. _
She W t gaWajittelligcnor,
1,1,---
PUBLISMED ETERY WEDNESDAY BY
COOP.EIii - -6ANDERSON:A -00 ‘
J. M. Coors,
G Barra,
WM. A: MOBTON; ALFRKD SA24'nnaso.
TERMS . —Two Dollars and. Fifty Cents pe
annum, payable alleases In advance.
FET:aBOUTHWEBT CORNER OF CENTEL
QUARK.
Sir ed to A.ll letters on business' should be ad
Iress.
grittg.
Pew Talk.
That tall young fellow's here to-day!
I wonder what's - his name?
His eyes are fixed upon our pew—
Do look at Sallie Jane.
Who's that young lady dressed in green?
It can't be Mrs. Leach ,•
There's Mr. Jones with Deacon Giles—
I wonder If he'll preach?
Lend me your fan, it is so warm;
We both will sit in prayers
Mourning becomes the widow Ames—
How Mary's bonnet flans!
Do look at Nancy Sleeper's veil,
It's full a breadth too wide;
I wonder if Susannah Ayres
Appears to-day as bride?
Lord ! what a voice Jane Rice has got :
Oh! how that organ roars;
I'm glad we've left the singers' seat—
How hard Miss Johnson snores!
What ugly shawls those are in front!
Did you observe Ann Wild?
Her new straw bonnet's trimm'd with black—
I guess she's lost a child.
Fin half a sleep; that Mr. Jones,
His sermons are so long;
This afternoon we'll stay at home
And practice that new song.
literary.
Killing an Enemy
E=E!
"That man will be the death of me
et," said Paul Levering.
Lie looked worried, but not angry.
" Thee means Dick Hardy ?"
" Yes."
" What has he been doing to thee
now ?"
The questioner was a Friend named
Isaac Martin—a neighbor.
" He's always doing something, friend
Martin. Scarcely a day passes that I
don't have complaint of him. Yester
dayone of the boys came and told me
that he saw him throw a stone at my
new Durham cow, and strike her in the
head."
" That's very bad, friend Levering.
Does thee know why he did this? Was
thy Durham trespassing on his
grounds?"
"No," she was only looking over his
fence. He has a spite against me and
mine, and does all he can to injure me.
You know the fine Bartlett pear tree,
that stands in the corner of my lot ad
joining his property ?"
" Yes."
" Two large limbs, full of fruit, stretch
ed over on his side. You hardly believe
it, hut it's true. I was out there just now,
and discovered that he had sawed off
these two fine limbs that hung over on
his side. They lay down upon the
ground, and his pigs were eating the
fruit."
"Why is Diek so spiteful to thee
friend Levering? He doesn't annoy
me. What has thee done to him ?"
" Nothing of any consequence."
" Thee must have done something.—
Try and remember."
I know what first set him out. I
kicked an ugly dog of his once. The
beast, half starved at home, I suppose,
was all the while prowling about here,
and snatching up everything that came
in his way. One day I came upon him
suddenly, and gave him a tremendous
kick that sent him howling through the
gate. Unfortunately, as it has turned
out, the dog's master happened to be
passing along the road. The way he
swore at me was dreadful. I never saw
a more vindictive face. On the next
morning a splendid Newfoundland, that
I had raised from a pup, met me shiver
ing at the door, with his tail cut off! r
don't know when I have felt so badly.
Poor fellow ! his piteous look haunts me
now. I had no proof against Dick, but
have never doubted, as to his agency in
the matter. In my grief and indigna
tion, I shot the dog, and so put him out
of my sight."
"Thee was hasty in that, friend Lev
ering," said the Quaker.
" Perhaps I was, though I have never
regretted that act. I met Dick a few
days afterwards. The grin of satisfac
tion on his face I accepted as an acknowl
edgment of his mean and cruel revenge.
Within a week from that time one of
my cows had a horn knocked off."
" What did thee do ?"
" I went to Dick Hardy and gave him
a piece of my mind."
" Thatis, thee scolded, and called him
hard names, and threatened."
" Yes—just so, friend Martin."
" Did any good come of it?"
" About as much good as if I had
whistled to the wind."
" How has it been since ?"
"No change for the better. It grows,
if anything, worse and worse. Dick
never gets weary of annoying me."
" Has thee ever tried the law with
him, friend Levering ? The law should
protect thee."
" 0 yes, I've tried the law. Once he
ran his heavy wagon against my car
riage, purposely, and upset me in the
road. I made a narrow escape of my
life. The carriage was so badly broken
that it cost me fifty dollars for repairs.
A neighbor saw the whole thing and
said it was plainly intended by Dick.—
So I sent him the carriage maker's bill
at which he got into a towering passion.
Then I threatened him with prosecu
tion, and he laughed in my face malig
nantly. I felt that the time had conic
to act decisively, and sued him, relying
on the evidence of my neighbor. He
was afraid of Dick, and so worked his
testimony that the jury saw only an
accident instead of a purpose to injure,
and gave their verdict accordingly.—
After that, Dick Hardy was worse than
ever. He took an evil delight in an
noying and injuring me. lam satisfied,
that in more than one instance, he left
gaps in his fences in order to entice my
cattle into his fields, that he might set
his savage dogs on them, and hurt them
with stones. It is more than a child of
mine dares to cross his premises. Only
last week he tried to put his dog on my
little Florence who strayed into one of
his fields after buttercups. The dog was
less cruel than his master, or she would
have been torn by his teeth, instead of
being only frightened by his bark."
