Yankee detec tives to make their employees think they were doing great things. JOHN CAMERON, Jr. Sworn and subscribed before me this ninth day of June, 1865. J. SMITH, J. S. C. The rebel prisoners at Point Lookout are being released as rapidly as possible. Many of them have reached Washington in a sick and destitute condition. A portion of Clarke's wharf, in East Boston, tumbled overboard on Tuesday night, the underpinning being rotten. Some 40,000 bushels ofsalt, stored in small wooden tenements, were lost. The total damage is estimated at $75,000. Gen. Ed. Johnson and P. T. Moore, A. 0.. P.' Nicholson, Arnold, the Mayor of Sa vanitah,Gen. J. It. Anderson,of the Tredegar Iron Norlis, and many other leading rebels are applicants for pardon under the Arth nasty Proclamation.
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers