Eitengutatnter litteUigetwri Puyplanto Errax, W,gpxzszti TIT , ; voorkie, kiti,D ERISION &CO J. M:boorsa, S. G ALFRED SAarDlT:wwzr Vira. A. MORTON, TERM.S—Tvio per annum, payable all cases in advance. : . OFFICE—SOITTRtynoT CORNER OR CENTRE -QITARE. • Ba-A.li letters on business should be ad ressed to COOPER, SANDERSON & CO. triterarm. The Old Man's Birth -day. It is my seventy-fifth birth-day. As I sit by my door and look out on the still shadows that fall across the mead ows, and bear the soft murmuring of the leaVes, my inmost heart is touched. Wrapped in summer beauty, the whole earth seems full of light and jOy, as if the very spirit of all life and love were brooding over it and enfolding it with protecting wings. I know that faraway in the crowded city there are noise and tumults, hurrying to and fro, the strife of angry tongues and the fierce discord of wild, unbridled passions; but in this quiet spot it is hard to conceive of these, and I will not mar the sweetness of this hour by such unwelcome visions. Thank God, there are green, still places where au old man may sit and think thoughts .of peace. Thank God, too, that His voice is heard amid the rush and roar of 'crowded cities, inciting men to lofty purposes and noble deeds, restraining the vile and encouraging the weak. Yes, the protecting wing of the Great Spirit does indeed enfold the world, city and country alike, and none are shut out from His love and care. lam glad to sithere to-day and think Think'? Rather should I say remember, for my mind does little but present scene after scene of the past in vivid coloring. As I gaze on these pictures, I am a mere looker-on ; and I wonder if the boy I 'see in one of them,the wildest of a set of wild village boys, or that middle-aged man who in another is boldly pressing his way against all ob stacles, and working by day and night to win for himself a name and a place in the busy world, can in any way be connected with the weak old man who sits here in his chair, and whose white locks are stirred by the soft summer breeze. It is hard to believe it, yet they are called by the same name, and spoken of as one. The same, yet how strangely different! How things long Mrgotten come back to the old man as lie sits here in the stillness. How distinctly he sees a brown-eyed little girl playing at the brook at the bottom of the garden ; she steps out on the narrow plank that bridges the brook, and, sitting down on it, paddles with her bare foot in the rip pling wave, langbing to feel its coolness and to see the sparkling water break into countless mirrors, each with the face of a tiny girl looking out of it. She laughs and stoops over, and—oh horror! she slips off, and goes down ; and the waters of that little stream are deep enough to drown her. She gasps and rises and goes down again, her long bright hair floating on the glassy wave. Will that sweet young life be thus quenched, to be seen no more on earth ? A stout, rough, bare-footed boy rushes out from a field, and is by her in au instant ; he seizes the bright locks and pulls her out, and, with cheek and lips as deadly white as her own, bears her into the house, where the horror-stricken parents chafe the little limbs, and after a long, long hour of suspense and feat', the brown eyes open wildly, the faint flickering of a breath is felt, and their darling child is saved! Again he sees that coarse, rough boy; he is no longer bare-footed, but clothed in his best home-spun suit is sitting, a sturdy youth,in the village school-house. It is a cold winter night, and the snows are drifting over all the hills, and piling up in every valley, but what care those lads and lasses for all that wind and snow only make their, cheeksrosier, , their eyes brighter, and their stout, well-knit muscles firmer and more vigorous. It is a village singing school, and though many of these young men and maidens, will, when school is done, have to face the blast, and drive over miles of the drifting roads, how loud mid clear ring out their voices iu the good old psalm-tunes and anthems then in vogue ! And the stout, well-grown lad has the finest bass voice, they say, of all the choir, and bashfully conscious of it, he raises it to the utmost in the grand old "Hallelujah chorus," which concludes the school, shyly glancing, as he sings at a brown-eyed maiden on the opposite seat who looks the other way, and pretends she dosen't see ldin, though he knows she does. And how his cheek reddens, and his heart beats as if it would leap out of his bosom, as he takes the hand of the young maiden and puts her in his sleigh, tucking the buffalo round her, and drives off against the fierce northwester. A three miles ride is before them; but there is no little warmth, and light, and joy in that old fashioned sleigh ; and the stars which peeped out on them, now and then, from between the cloud-rifts, saw few fairer sights as they looked down over the earth that night than this true-hearted, pure-minded couple. He has never spoken to her of love, but his heart has turned toward her for many a year; even, it may be, from the time lie drew her breathless and almost lifeless, from the brook. But of her pictures rise. The boy goes forth from his home among the hills.— • His heart is hot with the restless blood of ybuth ; and green, rough village lad as he is, he will make him Self some thing in the world. So he toils and sweats and struggles; he has success and disappointments ; he gains and loses ; but still he struggles on, some times with good heart, and sometimes embittered and desponding, though never quite losing faith and courage.— He sees the world and mingles in it, that great world which in the distance looked so alluring, and finds it a strange compound of good and evil ; he learns, too, that in his own soul there is also a strange mingling of good and evil. He finds his way into society, for in the passing years he has gained reputation as a business man, and is now taking a position among the better classes. His boyish awkwardness is gone, his rude strength haS been toned down, and as he enters polished circles his bow is now as graceful, his smile as winning, his tones as bland as if he had never been a bare footed boy on the mountain side ; and his heart—ah, is that as honest, as ten der and true as when he sang in the village choir? We shall see, for there arises another picture. He has been unfortunate. The in vestment which was to have brought him princely wealth has brought only disappointment, with poverty and debt and harassing care ; but from these he can free himself. There is a way. A . partnership with a wealthy firm has been offered him, and now, before his bad fortune becomes known, he can avail himself of it and begin a career more prosperous than the former ; nay, even if his losses are made public, he be lieves the offer will not be withdrawn, for it is his energy and business talent they want and not his capital. And his heart tells him that once in the firm be may win for his bride the sister of • . . . . .'.: ..• ..;..1 1:,,..,1m -1,1:11`l ~ IF: c;!;', .01 :riltitanplf 71(1.1aq : . ..-. linoi r niiiiV. .- - ,-r lilt) - - i JE:ctiaNk: ~.-• of blow :-.).“..) acia , 9".i.i (..! JAI , 11.1.1e.`111. 90. 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OL.IO f1...!:35 1 1:- ', . .-• ..' •.1 ;i".. .1) - Lio .1 :1'2 , 1): !!....,11 , .J.11! . .T, ka i Il.t.:: 1.21.1'4 - 4 10 ~ -j.9•. j ! .. . . .., .mt h I - . ; :l. f, - i , ffl T.,: , , •:.- - ..i-,;.;,.. ~.h , ...1.;=: li!lr. -_,ii- sf.:-.;CI 0 ' 111.1 , 11-..: .i.., - .-.`,.., , . ~• , , 1..,._ . • . , . VOLUME 66. one of the partners, a gay, fashionable woman, not very young, but still brilli ant, and creating a sensation in society. What can the disappointed man of thirty wish for better than that? What wonderful luck for the unfortu nate speculator! There stands in his way one obstacle, some would call it, a great one. It is this. That firm does business very differently from the way in which he has been Accustomed to do it heretofore; not dishonestly exactly, as the world uses that phrase, but in that grasping, over -reaching, unscru pulous way which his better nature re volts at, and his conscience condemns. Yes, his conscience remonstrates, so he will ponder a little before he commits himself. And the bride? He goes to parties, and meets her there ; pays her a thousand little civilities which are graciously received, and in those light ed, perfumed rooms he likes her ; he adMires her tact and talent, her power of brilliant repartee and sarcasm, and he feels that it would be agreattriumph to bear her away from the other ad mirers who gather about her and watch him with eagle eyes. Shall he not de clare himself, and if fortune favors him, gain not only a brilliant wife but a hand some fortune, as well as a' standing in the social world not to be despised ? Yes, he will call to-morrow morning, ask for a private interview, and have it settled. And having thus de cided, he gives her a significant pressure of the hand as he takes his leave at a late hour, and goes home to throw him self on his bed. To sleep I Ah, no ! the old man sitting by the door iu the quiet of hisseventy-fifth birthday looks upon a picture not of repose but conflict. n that picture he sees that young man of thirty-two:(for young he now seems to him) tossing on his bed through the long hours, restlessly and painfully. He sees how in the soul of that young man voices cry out, as it were, rending and tearing it ; other voices, too, are sPeaking to him, voices from the past, telling of the purity and sacredness of his early hopes 'and resolutions, of the vows he once made to attain wealth and position on ly by honorable means ; such means as his mother in heaven would not frown upon with her saintly eyes; such means as the pure-souled Mary would not blush to know. Hag a viper stung him, that he writhes in agony at that name ? Has the memory of that brown eyed, tender-hearted girl become a tor ment to him ? It were hard to tell. As sailed by the demons of pride and world liness, he listens one moment to the hissing sneers which will greet his fall if he sinks into poverty and contempt, and Ihen looks at the brilliant prizes be may gain if he will yield up, only—only what? purity of conscience, the unstain ed integrity, the true manliness he has hitherto kept unsullied. As he thus meditates he knows not whether the image of that fair maiden comes as a bright angle through the gloom, beckon ing him to a new life of goodness, or as a mocking fiend to taunt him with his fall. Has he then fallen ? Conscience answers yes, fallen, oh, how low! He who once boasted that nothing could make him swerve from the path of recti tude, is now about to barter away all that is best and noblest for mere worldly gain. How fiercely would the lad who drove over the drifting hills that winter night have exclaimed, " Is thy servant a dog that he should do this thing ?" And now he is about to do it deliber• ately, knowingly! Thus the battle raged in the young man's soul ; evil spirits tempted him ; good angels also came ; or rather the Holy Spirit of the living God drew nigh to succor hini. The old man sees the young man rising from the conflict, pale mid haggard, but with his brow calm, and his soul strong in the purpose of enduring, with God's help, poverty and ignominy rather than to stain itself with such base sin. And the tears fell fast down the old man's cheek to know that he triumphed in that hour of dead ly peril, and was brought out from it unscathed through God's grace vouch safed to him. Still another picture rises before the old man's eyes, a picture which thrills his withered heart with strange emo tion. He sees that young man standing at a marriage-altar, and beside him is the brown-eyed maiden in bridal white, with meek eyes sufl•used with tears.— Thirty-two years old, poor as when he first began life, with nothing to rely upon but his own right arm and cou rageous heart, he yet is rich in the con sciousness of an honest purpose, rich, too, in the treasure of a warm, pure heart which is all his care. And Mary? Three years his junior, she had passed the flush of girlish bloom, and stood with a clearer light in her soft eye, and a more thoughtful expresion on her fair brow, and with a truer faith, and a richer love in her tried heart than the younggirl of eighteen could have known; and as the solemn vow was spoken both looked upward with fervent prayers forstrength to keen it holy before God and man.— And the blessing of the Almighty did rest upon !hem. Going to another city, and beginning business anew, he 'pros pered and the married couple had soon that honest competence which makes its possessors rich in contentment and true pleasure. Other pictures rise rapidly before the old man's eye. He saw the husband gradually gaining the confidence of the community and rising to posts of trust and profit ; he saw the brown eyed maiden changed into the graceful matron Presidingover a well ordered household, blessed with children and dispensing with courtesy and kindneSs the hospi talities of a large and handsome man sion. He saw also opening graves in which were laid to rest some of their household band, the sweetest and the rarest, the weeping parents thought, but they were laid away in the sure and certain hope of their final resurrection to eternal life ; so the chastened parents went on their way with eyes oftener raised upward, and with a firmer tread. The memories of the old man were here broken in upon by a happy voice crying out, "You must come with me, grandpa, come with me into the gar den." And the brown eyes of the blithe little maiden of four years were so like those of the little girl that fell into the brook that no wonder they called her " Mary," and that the old man was led away by her, half believing that he was a boy again. And the garden, how gay it was