"It's a hard case, truly, friend Lever
ing. Our neighbor Hardy seems pos
sessed of an evil spirit."
" The very spirit of the devil," was
answered with feeling.
"He's thy enemy, assuredly; and if
thee doesn't get rid of him, will do thee
great harm."
"Thee must, if thee would dwell in
safety," friend Levering.
The Quaker's face was growing very
serious. He spoke in a lowered voice
and bent towards his neighbor in a con
fidential manner.
"Thee must put him out of the way.) ,
"Friend Martin!" the surprise of
Paul Levering was unfeigned.
" Thee must kill him !"
The countenance of Levering grew
black with astonishment.
" Kill him! he ejaculated.
"If thee doesn't kill him, he'll cer
tainly kill thee, one of these days,
friend Levering. And thee knows what
is said abiait self-preservation
,being the
first law-of nature." •
. "And get hung!"
, . .
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I - 'VOLUME.66I"t' • ,• .' ',.'. ' ..- ...,. . . . LANCASTER,' WEDNESDAY - MORNIN JULY 26,1865 .. . .
N UMBER 2
" 1 don't • think they'll lumg thee,"
coolly returned the Quaker. " Theemn.
go over to his place, and get him all
alone by thyself. Ortheedan meethim
in some by-road. Nobody need see
thee, and when he's dead, I think peo
ple will be more glad than sorry. Thee
needn't fear any bad consequences."
"Do you think I'm no better than a
murderer?" Levering's astonishment
passed to horror and indignation. "I,
Paul Levering, stain my hands with
blood !"
" Who said anything about staining
thy hands with blood !" The Quaker
was imperturable.
"Why you!"
" Thee's mistaken. I never used the
word blood."
" But you meant it. You suggested
murder."
"No, friend Levering. I advised thee
to kill the enemy, lest some day he
should kill thee."
-
" Isn't killing murder, I should like
to know ?" demanded Levering.
" There are more ways to kill an ene
my than one," said the Quaker. " I've
killed a good many in my time, but no
stain of blood can be found on my gar
ments. My way of killing enemies is
to make them my friends. Kill neigh
bor Hardy with kindness and thee'll
have no more trouble with him."
" A sudden light gleamed over Mr.
Levering's face, as if a cloud had passed
from the sun of his spirit."
" A new way to kill people."
"The surest way to kill enemies, as
the'll fiud, if the'll only try."
" Let me see. How shall we go about
it?" said Paul Levering, taken at once
with the idea.
" If thee has the will, friend Levering,
it will not be long before thee finds the
way."
And so it proved. Not two hours af
terwards, as Mr. Levering was driving
into the village, he found Dick Hardy
with a stalled cart-load of stone. He
was whipping his horse and swearing at
him passionately ; but to no good pur
pose. The cart-wheels were buried half
way to the axle in stiff mud, and de
fied the strength of one horse to move
them. On seeing Mr. Levering, Dick
stopped pulling and swearing, and get
ting on the cart, with his back towards
his neighbor, commenced pitching the
stone oft' into the middle of the road.
" Hold on a bit, friend Hardy," said
Levering, in a pleasant voice, as he dis
mounted and commenced unhitching
his horse.
But Dick, pretending notto hear him,
kept on picking out the stones.
" Hold on, I say, and don't give your
self all that trouble," added Mr. Lever
ing, speaking in a louder voice, but in
kind and cheerful tones. " Two horses
are better than one. With Charley's
help, we'll soon have the wheels on good
solid ground again."
Understanding now what was meant
Dick's hands fell 'almost nerveless by
his side.
" There," said Levering, as he put his
horse in front of Dick's and made the
track fast, " one pull, and the thing is
done !"
And before Dick could get down from
the cart, it was out of the mud-hole.
Without saying a word more. Lever
ing unfastened his horse from the front
of Dick's animal, and hitching up again,
rode on.
On the next day Mr. Levering saw
Dick Hardy in the act of strengthening
a bit of weak fence through which his
(Levering's) cattle-had broken once or
twice ; thus removing a temptation, and
saving the animals from being beaten
and set on by dogs.
" Thee's giving him a bad wound,
friend Levering," said the Quaker, on
getting information of the two incidents
just mentioned, "and it will be thy own
fault if thee doesn't kill him outright."
Not long afterwards, in the face of an
approaching storm and while Dick Har
dy was hurrying to get in some clover
hay, his wagon broke down. Mr. Lev
ering, who saw from one of his fields
the incident, and understood what log
it might occasion, hitched up his own
wagon, and sent it over to Dick's assist
ance. With a storm coming on that
might last for days, and ruin from two
to three tons of hay, Dick could not de
cline the offer, though it went terrible
against the grain to accept a favor from
the man he had hated for years, and in
jured in so many ways.
On the following morning Mr. Lever.
ing had a visit from Dick Hardy. It
was raining fast.
" I've come," said Dick, stammering
and confused, and looking down at the
ground instead of into Mr. Levering's
face, " to pay you for the use of your
team yesterday, in getting in my hay.
I should have lost it if you hadn't sent
your wagon, and it's only right that I
should pay for the use of it."
"I should be very sorry," answered
Paul Levering, cheerily, "if I couldn't
do a neighborly turn without pay. You
were right welcome, friend Hardy, to
the wagon. I am more than paid in
knowing that you saved that nice field
of clover. How much did you get?"