with festive garlands and bright flowers, because it was "grand pa's birth-day," and how merrily chil dren and grand children flirted about among the loaded tableS, carry ing dainties, and especially load ing grandpa with the choicest of them all. The brown-eyed maiden of the singing school, the lovely bride; the graceful matron and true-hearted - wife and mother, where is she on.this festive day ? Not there ; not to be seen by the eye of sense ; but the whlte haixed old man looks up, and from out the deep blue of the heavens he sees her looking down with a smile of ineffable tender ness and love, and while his voice joins in the merry-making round him, he hears a voice they'cannot hear, sweetly speaking of the bliss of heaven, and of a speedy meeting there. And when the mirth has died away, and the twilight shadows, and the . bright evening star shines out, the old man goes to his quiet room ; his bosom is full of peace ; he is praising God for all the mercies of the past, but praising him still more joyfully for the bright future which by faith lie sees opening before him, with joys infinitely holier, richer, and more satisfying than earth can 'give. And so ended the old man's birthday The Miser's Bequest The hour hand of Philip Acre's old fashioned silver watch was pointing to the figure eight—the snug red - curtains shut out the rain and darkness of the March night, and the fire snapped and crackled behind the red hot bars of the little grate in a most comfortable and cosy sort of way casting a rosy shine into the thoughtful brown eyes that were tracing castles and coronets in the burning coals. For Philip Acre was, for once, indulging himself in the dau- erous fascination of a day-dream " If I were only rich," he pondered to himself. Ali, if—then good-bye to all those musty old law books, good-bye to the mended boots and thrice turned coats, and all the ways and means that turn a man's life into wretched bondage. Wouldn't I revel in new books and de licious paintings and fine horses!— Wouldn't I buy a set of jewels for Edith —not pale pearlsof sickly emeralds, but diamonds, to blaze like fire upon her white throat? Wouldn't I—what non sense I'm talking, though !" he cried, suddenly rousing himself. " Phil. Acre holdyour confounded tongue—l didsup pose you were a fellow of more sense. Here you are, neither rich nor distill guished,but a simple law student, while Edith Wyllis is as far above your moon struck aspirations as the Queen of Sight herself. She loves me, though—she will wait—and the time may one clay come that—hallo, come in, whoever you are." It was only the serving maid of the establishment carrying a letter in the corner of her apron between her finger and thumb. Please, sir, the postman just left it wo cents to pay." " Here are your two coppers, Katy—a pretty fair equivalent for any letter I may receive. Now then," he added, as the door closed on Katy's substantial back, " let's see what my unknown cor respondent has lo say. A black seal, eh?—not having any relations to lose, I am not alarmed at the prognostic." He broke the seal and glanced leisure ly over the short, business-like commu- nication contained within, with a face that varied flom incredulous surprise to sudden gladness. " Am I dreaming ?" he murmured to himself, us if to insure complete posses sion of his sense. "NoI am wide awake and in my right mind ; it's no part of my waking visions. But who would ever suppose that old Thereon Mortimer, whom I haven't seen for six teen years, would die and leave me all his money. Why, I am really to be rich ? Oh, Edith, Edith." He clasped both hands over his eyes, sick and giddy with the thought that all the years of silent wasting were at length to be bridged over by the old miser's bequest—he might claim Edith now. How full of sunshine were the weeks that fitted over the head of the ac cepted lover, made beautiful by Edith's love. It was precisely a week before the wedding, and the gently veiled lamps were just lighted in Dr. Wyllis' draw ing room, were Edith sat, working on a bit of cambric ruffling, and singing to herself. " I wonder if Mortimer Place is so very lovely," she said to a silver haired lady who sat opposite her. " Philip is going to take me there when we return from our wedding tour ; he says it is the sweetest spot fa . ncy could devise, with fountains, shrubbery and 4 delicious copses. Shall we not be happy there?" She started up with a blush, for while the words were still on her lips, Philip Acre came into the room, looking a lit tle troubled, yet cheerful withal. Mrs. \Vyllis disappeared into the conserva tory, leaving the lovers alone. " You are looking grave, Philip'," said Edith, as he bent over and kissed her. "I am feeling so, darling. I have a very unpleasant disclosure to make—our marriage must be postponed indefinite- " Philip, for what reason?" "To enable me to realize sufficient to support you in a becoming manner. "But, Philip, I thought—" " You thought me the heir of. There on Mortimer's wealth ? So I was, Edith a few hourssince, but I have relinquish ed all now. When I accept ed the it was under the im pression that no living heir existed. I learned to-day that a cousin—a woman —is alive, in ignorance of her relation ship. Of course, I shall immediately transfer all the property to her?" "But Philip, the will has made it le gally yours." "Legally, it is; could I reconcile at() my ideas of truth and honor to avail myself of old Mortimer's fanciful freak, at this woman's expense, I might take the hoarded wealth, but I should never respect myself again. Could I dream of legally defrauding the rightful heir? Nay, dearest, I may lose name and wealth, but I would rather die than suffer a single stain on my honor as a Christian gentleman." " You have done right, Philip," said Edith, with sparkling eyes. "We will wait, and hope on, happy in loving one another more dearly than ever. But who is she ? what is her name?" " That's just what I didn't stop to in quire. I will write again to my lawyer to ask these questions and to direct that a deed of conveyance be instantly made out, and then, darling—" His lips quivered a moment, yet he manfully completed the bitter sentence: " Then I will begin the battle of life over again. And Edith's loving eyes told him what she thought of his noble self-abne gation, a sweet testimonial! "Hem!" said Dr. Wyllis, polishing his eye glasses magisterially with a crimson silk pocket-handkerchief; " I didn't suppose the young fellow had so much stamina about him—an hon orable thing to do. Edith, I.have never felt exactly certain about Phil. Acre's being worthy of you before—" " Papa!" " But my mind is made up now.