"About three tons. But Mr. Lever
ing, I must —,'
" Not a word, if yOu don't want to
offend me," interposed Levering. " I
trust there isn't a man around here that
wouldn't do as much for a neighbor in
time of need. Still, if you feel embar
rassed—if you don't wish to stand my
debtor—pay me in good-will."
Dick Hardy raised his eyes from the
ground slowly, and looked in a strange,
wondering way at Mr. Levering.
" Shall we not be friends ?" Mr. Lev
ering reached out his hand. Hardy
grasped it with a quick, short grip; then,
as if to hide feelings that were becoming
too strong, dropped it and went off has
tily.
T hee's killed him! said the Quaker,
on his next meeting with Levering;
" thy enemy is dead !"
" Slain by the weapons of kindness,"
answered Paul Levering, "which you
supplied."
" No, thee took them from God's ar
mory, where all men may equip them
selves without charge and become in
vincible," replied the Quaker. "And
I trust, for thy own peace and safety,
thee will never use any other weapons
in fighting with thy neighbors. They
are sure to kill."
A SON of Neptune, who was in the
habit of quarrelling with his better half
was one day remonstrated with by the
minister of the parish, who told him he
and his wife ought to live on more
amicable terms, as they were brith one.
"One !" said the old salt, shifting his
quid, "if you should come by the house
sometimes, blast my tarry toplights, if
you wouldn't think we were about
twenty."
A CRUEL wag recently appended to the
list of market regulations in cincinnati,
"No whistling near the sausage stalls."
The Old Clock; Or, Ralph Vanes Wooing.
The sunset was "piling its templei of
tire and amethyst over the dark hills
that seemed to touch the taming West
—the whipporwill, "meaning 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 sum
mer 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, half 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 lam a fool!
She never loved me—she never cared
for me, else she would have come here
to tell me good-bye. It may 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 she
loved me."
He dashed a suspicious drop of mois
ture from his eyelashes as he spoke, and
plunged in the dense, fragrant woods,
as if he would fain bring himself away
from human ken.
"Such magnificeht 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 shin
ing black hair, and brown eyes that had
the velvet softness of a gazelle's—a rus
tic beauty, whose sun bonnet 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 dying
out of her cheeks and leaving a ghastly
pallor behind. " Mother," she wailed,
" do you believe that it is true ?"
" I'm 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, I couldn't
have believed it !"
Rachel laid aside her bonnet, and be
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 secret.
And Farmer Bensley, leaning against
the porch pillar, drew a long breath of
relief.
" She don't take it very hard after all,"
he muttered, "Em glad it's all over.
Ralph Vane never would have made a
good husband for her."
Three years passed away, and Captain
Vane was walking up a crowded city
street, absorbed in his own 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 pawnbroker's establishment
on the corner where two narrow streets
met.
Following the first impulse of the
moment, he opened the door and went
" What is the price of that old fash
ioned clock in the window ?" lie 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 have 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
that when new. However, I'll take it
—for the sake of old times," he mur
mured 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
another. Oh, here is—Rebecca Bens
ley, No. Barker street."
Ralph Vane laid down his two dollar
bill and walked out of the store, with
the clock under his arm.
" Why did I ask any question ?" he
muttered. - " What are they to me ?"
And yet it gives meakeen 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 indigentcircumstances.
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 omnibuses on the
pavement below. Yet Captain Vane
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. " I used to have a gen nine 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
Bensley, three years ago—the letter I
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 bet
ter, now ?"
"Yes, but my head aches still."
" I will come and bathe it for you,
mother, when I have finishedthis piece
of work."
"You are tired, dear—l am afraid you
overwork yourself. If I could only help
you—but my sight fails with every day.
0, my daughter! what is to become of
you when I am gone!" _
"God only knows:" sighed Rachel,
her fair, head drooping over that end
less basket of work. "Mother, I dare
not faney_, what the future may bring
forth." ,
She rose to open the door, as a gentle
tap sounded on the panels—a tallotficer
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 tears. 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. Nowl see
Low erroneously I have judged yoil.
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 cher
ished 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 Argnst night they sat and talked.—
Rachel learned that riches and honor
had been showered upen her betrothed
husband from fortune's liberal hand
since he had left the little New England
village and " gone soldieriug," and he
in his 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-fashioned
clock had guided him back to the heart
whose constant love was to be his wife's
sunshine henceforward and forever.
Aud the most treasured ornament in
Mrs. Capt. Vane's exquisite boudoir is
the wooden clock, time-stained, and
rudely carved. Yet she would not eg
change it for the costliest time-piece of
alabaster and gold, that ever sparkled
though Tiflhny's plate-glass windows.
A Pack or Cards.
A nobleman in London, who kept a
great number of servants, reposed con
siderable confidence in one of them,
which excited a jealousy in the others,
who, in order to prejudice their master
against him, accused him of being a
notorious gamester. Jack was called up
and closely interrogated ; but he denied
the fact, and at the same time declared
lie never played a card in his life. To
be more fully convinced, the gentleman
ordered him to be searched, when be
hold a pack of cards was found in his
pocket. Highly incensed at.inck's want
of veracity, the nobleman demanded, in
a rage, how he dared to persist in an
untruth.
" My lord," replied he, " I certainly
do not know the meaning of card ; the
bundle in my pocket is my almanac."
" Your almanac, indeed! then I desire
that you will prove it."
" Well, sir, I will begin. There are
four suits in the pack, that intimate the
four quarters in the year ; as there are
thirteen cards in each suit, so there are
thirteen weeks in a quarter; there are
also the same number of lunations ; the
twelve signs of the zodiac, through
which the sun steers his diurnal course
in one year ; there are fifty-two cards in
a pack that directly answers for the
number of weeks in a year; examine
them more minutely, and you will find
three hundred and sixty-five spots, as
many as there are days in a year; these
multiply by twenty-four and sixty and
you have the exact number of hoursand
minutes in a year. Thus, sir, I hope I
have convinced you it is my almanac ;
and by your Lordship's permission, I
will prove it is my prayer-book also."
" I look upon the four suits as repre
senting the four prevailing religions :
Christianity, Judaism, Mahomedanism
and Paganism ; the twelve court cards
remind me of the twelve Patriarchs,
from whom sprang the twelve tribes of
Israel, the twelve Apostles, the twelve
articles of the Christian faith. The
king reminds me of of the allegiance
due his majesty. The queen, of the same
due her majesty. The ten brings to my
recollection the ten cities in the plains of
Sodom and Gomorrah, destroyed by fire
and brimstone from Heaven ; the ten
plagues of Egypt ; the ten command
ments ; the ten tribes cut off for their
vice. The nine reminds me of the nine
muses; the noble orders among men.
The eight reminds me of the eight
beatitudes ; the eight persons saved in
Noah's Ark ; the eight persons men
tioned in Scripture to be released from
death to life. The seven reminds me of
the seven ministering spirits that stand
before the throne of God; the seven
seals wherewith the book of life is
sealed; the seven liberal arts and sci
ences given by God for the instruction
of man ; the seven wonders of the
world. The six reminds me of the six
petitions in the Lord's Prayer. The
five reminds me of the senses given
by God to man, hearing, seeing,
feeling, tasting and smelling. The
four puts me in mind of the four
Evangelists, the four seasons of
the year. The three reminds me of the
Trinity ; the three hours our Saviour
was on the cross ; the three days he lay
in the tomb. The two reminds me of
the two testaments; the two contrary
principles struggling in man, virtue and
vice. The ace reminds me of the only
true God to adore, worship and serve ;
one truth to practice, and one good mas
ter to serve and obey."
"-So far is very well," said the noble
man, "but I believe you have omitted
One card, the knave."
" True, my lord, the knave reminds
me of your lordship's informer."
The nobleman became more pleased
with Jack than before, freely forgave
him, raised his wages, and discharged
the informer.
Joke over Wine
It is said that the late Chief Baron
Thompson was a very facetious com
panion over the bottle, which he much
enjoyed. At one of the Judge's dinners
during the assizes, there was, present a
certain dignitary of the church. When
the cloth was removed, " I always
think," said the very reverned guest,
" I always think, my lord, that a certain
quantity of wine does a man 'no harm
after a good dinner!" " Oh, no, sir !--
by no means," replied the Chief Baron ;
it's the uncertain quantity that does all
;"
I itleh Story.
In one of the small interior towns of
New England, where the superstitions
of our =castors still possess a !Mid on'
the minds of the people, the facts oc
cured a few years since, of which the
following is a true narrative:
An honeat farmer and his family,
preparing. to celebrate Thanksgiving at
his wife's father's, in sn adjacent town,
were hurried and confused extremely
on the day preceding that festival, by
the multiplicity of things which must
be done before they could leave Dome
with safety. The house was to be banked
up, and the gleanings of the harvest,
cabbages, turnips, and so forth, put into
the cellar, that the external entrance
thereto might be closed for the season.
Having carried in the vegetables, the
boys were despatched to the barn for
straw to fill the passage with, while the
good man himself was busied on the
opposite side of the house.
An old rain, the horned patriarch of
a large flock of sheep kept on the farm,
having got a taste of the scattered cab
bage leaves, unobserved, entered the
cellar and silently continued his feast.
The avenue through which lrie had en
tered was immediately closed up, and
all the necessary work and arrange
ments being completed, the larger boys
and girls set off on foot in high glee,
the dog running and barking before
them.
Soon after, the parents and their HUI&
ones, having put out the fire and fas
tened the doors and windows to keep
out thieves, started on the same destina
tion.
On the afternoon of the day following
the festival, the family returned to their
home, accompanied by some of their
young cousins. Some of their youthful
neighbors, of both sexes, were invited
in, and a merry Thanksgiving carousal
was in full tide of successful operation,
when one of the boys, who had been
sent into the cellar with a little tow
wick candle which gave just light
enough to make darkness visible to draw
cider, ran back into the room, with eyes
glaring wildly, uttering the half suffo
cated exclamation :
" The devil is in the cellar."
- " Pooh !" said the father, " you have
only been frightened by your own
shadow, give me the light."
Saying this, he seized the Candle—
leaving the candlestick fastAn the shak
ing hand of the boy—and boldly rushed
to the cellar stairs, but before he had
descended half the steps, the large
saucer eyes and enormous horns of the
ram caused him to retreat as much ter
rified as his son, exclaiming:
" Sure enough, the devil is in the
cellar !"