— When is he coming again ?" • " This evening, sir," faltered Edith, the violet ges softly dropping, LANCASTER, PA., WEDNESDAY 11ORNING-,'SEPTEMBER 6,1865. "Tell him, Edith, that he may have you next Wednesday, just the same, as ever! And as for the law practicing— why there's time for that afterwards. Child, don't strangle me with your kisses—keep 'em for Phil." He• looked at his daughter with eyes that were strangely dim.. "Tried and not found wanting!" he muttered indistinctly. The perfume of orange blossoms had died away, the glimmer of pearls and satin was hidden in velvet caskets and traveling trunks —and Mr. and Mrs. Acre, old married people of full week's duration, were driving along the shores of the Hudson in the amber glow of a glorious June sunset. "Hallo! which way is Thomasgoing?" said Philip, leaning from the window, as the carriage turned out of the shore road. " I told him the road to take, Phil !" said Edith, with bright sparkling eyes. " Let me have my own way just for once. We aregoing to our new home." Are we?" said Phil. with a comical grimace. " Wait until you see, sir !" said Mrs. Acre, pouting up a little rosebud of a mouth. And Philip "waited" duteously. " Where are we ?" he asked in aston ishment, when the carriage drove up in front of a stately built portico, which seemed not entirely unfamiliar to him. " Surely this is Mortimer Place." " I shouldn't be surprised if it was," said Dr. Wyllis, emerging from the door way. " Walk in, my boy—come, Edith! Well, how do you like the look of your new house ?" " Our new house ?". repeated Philip, " I do not understand you, sir." " Why, I mean that your little wife I yonder is the sole surviving relative of Thereon Mortimer, although she never knew of it until this morning.— Her mother was old Mortimer's cousin, but some absurd quarrel had caused a total cessation of intercourse between the two branches of the family. I was aware of the facts all along, but wasn't sorry to avail myself of the opportunity of seeing what kind of stuff you were made of, Phil. Acre. And now, as the deed of conveyance isn't made out yet, I don't suppose your lawyer will trouble himself about it. The heiress won't quarrel with you ; I'll be bound." Philip Acre's cheeks flushed and then grew pale with strong, hidden emotion, as he looked at his fair wife, standing beside him, the sunset turning her bright hair to coils of shining gold, and thought how unerringly the baud of Providence had straightened out the tangled web of his destiny. Out of darkness had come light. Anecdote of Dumas We were dining one day at the Monte Cristo (M. Alexander Dumas' residence, near Paris). Alex. Dumas—the eternal sponged-upon—had, as he always has, a great many guests. He said to his servant: " Here, Pierre, are a great many champagne glasses, but I don't see any wine '.' "Monsieur Dumas, there is none i the cellar." " Then go buy some at the restaurant of the Pavilion d'Henri IV." The servant whispered in Dumas' ea We could catch the words: " No credit—bill—cash in future." mas exclaimed " They arc fools at the Pavilion d'Henri IV. Take thirty francs and bring us back three bottles." A few days afterwards the same scene took place. Four bottles were sent for, and forty francs given. Another day two bottles were sent for, and twenty francs given. So it went on, day after day, until Dumas received the visit of a traveller for a wine firm ; and these visits are never rare, Dumas replied: " Very well, I will take twelve bas kets." After the wine was delivered and stored in the cellar, under the superin tendence of the dealer, he.went up stairs and said. " Monsieur Dumas, you might have waited awhile before buying any more champagne. Your stock is still far from being exhausted. - Why, there are at least one hundred and fifty, or two hundred bottles iu the cellar." "The rogue! The scoundrel! The knave! 'Twas my own wine he sold me! Pierre! Pierre! you are a rogue ; you are a thief! Be off with ye!" Pierre went off at once ; but before he closed the door Dumas called him back. " Come here," said Dumas, " I have kicked you out as a thief, but I keep you as a good servant ; you know, you rascal, that I cannot get along without you.— But when you do sell me my own wine, in the name of Heaven, give me credit!" ABOUT thirty-five years ago, there re sided in the town of Hebron a certain Dr. T. who became very much enamor ed of a beautiful young lady in the same town. In due course of time they were engaged to be married. The Doctor was a strong and decided Presbyterian, and his lady love as strong and decided a Baptist. They were sitting together one evening talking of their approach ing nuptials, when the doctor remark ed: I am thinking, my dear, of two events which I shall number among the happiest of my life." " And pray what may that be, doc tor ?" " One is the hour when I shall call you my wife for the first time." " And the other, if you please?" "Is when we shall present our first born to baptism." "What, sprinkled?" " Yes, my dear, sprinkled." " Never shall a child of mine be sprinkled." " Every child of mine shall be spriu- kled." " They shall be, hey ?" " Yes, my love." " Well, sir, I can tell you, then, that your babies won't be my babies. So good night, sir." The lady left the room, and the doctor left the house. The sequel to this true story was that the doctor never married, and the lady is an old maid. Boil eight or ten ears of corn—pass-a sharp knife down each row, and with the back of the knife or a spoon scrape off all the corn, but be particular to leave the hull on-the cob. One gill new milk, two teaspoonfuls salt, two eggs well beaten, and as much flour as will make a batter as thick as griddle-cakes. Then add the corn. Have the lard boil ing hot, and drop a tablespoonful at a time in it. When brown, serve hot for dinner. Few days since a fellow was tried for stealing a saw, " but he said he only took it on a joke." The justice asked him how far he had carried it;"and was answered, "About two miles." "That carrying the joke too far," . Said the magistrate, and committed the prisoner. I.Ftem the National latelligeneerj There has probably ..never. been. so great'a throng of visitors to this national shrine in the history of the country as at the present time. The - fine steamer running regularly thither from this city is largely patronized, while multitudes are daily going there by land convey ances. The throng of soldiers thither is especially very numerous. The dis tance from Washington is some . fifteen miles, about nine below Alexandria. - At the death of General Washington, in -1799, the Mount Vernon estate com prised several thousand acres of land in a solid body, extending many miles on the Potomac river. A large part of it was under tillage. It was divided into five farms, each cultivated by its own negroes with an overseer, and the whole under a general superintendent, and all under the careful inspection of the great Corn Pancakes piottlimitotto. Mount Vernon. chief himself. His own negroes num bered one hundred and twenty; his wife's were as many more. Wheat, corn and tobaccowerethechief products of the estate, tobacco being, however, much less cultivated in the latter years of his