The good man siezed the great Bible
and attempted to read, but the candle
sputtered, burned blue, and threw such
feeble light on the sacred page, fit book
trembled so much in the hands of the
leader, that he could not distinguish
one word from another. The little chil
dren cried and clung to their mother;
the girls nestled close to their favorite
swains; and the whole house was shaking
with agitation of its half-demented in
habitants. One bright thought, how
ever, occurred—and a messenger was
sent for the minister to come and slay
the devil. The parson, a man more
celebrated for good nature, piety and
credulity, than for good talents and
heroism, slipped a small Bible into his
pocket, put on his band and surplice,
that he might appear as formidable to
his great antagonist as possible, and
hastened to the relief of his distressed
parishoners.
Ou coming to the house, the reverend
man was hailed as a deliverer, and im
plored by at least a dozen voices at the
same time, to drive the devil away. But
few moments were lost in asking ques-
tions which no one could answer, before
the parson pushed forward as a leader,
with the same penurious light into the
cellar, the most courageous of the com
pany keeping close behind him. He
reached the foot of the stairs, the eyes
of fire, the shadowy outlines of the
enormous horns, magnified ten fold at
least, by the terror of those that beheld
them, removed all doubt, if any had
existed, , in his mind, as to the infernal
nature of the being : with whom he had
to contend. The divine instantly fell
on his knees, and with uplifted hands,
began to pray in his most fervent
manner. The ram, not understanding
the pious man's motives, but supposing
by the motions of his hands, that he was
daring him to a butting contest, made
a pass with all his mightat hfssupposed
adversary, but, deceived by the swelling
dimensions of his drapery, missed the
slender body of the priest, and hastely
backed to renew the assault, hooked one
of his horns into the belt of hissurplice,
and pulled the parson with him into
the cellar !
While thus in the power of his victor
ious foe, lost in hope as it regarded him
self, the natural benevolence of his dis
position burst forth in the exclamation
"Brethren take care of yourselves
the devil has got me !"
This exhortation was better obeyed
than any he had ever delivered from
the pulpit—his friends all fled and lefF'
him to his fate.
Among the company was a shrewd
young farmer, who had from the first
supposed the fiend to be 'nothing more
than some domestic animal, but, being
a lover of fun—and willing to see a
comedy, he kept his 'thoughts to him
self and pretending to sympathize with
them in their fears. He now thought
it time to interfere, and snatching a
pitch pine knot from the blazing fire,
expressed his determination to rescue
the preacher or perish in the attempt.
A lovely damsel laid hold of the tail
of his coat, and begged him to forego
the rash attempt.
"Don't! don't," shouted several.
"What does the devil care for fire ?"
said another.
" Take along the Bible if you will
go!" suggested another.
But unheeding the suggestion and the
manifestations of concern for his safety,
he pushed into the cellar, seized the ani
mal by one of its horns, and dragged
the struggling animal up stairs, calling
to the astonished parson, " Follow me!"
The horned devil was led in triumph,
followed by the vanquished ecclesiastic,
in the midst of .the company. A mo
mentary silence and hanging down of
heads ensued; but the past scene, was
too ludicrous to admitof sober reflection,
and loud peals of laughter broke fourth
from every side, during which the ram
was turned out at the door, the parson
absented himself without ceremony,
and sports of the evening were resumed
with better spirits than before.
ON A LINE.—"I don' tlike to patronize
this line," said a culprit to a hangman.
"0, 'never mind this once," was the
reply; "it will soon suspend ire. oper-
AtiOn,"
3URGERT.
The bells of the village church bad
been ringing sweet and clear, and the
sound'was borne on the summer air
miles away, making solemn music,
which was very pleasant to a littlelone
ly heart.
On the stone steps of the farm-house,
watching the shadows, or looking now
and then with a wishful glance toward
the bright sky, sat Margery.
Margery who? "That was all, she
had no other name," she said, when
strangers questioned her.
Farmer James had found her one
wintry night on a snow drift by the
roadside. She was warmly wrapped
and sheltered from the storm. Several
changes of clothing, a sum of money, a
paper on which was written "Margery,"
were in a basket near. She had been
kept by the farmer's wife, who hoped
some day to be rewarded, and who at
first built many air -castles, which had
for their foundation the coming of Mar
gery's rich friends. She was sure they
were rich she said, for the child's cloth
ing was fine and soft, and the lace upon
the little dresses was worn more than
her best Sunday gown.
But as years passed and these un
known persons gave no sign, she grew
weary of her charge, and by degrees in
difference gave way to actual unkind-
Poor little Margery, what had she
done, and why was she so unlike the
happy children whom she sometimes
met? She often wondered, as she did
that Sunday afternoon, sitting iu the
sunshine, how many miles off heaven
was, and whether she could walk there
if she tried " I wish I knew," she
said. " I wish I knew which road to
take, and had somebody to go with me,
for I am so tired of living here ?"
Little children who, with folded
hands, say your " Now I lay me down
to sleep," who are laid to rest by loving
hands, with your mothers' good-night
kisses on your lips—little happy chil
dren—how blest are you who read won
deringly of this child, whose life was so
unlike your own!
Margery had been taken once by a
kind neighbor with her children, to the
village Sunday school. There she heard
for the first time of a beautiful place
called heaven, the home of God and
his angels. The good old minister was
talkingof Jesus, of the little ones whom
he had blest while on earth, whom lie
still loved in heaven, where after death
good children would go to be shinirg
angels in the sky.