life than in'earlier times. Upon the estate there was a fine two-story stone corn and flour mill, the remnants of which are still visible on Dogue Creek, up which flatboats came along side the mill. The water to carry the mill was brought in a race some mile and a half from a•" tumbling dam" up Dogue Run. The old mill house is still in good condition, and is occupied by a colored family. Near this mill was also his distillery. There were also a brick yard, a carpenter establishment, black smith shop, the estate forming, in fact, a sort of village. Originally the Mount Vernon estate consisted of one-half of five thousand Beres assigned to Washington's great grand father, who, in conjunction with Nicolas Spencer, patented it from Lord Culpepper in 1670. In the division of his estate, the father of Washington, assigned this tract to his elder brother Lawrence, who came here and erected the mansion in 1743, naming it in honor of Admiral Vernon, under whom he had served as captain in a colonial regiment, in the West Indies, in 1740. Lawrence died in 1752, leaving a wife, the daughter of Sir William Fairfax, of Belvoir, and one child—a daughter; and on the demise of this daughter without issue, as soon happened, the es'.ate fell to Geor g e, who had been muelL an in mate of his family. In 1759 General - Washington married Mrs. Mai tha Oustis, (nee Dandrige) then residing on her estate at the White House with her two children, and after remaining at that place three months took up their residence at Mount Ver non. She brought him in her own right more than a hundred thousand dollars. They were of the same age— twenty-seven years at their marriage. In his will Washington divided the estate into thiee parts. The mansion, with four thousand acres, was left to his nephew, Bushrod Washington, an As sociate Justice of the United States Su preme Court. At the death of Mts. Washington, in 1801, Judge Washing ton became the proprietor of Mount Vernon, and continued there until his death in 1829. Two of the old servants still on the estate came there with him, belonging to his wife Anne, daughter of Colonel Thomas Blackburn. Two of General Washington's servants still sur vive, also, residing some three miles from Mount Vernon. Judge Washing ton having no children, left the estate to his nephew, John A. Washington from whom the Ladies' Mount Vernon Association purchased the two hundred acres upon which are the mansion and the tomb, for 5800,000. Two thousand acres were willed by Washington to two other members of the Washington fami ly, and the residue, upwards of two thousand acres, including the fine W ood lawn estate, was given to Major Law rence Lewis, a favorite nephew, whose wife was the beautiful and cultivated Nelly Custis, grand-child of Mrs. Wash ington, and the adopted, daughter of General Washington. Major Lewis erected a splendid man sion at Woodlawn, in 1805, at a cost of 524,000. Major Lewis, whose mother, Betty Washington, was the sister of the great chief, died at Arlington in 1841, and his wife died in 1852. The remains of both, with those of a daughter, the wife of Chas. M. Conant, Fillmore's War Secretary, being deposited in the Mount Vernon vault. Soon after the death of Maj. Lewis, the Woodlawn es tat4e was sold by his only son, Lorenzo, to a colony of Quakers from N'ew Jersey, who still retain much of it, divided into farms. The Woodlawn mansion, with a splendid farm of 500 acres surrounding it, belongs to John Mason Esq., who came there from New Hampshire in 1830. Tne mansion is of brick, with slate roof, and lofty pillars ii-ontin , r the river on a commanding site, looking down upon the whole Mount Vernon , estate. Lorenzo Lewis died some years ago in Clark county, and the other daughter, the wife of a Mr. Butler, is living in Mississippi. John A. Washington went to Fauquier county with his family in 1800, and pur chased a farm known as Wareland. His wife died sudddenly soon after, and it is well known that he fell, as Colonel of a rebel regiment, early in 1861, leav ing a family of seven children the youngest two being little boys, and the only male children ever born at the Mount Vernon mansion. There are some one thousand acres of the Mount Vernon estate, belonging to these or phan children, lying in close proximity to the Mount Vernon mansion. The Mount Vernon estate was probably never under a finer state of cultivation than it is at the present time. The farmers have been shipping manure in large quantities from'this city this season, and piling it at their landingson the river for future use. At the present time there are two thousand Government mules graz ing upon different farms in that section. These mules are separated into squads of five hundred, and with fifteen mount ed men to control them, are put into a heavy grass field, kept closely together, and compelled to eat clean as they go. A squad thus eats some more than two acres of the heaviest grass in a day, for which they pay five cents a head, or twenty-five dollars for the squad. The ground behind them looks as though no grass had grown there this season. The grounds immediately around the mansion and tomb bear evidence of care and taste. The approach to the tomb and to the mansion from the river is highly picturesque and delightful. The appearance of both the tomb and the mansion has been familiar to all Ame ricans in illustrated books from the childhood of most of those who now read the daily press. We have seen this sacred spot many times in the last thirty years, and never saw it look better than now. - - It may be interesting to many who are now visiting the place for the first time to know that the remains of Wash ington were originally deposited in the old vault which is pointed out to all visitors and in a mahogany coffin lined with lead. The vault was damp and the wood was three times renewed be fore being placed in the receptacle where they now repose. In 1831 the new vault was erected and the remains transferred. A Philadelphia marble worker proposed to furnish a marble sarcophagus, but on visiting the tomb declined to do so if it was to be put into so damp a vault. An ante-chamber was therefore erected in front of the vault, some dozen feet high, with an arched gateway and a gate formed of iron rods. In this ante-chamber on the right is the sarcophagus containing the remains of Washington, and on the left another exactly like it c_ontnining the remains of Mrs. Washington ; and it may be ad ded, that her remains have been moved as often as those of the great chief. The •sareophagns is excavated from a solid block of pure white marble, and was placed there in 1837. Within the vault proper are the % bodies of many members of the family. On either side, as you come near - the vault, stands a marble obelisk, inscribed with names of leadingmembers of the Wash-, ington family. The design upon Wash- ington's sarcophagus icovers the most of .thelopor censiste tifa divided into thirteen perpendicular stripes, resting on the national its*, • and' attached= by cOrds to a spear em bellished with-tassels, forming •a back ground-to the shield.