Margery went homelike one in a hap
py dream. She scarcely heard thescold
'ng words that Mrs. James poured out
like a torrent_ She should not always
have to be scolded and beaten. She
should not always be tired and lonely.
There was some one who would love
her, if she only could reach him ; there
was a beautiful home if she only knew
the way there.
She kept the sweet thoughts in her
little sad heart; dreamed of them when
she slept, and took comfort in them as
she went upon her errands day by day,
or tended the fretful child whose mother
had so little pity for her desolation.
One morning when the busy dame
teemed to be in P unwonted mood,
more gentle than she remembered to
have seen her, Margery took courage
and ventured to ask information on the
subject that had occupied so many of
her thoughts.
" If you please, ma'am, how far is it
to heaven?"
The astonished woman dropped her
iron, putting in danger thereby her good
man's Sunday linen.
" What put that into your head I'd
like to know?"
Poor frightened Margery, for once her
anxiety to hear something of the bliss
ful home she was determined to seek,
gave her courage.
"I heard the minister talk about God
in heaven, and I thought if it wasn't
too far and I could find the way I'd like
to get there."
" Well, I never," said Mrs. James,
and turning fiercely upon the child,
"Do you think its a place for the like
of you! because, if you do you're mis
taken, I can tell you. Try to get there
indeed! I think you may try! Now
just do you go and shell them peas, and
don't let me hear you talk such foolish
ness again!"
So the child went out once more into
the shadow that had so long been like
a pall on her heart, and the great hope
that had been as a sunny gleam fir a
little while, suddenly faded out of her
yearning heart.
But the longing was still there. Mar
gery had never been taught a prayer;
she did not know that God could read
her every thought and wish ; that his
eye of love was always watching over
her; if she had, she would not have.
fallen asleep so often, with her cheek
wet with tears, or have looked around
on the meadows, and up into the sky as
then' with such a hungry feeling for,
love and kindness.
She was alone, as she had often been
on Sabbath days ; no mother's loving
fingers fashioned dainty robes for Mar
gery : " She ought to be thankful,"
Mrs. James told her, "to have such
decent clothes, it wasn't every one who
would give them to her—but for her
part, she couldn't abide rags!"
The decent clothes, however, made so
poor a show that she did not choose to
exhibit the child who wore them, to
gossiping neighbors.
So the little girl staid quietly at home,
alone, as I said before, except that
" Watch," the house dog, moved lazily
after her when she walked about, and
sometimes rubbed his cold nose against
her hand, and wagged his tail, as much
as to say, "Don't fret, there is one friend
for you i"
And the great Friend above allothers,
whom Margery did not know, looked
down upon the lonely child, and saw
' how desolate her young life was. So it
was that but a few more Sabbaths found
her in the accustomed place upon the
door-steps, or in the meadow, or look
ingout at night, from her little window,
at the shining stars.
There came a time when a dreadful
fever took from many homes, one and
another, who were sadly missed, and its
fatal touch was laid on Margery, for
whom no one cared on earth, but who
was just as precious in God's sight, as
those whose graves were wet with many
tears.
The bright spirits whom we cannot
see, though they are often near, watched
over. Margery. A neighbor wto had
buried her own little daughter was sit
ting by the child at the last, and think
ing she asked for water took it to her :
" Isn't itbeautiful, beautiful ?" said the
little one, " I shall get to heaven after
all, they've come to show me the way !,
" Isn't it beautiful ?" and,with a smile
on her lips,'andlt light in her eyes that
made her face gloriously fair, the soul
of little. Margery was borne up to the
Beautiful Land, and the songs of the
angels:welcomed her, where she could
Revelbe pad nor loney anymore.
. .
A kiss is a little thing, and evanes
cent, but of potent influence. A linger
ing, tender kiss willflood the heart with
joyous emotions when a volume of words
might fail. It bindeth up the sore spirit,
and, oft given, covereth a multitude of
short-comings. None of us can forget
that it was the panacea of childhood.
•To women it is as necessary as the sun
shine and . dew to the rose. We refer
not to the "strong-minded " of the sex
who, in their boasted independence,
find all that is needful to existence with
in themselves—but to those gentle, do
mestic beings who make glad homes. A
frequent, heart-giving kiss will keep
fresh the sweetness which otherwise
would turn to coldness and
indifference. The lover bestows
them profusely on his sweet-heart,
and marvels at her loveliness as she
bounds to meet him. She is beautiful,
for joy has made her so. The husband
gives them not, and soon is wondering
at the change so brief a period has
wrought in his wife. Although she
listens anxiously for his footfalls, her
face does not brighten as of yore, nor
does she spring to meet him for the
caress she yearns for, but knows will
not be given. She becomes exact
ing, and, if he is belated, asks re
proachfully how he can stay away
so long from his family. This meets
from him an acrid reply. They preside
silently at the meal, vieing in an ap
parent unconsciousness of each other's
presence, the silence only disturbed by
the crowing, blue-eyed baby in the
mother's arms. With the first unkind
word the charm has been broken, and
imperfections have been exhumed
which the soil of love had covered.—
The wife has even become suspicious of
her husband's truth, be Ire as faithfdl as
the needle to the pole.
. A Little Deaf.
In the, olden time, before Maine laws
were invented, Wing kept the hotel at
Middle Granville, and from his well
stocked bar furnished "accommoda
tions to man and beast." He was a
good landlord but terribly deaf. Fish,
the village painter, was afflicted in the
same way.