- The :crest. is an eagle with open wings perching : upon the superior bar of the shield and clutch inglhe arrows and olive branch. Be low the armorial bearing is. the name, deeply sculptured, of " Washington." On the plain lid of the other sarcopha gus are the words, in large letters, " Martha Washington." An addition erected at one end of the mansion after Washington's time has been torn away, andthe structure is now in the exact form as when left by the Father of his country. It is well known that the mansion, as originally erected and left by Lawrence Washington, was much enlarged by Gen. Washington, a section being added to each end, making it, as it now stands, 96 feet in length. North and South, with a portico, front ing the river, extending from end to end. This portico having been decayed has been replaced by an exact eopy of the old. The mansion is two stories high, of wood, finished in imitation of freestone, and painted white. Four teen Small windows, with old fashioned diminutive panes of glass, look out upon beautifully sloping lawns, and down upon the river from an elevation of two hundred feet above the river level.— There are six rooms on the floor, with a spacious hall running through the cen tre, from East to West. The North room is the large dinning hall, in which is the exquisite marble mantle-piece, wrought in Italy, shipped nu an English vessel during the French revolution, captured by the French, and promptly forwarded by the French government when La fayette made known that it was a pres ent from an American wine merchant, resident in Marseilles to Washington. In this room are also the double banked harpsichord, shaped like a modern square piano—a wedding present to his adopted daughter, Nelly Custis ; the tri pod which served Washington in all his surveys,and the large set of matched ma hogany dining tables. The dining hall opens at either end into an east and west parlor, in one of which is an old, dilapidated, large globe, and in the other an old sofa. The key of the Bastile—a present from Lafayette—still hangs in the glass case in the hall, and, by its side, the salhoalte taken from life by a lady in Philadelphia. The library room, in the south end, is occupied by Miss Tracy, the accomplished and faithful agent of the Mount Vernon Association. A bust of Washingtion, cast in plaster by Hou don, and another of Lafayette, facing each other high on the walls, are the' only observable relics. The bookcases, built into the wall, with glass doors, fully occupy one side of the large room. Over this apartment is a small bed room, where the great and good man died. A bedstead, said to be an exact copy of that on which he died, is the only article in the chamber. The family pictures were nearly or quite all at Arlington, and were taken to Richmond by Gen. Lee. The cele brated pitcher portrait, upon the back of which was inscribed the beautiful eulogy, and left in the mansion by an unknown hand, was carried away by John A. - Washington, and is in the pos session of that family. The long row of brick quarters still stand as they have for thirty or forty years, since they were partially destroy ed by fire. in this row Washington had Ills blacksmith and carpentering estab lishments, and here now live the two old colored servants of whom mention has been made as the servants that came here sixty years ago with Ann Black burn, the wife of Bushrod Washington. The "Ladies Mount Vernon Associa tion," it is well known, made their pur- chase in 1858, and had made the last payment of 52,000 upon the eve of the rebellion. The association had expend- ed also $20,000 in improvements, in ad dition to paying the $200,000 purchase money. Much still needs to be done, and the large amount of funds at this time accumulating from the throngs of visitors, who pay an entrance fee each of twenty-five cents, will do much for putting the national shrine and pre serving it in proper condition. The scourge of the rebellion stayed its desolating tide at the confines of; hese sacred acres. The tomb of Washington was made sacred on both sides. Pohick Church, where Washington worshipped till the (dose of the Revo lution, has not escaped so well. The last discourse in it was a tempestous disunion harange by an itinerant Metho dist preacher on a Sabbath near the opening of the war. The ancient edifice is now a shell ; not a window, door, nor the smallest fragment of the pews, pul pit, nor floor, are to be seen. It was used early in the war by soldiers for shelter, and later was turned into a stable. The ancient tombstones of the abandoned graveyard are lying and leaning around, and desolation is painted in all its saddest forms upon thescene. The old Pohiel Church was erected near this some one hundred and fifty years ago. This was erected in 1772, and Washington was the chief contributor in its erection. To this church Washington for years regularly repaired, some seven miles, allowing no company to keep him from the Sabbath service. The pew doors of Washington and the great George Mason had been I carried away as relics before the war. Their brick walls alone now remain. A Temperance Story Deacon Johnson is a great temperance man, and sets a good example of total abstinence as far as he is seen. Not long ago he employed a carpenter to make some alterations in his parlor, and in repairing the corner near the fire place, it was found necessary to remove the wainscoting, when lo! a discovery was made that astonished everybody. A brace of decanters, a tumbler, and a Pitcher were cozily reposing there, as if they had stood there from the begin ning. The deacon was summoned, and as he beheld the blushing bottles he ex claimed— " Wal, I declare, that's curious, sure enough. It must be that old Baines left them there when he went out of this 'ere house thirty years ago." " Perhaps he did," returned the car penter; " but, Deacon, the ice in the pitchee must have been friz mighty hard to stay so till this time." Items of News The Werz trial was continued yester day. The counsel for Werz have re-appear ed and consented to defend him. —The reports of the approaching, trial of Jefferson Davis are renewed, but nothing definite is known of the time of the trial. —Delegates for the coming North Caro lina State Convention are being nominated in all parts of the State. —The President has issued a proclama tion removing all trade restrictions upon contraband goods sent to the South after September 1. —A brisk trade has sprung up between Newbern, N. C., and the interior of the —Great lawlessness exists in the intorior of Alabama. —Six vessels are now loading at Rich mond for foreign ports. The railroad connecting Memphismad Corinth is completed. The Richmond Christian Advocate wil resume publication on September 7th. -- Gen. Grant was at La Crosse, Wiscon sin, on Friday, Gen. Torbert has been made a brevet Brigadier General of regulars. There were nearly 400 applications for pardon presented to the Attorney General on Ilonday. —lt is reported that R. M. T. Hunter will soon be released from Port Pulaski on pa role, - , NUMBER 35. Currents' of • Population. From the Ph lx Ledger.] Pennsylvania, notwithstanding her natural resonrces_are_ greater than any other State and internal improvements early developed them, has" had a very large share in building up the States which now fornr the present constella tion of the Union.- Her population, 'though distinguished as much as the New Englanders for their steady habits, have much'of the New England enter prise, and being largely agricultural, find no inconvenience or hardship in removing from one part of the country to another, as the natural features of the land and its fertility invite them.— It is curious to notice the direction that the migration of population from this State took ,and how much it has had to do with influencing the steady growthof the richest and most interesting portion the Union, the great West and North west. While our State has been helping to subdue the wilderness in this way, it has been , growing steadily in popula tion, the large number of its citizens migrating, not apparently affecting the natural proportion of increase of its own numbers. The total number of Penn sylvanians living in other States in 1860 was 597,332. The number of natives of other States living in Pennsylvania waS 192,22. Our State had lost thus, over all sources of supply by immigration, 405,164 of its population. How this number was disposed of the following statement, for which we are indebted to a friend, will show : 1886 natives of Maine were in Penn sylvania, 306 Pennsylvanians were in Maine. 1773 natives of New Hampshire were in Pennsylvania, 227 Pennsylvanians in New Hampshire. 1276 natives of Vermont were in Penn sylvania, 160 Pennsylvanians in Ver mont. 7777 natives of Massachusetts were in Pennsylvania, 297 Pennsylvanians in Massachusetts. 1799 natives of Rhode Island were in Pennsylvania, 610 Pennsylvanians in Rhode Island. 8044 natives of Connecticut were in Pennsylvania, 1470 Pennsylvanians in Connecticut. Pennsylvania had gained 25,555 in habitants from the New England States and lost 4970 to them. 70,673 natives of New York were in Pennsylvania, 30,232 Pennsylvanians in New York. 31,006 natives of Nev Jersey were in Pennsylvania, 24,425 Pennsylvanians in New Jersey. How many went to New Jersey to escape taxatiqn in Pennsyl vania the census does not show. 12,383 natives of Delaware were in Pennsylvania, 7,852 Pennsylvanians in Delaware. 22,774 natives of Maryland were in Pennsylvania, 18,457 Pennsylvanians in Maryland. Pennsylvania had gained 136,836 from the other Middle States, and lost 100,966 to them. The following facts, derived from the returns of the census of 1860, exhibit the contributions which Pennsylvania has made to the population of other States and received from them : 519 natives of Michigan were in Penn sylvania; 17,460 Pennsylvanians in Michigan. . 377 natives of Wisconsin were in Penn sylvania; 21,013 Pennsylvanians in Wisconsin. 399 natives of lowa were in Pennsyl vania ; 52,156 Pennsylvanians in lowa SG natives of Minnesota were in Penn sylvania ; 7,608 Pennsylvanians in Min nesota. 12,119 natives of Ohio were in Penn sylvania; 174,764 Pennsylvanians in Ohio. 707 natives of Indiana were in Penn Sylvania ; 57,210 Pennsylvanians in lii diana. 999 natives of Illinois were in Penn sylvania; 83,625 Pennsylvanians in Ilii nois. 309 natives of Missouri were in Penn sylvania ; 17,929 Pennsylvanians in Mis souri. 30 natives of Kansas were in Pennsyl vania ; 6,463 Pennsylvanians in Kansas Pennsylvania had received 15,605 in habitants from the Northwestern States and contributed 438,256 to their popula tion. 11,026 natives of Virginia were in Pennsylvania; 21,043 Pennsylvanians in Virginia. 439 natives of North Carolina were in Pennsylvania ; 543 Pennsylvanians in North Carolina. 527 natives of South Carolina were in Pennsylvania ; 374 Pennsylvanians in South Carolina. 315 natives of Georgia were in Penn sylvania; 981 Pennsylvanians in Georgia. 54 natives of Florida were in Penn sylvania; 201 Pennsylvanians in Florida. Pennsylvania had received 12,471 in habitants from the Southern States, and contributed 23,142 to their popula tion. 711 natives of Kentucky were in Pennsylvania; 7,841 Pennsylvanians in Kentucky. 238 natives of Tennessee were in Pennsylvania; 2,659 Pennsylvanians in Tennessee. 139 natives of Alabama were in Penn sylvania ; 989 Pennsylvanians were in Alabama. 172 natives of Mississippi were in Pennsylvania; 950 Pennsylvanians in Mississippi. 335 natives of Louisiana were in Penn sylvania; 2,339 Pennsylvanians in Lousi ana. 28 natives of Arkansas were in Penn sylvania ; 890 Pennsylvanians in Ar kansas. 63 natives of Texas were in Pennsyl vania , 1796 Pennsylvanians in Texas Pennsylvania had received 1686 in habitants from the Southwestern States and contributed 17,474 to their popula tion. 75 natives of California were in Penn sylvania ; 11,143 Pennsylvanians in California. No natives of Oregon were in Penn sylvania ; 1361 Pennsylvanians were.in Oregon. Pennsylvanin had received 75 inhab itants from the Pacific States, and con tributed 12,504 to their population. Pat and his Pig. A rollicking Hibernian of the light division in the Peninsula, was trudging along the road with a pig tied to a string behind him, when as bad luck would have it he was overtaken by General Canford. The salutation, as may be supposed was not the most cordial. " Where did you steal that pig, you plunderigg rascal?" " What pig, General?" exclaimed Paddy, turning around with the most innocent surprise. "Why, that pig you have behindyou, you villain." " 'Well, then, I protest, general," re joined Paddy, nothing abashed, and turning round to his four-footed com panion, as if he had never seen him be fore, " it is scandalous to think what a wicked world we live in, andhow ready fol'. take away an honest boy's charai. . Some blackguard wanting to get me into trouble has tied that baste to my cartouch box." The general smiled and rode on. A Gentle Hint "Your hand annoys me exceedingly," said a nobleman to a talkative person 1.1: , was sitting near him at dinner, and was constantly suiting the action tr the word. "Indeed, my lord," re plied the gabbier, " we are so crowded at the table that I do not know where to put my , hand," "Put it in your mouth," said the nobleman. n..y D , ; vTXI:4 ;Pa. Year_ Per i l VV4 l 4l==eanti increiute for fractions& a year. REAL EsTATZ,Pma- oarAx.PROPZILTI4B.IId Omit- Na41..-ADYKEITIPONG, 7, Lien* aline for the Hist, and 4 'cents fbr each' SttWmuent'inser tion. PATENT 11- 133 40nn 21 and other ad trer'e : 'the colrunn: - . One cc 9e 9 A—.-----t•—••••••` Half column, 1 Third column, 1 . 