One day they were sitting by them
selves in the bar-room. Wing was be
hind the counter waiting for the next
customer, while Fish was lounging be
fore the fire, with a thirsty look, casting
sheep's eyes occasionally at Wing's de
canters, and wishing most devoutly
that some one would come in and treat.
A traveller from the South, on his
way to Brandon, stopped in to inquire
the distance. Going up to the counter,
he said:
"Can you tell me, sir, how far it is to
Brandon?"
"Brandy?" says the ready landlord,
jumping up : " Yes, sir, I have some,"
at the same time handing down a de
canter of the precious liquid.
"You misunderstand me," says the
stranger. " I asked how far it was to
Brandon."
"They call it pretty good brandy,"
says Wing. " Will you take sugar with
it?" reaching as he spoke for the bowl
and toddy-stick.
The despairing traveller turned to
Fish.
- " The landlord," said he, "seems to
be deaf! will you tell me how far it is
to Brandon?"
"Thank you," said Fish, "I don't
care if I do take a drink with you!"
The stranger treated and fled.
" A COUNTRY schoolmaster, one day
announced to his pupils that an exami
nation would soon take place. "If you
are examined in geography," said he,
" you will surely be asked of whatshape
is the earth ; and if you should not re
member, just look at me, and I will
show you my snuff-box, to remind you
that it is round."
Unfortunately, the schoolmaster had
two snuff-boxes ; a round one, which he
used only on Sunday, and a square one,
which he carried during the week.
The fatal day having arrived, the
class in geography was duly called out,
and the question asked, "what is the
shape of the earth ?"
The first boy, appalled at the impos
ing appearance of the examining com
mittee, felt embarrassed and glanced at
the " magister," who at once pointed to
b is snuff box.
" Sir," boldly answered the boy
" 'tis round on Sunday, and square al
other days in the week."
" Just Hover in the Hafrlea."
fwo newly imported Englishmen,
just off the steamer, strolled into the
restaurant attached to the Tremont
House, Boston, last fall, and after a
wondering stare at the long row of in
dividuals, each busily and silently en
gaged in bolting their allowance of food
in the shortest possible time, climbed
up on two stools and hesitatingly or
dered :
" A chop and some hale."
While theagile William was ordering
their meal, the attention of one of the
Bulls was attracted to a dish unknown
to him, but of which his neighbors were
partaking with great gusto. Carefully
waiting until the next man to him
grunted, " Nother ear of corn," he nuged
his brother Bull with—
" Enry, there's an Hamerican wege
table that we don't 'ave at 'ome. Leta
'ave some," and accordingly ordered :
" Haw ! wafter, hear o' corn."
The corn (a dish unknown in Eng
land) was brought in smoking hot. Bull
passed it to his countryman, who ob
serving the manner of hia neighbors,
sliced it down with his knife, and tasted
it with an approving wink.
" Good ?" asked Bull No. 1.
" Werry," said No. 2, adding with
true British economy : "There is no use
in hordering another; ere's enough for
both of us," passing the cob to his com
panion, who gravely sliced it after the
manner of cucumber, and seasoning it
commenced eating the sliced cob. He
got through , two or three slices with
some difficulty, to the huge delight of a
small boy with a cropped head behind
the bar, and then turning to his com
panion ejaculated :
" My hyes, 'Enry, hif this is asample
ple hof Hamerican wegetables, their
stomachs must be iron-plated, like their
'orrid ships!"
An nuctuous grin slid over the faces
of the witnesses, and William turned
fiercely on the small boy, and ordered
him to "make change at The other end
of the counter.
Amusing Scene.
It is stated that Prince Napoleon in
tends going to the Dublin Exhibition.
He was in Ireland some years ago,
apropos of which there Is a good story.
It is related that the Mayor of a Munster
city, anxious to display his accomplish
ments before* his townsmen, waited
with:a deputation on the Prince and de
livered an address of welcome in what
he supposed to be French. To his'hor
ror the Prince, replying in- the most
fluent and idiomatic English, expressed
his regret that his ignorance of the Irish
language- prevented him from being
able to appreciate the no: doubt flatter
ing and kindly sentiments which had
just been expressed by the chief magis
trate.
....10. 44 Mktrfit -- Telli c 4r e
0 r
*lmre of tea es; ton'=per cent. In _ fkao_
fraettozur_of a
REAL Mme.'s's,i . e.oMM ,af: 1 1Mo •
merfr'AserearrzenrO; .
Arai, anti - cents for each subsequent _
PA. "'" 2412 kOPM , **
h ahurd4 . •
Third datum%
quarter .1; „
one Busrarese, CAsps, of ten lines oz. teas,
Business (144fiVelinesofiesevd,W1 10
Occief.. ARD OTIfiR,"WOTAI7B- - •
Executors' noticvs . ,. ....._.App
Adndinistralors', notices 2.00 •
Assignete notices 2.00
Auditors'notices .
* ..-- 1.50
Other "Notices,' ten tapes, or .legn,
three • .00
• Gossip . :
[From the New York Tribune.]
Newspapers make villages of the
cities, and the magnetic telegraph con
tracts continents to the limits of a tea
table. The trustworthy, well-informed
and talented correspondents of the coun
try press, who date their valuable week
lyletters from this city, though they
may not draw upon imagination for their
facts, are certainly obliged to detail'
many occurrences to secure the requi
site spice, which escape the attention
of other metropolitan observers, or, at
least, are not deemed worthy of type.