80 Quarter El:ratans Canna, of "ilk Hoes or lees, .10 one year Business Etiriii.,7lVgiries.orrss, . year, LEGAL Anii Executors' notices-.. 'Administrators' notices 2.00 AsEdgnees' notices, 2.00 Auditors' notices .1.50 Other "Notices;' ten lines, or leas, three times, .50 I Ward " Strikes He." SALT RIVER BORING, Deerest Betsy_ Jane—Here I am cum, as Slick as Gress, out of the reech of the " slings and arrears of outragis foachune," as the Poit sez. Ef any body enqwires to BaldinsvilleaboutAr temus Ward, that used to be some in the Show Biznes, say to them with a Tear in thy I, Artimeous (that's-the Greek spell of my name,) the great showman, is dead—that is, to ignoble persoots. Tell them Artemus is no more Artemus, but " a body corporated ;" tell 'em Betsy Jane Ward is no more the wife of the captain of the Baldins vine nailishy, but a lady. Betsy Jane, I've struck ile ! I'm as ritch as Creasus. ➢fy ile will spirt up in a stream 2 hun dred feet Hi, and as thick as the main mast of the irunsides. 0 Betsy, what asiteof mean work I've dun in my past career ! To think that I used to handle the Bo Constritors an other reptile snaiks, in my show, an all for no use. I got poor and poorer, while the snaiks au tigers got fat ; an at last the pesky robs confiscated my show, an Othelly's occupation was gone." This is a kold world, Bet;y—perticu larly whar there's no ile. When I got poor (cauz how I was to good natured like father Abram, and let the boys intu my show without payin)even my mon key made mouths at me, au 1 was a wax figger rueself—that is, I was patience on a monument. But nobody " saw it" but me. Now it's difierent. Shakspeer, or some other wise theologiin, sed SUM is born grate, some win grateness by a pack of cards or a horse race, and the rest git big by axident. Now I didn't win it, or git it thrust onto me, but I bored it out the stuns of Salt River, with a government orgur. Boriu is of two kinds—borin for the corporation (that is for the money) and afterwards for the ile. Wal, you see I bord myself out of A. Ward into a grate Company, called the "Oleaginus Saline Carboniferous Indication Manufactur ing Company." I tell you privitly, that name took splendid. We—that's me, and Artemus and Artimeous & Mr. Ward—opined an offis and from Moo dy morn till Slimly dawn we bookt the shares. Our company was organized to wit— it had 17 milluns of shares at 3 cents a share, & 1 sent " reserved for working capital." We garrantied everything. We tole the noose boys and tither con trebaus that we had the " royilty " and " fee simple " of the ile on Salt River. We tole 'em we was aposed!to aristock risy anti big shears. We tole 'em the shears was " limited "—so they was, to our treasury. Our shears went up to 17 dollars an 14 ; 4 sents in 4 days. We sold out an.started anuther, and this was the way we went on, till the vale of Salt River was bored like a pepper box. Betsy Jane, I've guv you the modis operandy of striking ile. The man wot got rich ou wot 0 talers guv him an in- scribed patriotickally on his Buggy, "Nine Talers Maid me a man," was a fool long side the Wards. Pm comin to Baldinsville soon to doze up thine un-,. distinguisht career, and open. in Bost ing a establishment worthy of Betsy Jane. Tell Zeke Biglow to make a Coach 4, and put on the panel a Orger as a main mast of a ship. I inten to make the Codfish riggins pale there in effectooal fires, as the postle says. The Artemus corporation sends thee a olea- genius farewell kiss. No more at pres ent. From thy deerest luv. . ARTEMUS WARD. An Indignant Girl A young girl Was reading the mar riages in a newspaper a few days since, and after she had concluded she uttered an exclamation of impatience. "What is the matter?" 'asked her friend. " lou - look angry." " And it's enough to make one look angry, my good gracious !" was the re ply. " Here I've read the marriages of four widows in this one paper!" " Well, what of it?" " What of it! Doesn't it prove that widows are good for-nothing, designing things, and prevent us girls from get ting husbands ?'' N 0.17 "I say it does," replied the indignant girl, " and 'tell you what I'll do. I'll get married, and have my husband die, and then I'll see if I can't get a good one." This brilliant scheme the designer is prepared to carry out; so young men who desire to live their natural lives will please avoid her, for she is dan gerous. Iced Champagne A gentleman who has been in the ice trade at St. Thomas, relates some funny anecdotes about the natives there and their luminous idea of Boston hard water: He once sold a lump to a gentleman, who sent a colored servant for it, with directions to have it kept for the dinner table. The servant took it home, and inquired of the cook how it was pre pared. After considerable discussion in the kitchen cabinet, it was decided to have it boiled. At dinner the gentle man called for it, and was in high glee, for he had drank iced champagne in the States and he felt a mighty hanker ing for a second trial of the same beverage. Soon Sambo made his appearance, with eyes rolling on the outside, grin ning like a frightened monkey. "Where is the ice, Sambo?" said the gentleman. " Oh ! glory, massa !" replied Sambo " I put him in de pot and biled him for more an haffan hour, and when I went to look for him, he was not dar." Altering the Text An anecdote is told of the Bishop of Exeter,' England. The scene is a church in To-quay; the Bishop is present, but not officiating, and he sits with the congregation. The officiating clergy man ventures to soften to ears polite the phrase, "Eat and drink their own damnation." He reads its "condemna tion." A voice is heard energetically exclaiming, "Damnation !" The whole church is startled. But it is not a pro fane epithet they hear; it is the voice of the Bishop in rebuke of the officiating minister. Another Election Joke In England In Wiltshire (Eng.) the authorities adopted a singular method of keeping the peace at the elections. They picked out two hundred of the worst rowdies and made them special constables for the day to keep all other people in order The "roughs" were delighted with the job and with the pay attached to it(fiVe shillings each.) The chief constable got s them all together, marched them to the public hall, and there locked them up till the election was over. The conse quence was that everything passed off without disturbance. • Corn-Batter Cakes; Grate eight or ten ears of corn—use a spoon to get the gist of the corn from the cob—be careful never to scrape it so hard as to get oft' the hull. Make a bat ter of 1 quart of milk, 4 eggs, and flour enough to make it as stiff as usual grid dle-cakes ; one small teaspoonful soda, one and a half cream of tartar, a tea spoonful of salt ; mix all well together. Have thegrlddle hot andbuttered; drop a teaspoonful of.the_mixture, and when hrbwn on one side, turn them to brown the other. serve Witizbutter.
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