The beer which they chronicle may not
be small"; but it is often drawn from
private and personal taps, and with
small regard for the sanctities
of domestic life. How far the in
telligence thus communicated may be
of public importance, we, who find it no
easy task to determine in our own busi
ness, will not undertake to decide in re
gard to the business of others. It may
be necessary and profitable, for instance,
for all the world to know of an event
which it is stated has recently convulsed
the topmost ten thousand of New York
—the clandestine marriage of a minister
of sixty years of age, high in the Church,
of unimpeachable private character, to a
maiden of age not stated, a rich and
fashionable maiden of Parisian pol
ish, a maiden of a most excellent
flintily (as families go)—the minister
of sixty years of age having grand
children—the family of the bride being
transported with indignation—the
Match in every way being unsuitable.
A correspondent declares, with a little
Moral groan—nobody, not even "the
officers of the church " being pleased,
if we except the happy pair whose
wishes, tastes and pleasures in the
premises, are not supposed to be of the
slightest consequence. Correspondent,
who knows everything, informs us
that the parents are highly " indig
nant;" and he concludes by pointing
out the hotel which has been illumin•
ated by the honeymoon; though he does
not, which is a singular omission, give
us the name of the popular and gentle
manly landlord who has kindly afford
ed the new pair a shelter from the eyes
of a curious world, and the indignation
of "a very rich and fashionable family
who live in great style." Correspond,
ent, by this neglect to name popular and
gentlemanly landlord, has probably lost
a bottle of the best wine in the cellars
of the "small hotel on the Avenue."
We tell .the story as we find it, care
fully avoiding names and guesses, and
not desiring to add to the mortification
of persons who had done us and the
world no harm, and who have a perfect
right to be married without being made
the subjects of all this gratuitous tittle
tattle. This is a marrying world—gal
lant groomf are leading blushing brides
to the altar every hour of the day, and
tuns of bridal cake will be baked, will
be cut, will be eaten, while we are pen
ning this article. How these victims
appeared on the great occasion—how
much the lace cost—how much was ex
pended for flowers and wine—what
presents the swain bestowed upon his
beloved—is simply none of our busi-
It is our business to col-
lect of the parties a few shillings,
if they wish to advertise their rapture
in our columns. It is our business, if
they are married under circumstances
of notorious and scandalous immorality,
to make those statements which a re
gard for the public welfare and the
honor of matrimony may require. It is
our business, if they have made a prom
inent and flaunting parade of the cere
mony, to notice it as we would notice a
ship-launch, or a parade of the militia.
But it is not our business to tell what
they had for dinner on the happy day,
nor to publish to the world their esti
mates of future housekeeping expendi-
There is in almost every village some
old woman, or some young one, or some
weak-headed and talkative male—we
will not say man—who makes it a busi
ness, first to pry into the affairs of the
neighborhood, and then to publish them
with nimble and tireless tongue. The
world, weary, indignant, outraged, or
simply bored, has decided upon the
social standing of these two-legged
gazettes—it has voted them to bp moral
nuisances, which it may be impossible
to abate, either by contemptuous silence
or well-feigned deafness, or even by
open rebuke. Still will they continue
to chatter, to peep, to surmise, to dis
tort, to invent, to insinuate.
There is not a clergyman in the whole
country who has not been embarrassed,
and, unless his temper be uncommonly
sweet, has not been exasperated, by the
mischief which these meddlers have
made in his congregation. Thereis not a
school-teacher who has not been tor
mented by the same insects. There is
hardly a sensitive, shrinking, peace-lov
ing and home loving young woman who
has not been bit at and stung by her
waspish and voluble sisters. All this is
bad enough; but surely the newspapers,
Capable as they are of positive and ex
cellent influences, ought not to be the
stimulators and allies of the chatter.
boxes. It is hard always to avoid in a
public journal, hastily compiled by
many hands, the printing of imperti
nent intelligence ; but for a persistence
in the systematic publication of private
scandals there is no excuse.
Jock's "layer Answered.
Once upon a time there4sided in
Peebleshire, Scotland, a half-Whted sort
of a man, who had a notion that he was
rather religious, and who was in the
habit of saying his prayers in a field be
hind a turf-dyke. -One day this indi
vidual was followed to his retirement
-,by some evil-disposed persons, who,
screening themselves on the 7 opposite
side, prepared to listen to what he
should say. Jock commenced his devo
tions, and among other things, express
ed his conviction that he was a very
great sinner, and that even. were the
turf-dyke at that moment to fall upon
him, it would be no more than he de
served. No sooner had he said this
when the persons on the opposite side
pushed the dyke over on him. Scramb
ling out from among the de4rria, Jock
was heard saying: " Hech, sir! it's an
awful world a body canna sad' a thing
in joke but it's taken in earnest."
Unprotected Females on Engpsh
The inconveniences of the English
railway car are amusingly illustrated
by a fact which has just come to light
in the course of a Parliamentary in-
quiry. It was stated that no-officer Or
employee of a railway .willoccupy a
compartment with a femate„ unless.
other passengers are present, fbr fear Of
being accused ot assault, or some other
misdemeanor. Accusations of this sort
have become so frequent of - late, that
gentlemen of character and ek.perlerice i,
when traveling an English car, pre
fer almost any company to.that. orari.
interesting but un'proteeted 'female;'