iatlgoucoty,lo.l4 l igenari PUBLISEMIY EVERY lii r IiDNESDAT 11.; OA! S.A D E Etliko2l & CO:: booPEs, H. Gmrra, ALFRED SANDICASON Wni. A. MORTON', TERMS—T*6 - Dollars per tnnam,. payable all cases In advance. FFICE,-80U7HWE.ST CORNER OF CENTIOL R.IJAB.II. 54- ietturs On business sbotild resseti LO COOPER, SAZ,IIIEIISOIS & CO. be ad- Tittraq. •' John Boone's Dream. God be thanked! the meanest of His creatures Boasts two soul stdes—one to face the world with; One to snow a woman when he loves her. "He is rough and surly, Rose. What does make you like him ?" "I don't know," said little Rose Fra zier, sitting with her chin in her two soft palms, and gazed dreamily into the "He's more disagreeable than any man I ever knew. He is always say- ing such uncomfortable things. I don't wonder that everybody shuns him." "I don't shun him." "You! \o; you are just like a kit- ten, purring around everybody. You liking him is proof that you can like anybody." "No it isn't, Josie," said Rose, sud dehly looking up into her cousin's face. "I don't like everybody, but I do like John Boone. He isn't a bail or coarse or vulgar man. There is something wrong about him, I know. He seems to like to say sharp things that make people feel uncomfortable. lam always afraid of getting en illusiastie over any- - - _ thing, before lion, for fear he'll make a cut at me. lle sneers at everything that's bright and innocent and happy ; but, Josie, I sometimes wonder how he feels in his heart ; he wasn't always such a forbidding, taciturn wan. Once lie was a little boy, you knoW, and he must have liked to run and play iu the suushine, - like other children. I cannot help believing that sometime in his life something has gone wrong with him and made him bitterand cynical—some thing that lie cannot get over. I quite believe it, Josie." Rose sat in the door of the parlor. Some one going along the entry said, "Thank you." Rose started and turned, but the hall door changed, and the hall was empty. " Who was that, Jude?''i "I don't know, I didn't see," said Josie, "who hadn't heard, either." The latter, seated at the piano, went on with her practising, while Rose, a little disturbed by the last words she had heard, turned to the tire again. She was very thoughtful ; the glow burned one delicate cheek to a bright damask, but she did not mind. She was won dering how it must seem to live when a person had an inclination to sneer down everything bright and innocent ly fair. Why there could not be any joy for them anywhere! What if they proved that getting delighted with pret ty things or nice people was silly,where was the satisfaction in proving it? What was left but to get along iu a stolid, cheerless way, and never feel happy? One couldn't be happy if there wasn't any pretty things, nice people or sun shine, could they? By and by it grew so dark that Josie couldn't see the notes of her music, so she stopped playing and looked around. Rose still sat upon the ottoman, but she had dropped her head upon a velvet chair seat and fallen asleep. " I don't wonder," sighed Josie, thinking of her three hours' practice; I wish I could go to sleep when prac tising time comes." It was - an early April day. There was a soft rain falling outside; inside, the room seemed warm and close to Josie. She opened the window a little, and then left the room and shut the door. Suddenly the red coals cracked sharp ly, and a spark flew out upon the hearth rug. If Rose had been awake, she would instantly have put her foot upon it; but, as she was not, the scent of burning wool arose in the room, and soon a smouldering tire ran along the rich carpet. It swept around a chair, and rushed up against the folding *ors, which were of light wood, and so be gan to crackle and roar. The smoke puffed and wreathed, and Rose's sleep changed to a heavy stupor. She lay in sensible in the burning room, saved from entire suncation by the sweep of rainy air from the window. It had grown quite dark. It was strange that people from the outside did not see the fire, for the room was full of a lurid light. The red flame and black smoke crept, writhing, up the fair walls to the rich pictures, and the light lace window drapery dropped down in burn ing fragments. The scent and smoke were stifling, and in the midst of this scene lay the unconscious girl, as yet unharmed, though the flames darted around her, now and then snatching at her soft drapery and hanging curls. Suddenly there was a shout of fire, and simultaneously a crash. The fold ing doors fell in, and through them came the inmate of the next room, John Boone. The flames and smoke met him like a wall, but he sprang forward and snatched Rose up with a passionate exclamation. To his very arms the flames leaped upon her, crisping her curls, sweeping their black lines across her unconscious face, and snatching away her faint breath. He swore, with set teeth, his own flesh burning, both their clothing, on fire, as he fought his way back to his room. The fire pursued him and clung to him. In this emergency he refrained from opening the hall doors ; his pres ence of mind was not in the least im paired. Flinging a heavy shawl around Rose, he wrapped her in it, extinguish ing the fire, tore oil his own smoking coat, took up Rose again, and went out upon the piazza, shutting the window after him, though the alarm had spread, and engitres and accompanying crowds, were flocking about the building. The outsiders sawand shouted at him. A ladder was put qp against the piazza, and he came down, but just as afireruan took Rose a sudden dizziness and pros tration overcame him and he fainted. It was nearly two months before he saw Rose again. Both were considers.. bly burned outwardly, and injured by inhaling the hot, dense atmosphere. But, at the end of May, Boone one day rode out to Jamaica Plain, where Rose was to spend the summer. It was a very strange thing for him to do; he was not given to calling upon young Rose was in a little garden, which was full of late lilies and early roses, a fresh, sunshiny place, ringing with songs of birds. She was training the rose vines, her hat hanging from her neck by its strings, her head bare, showing the dark curls, cut short, since crisped by the fire. She looked so young that John Boone on the road stopped suddenly, as if doubtful of his errand. But he went on finally, and swung open the gate. Rose was very glad to see him, though he could see, by the startled look in her eyes, that he was associated in mind with thoughts of fear and distress. .j 2 • He stayed at the cottage several hours. Vlleu be started away _Rose went into thii - gidden with hini, asking:l*n it he •• • ;,--- - 3%7 ‘ , 1“ 4 1 taa n: t. • - , • I ~ „ . . . . ,'• • . . - . . , • , . . . AL VOLUME 66 would take some flowers if she would cut them. " Yes," he said. He watched her earnestly as she cut the pinks and roses and vernal grass, and the hand with which he took them trembled. " You were not quite sure that I liked flowers," he said. • "Not quite," answered Rose, tim- idly. " And yet you don't think I am quite a brute," said he; " for I once heard you say so." Rose rembled a little, realizing that she had once heard and guessed aright. " I was once a happy little child, and ran in thesunsnine," he went on. "„Yet my life has been hard since ; mucl has been cruel and bitter to bear. It has made me morose and cynical, and the habit of revenging myself upon in nocent people grew upon me. Rose, until you told your cousin that you liked rue, that day, I had not heard a tender voice speak my name for five years, and it was my fault. You don't know how it came upon me! I loved you from that hour. You thanked me forsaving your life. Child, I only did what I could not help. You were dearer to me than my own heart. I would have been burned to the bone to have saved you a moment's pain. Rose, what do you say to me? All my happiness is centered in you." She put up her hands, asudden sweet ness and radiance suffusing her face. " Take it, then,'' she said, softly. And, still holding the dewy rose, Boone took the two fragile little hands and kissed them. His kisses were fer vent, his smile as bright as any man's. Rose Frazier had found his heart. Madam Scandal A long tune ago, in the western part of England, there lived an aged couple whose time had passed away, si nee early youth, in the every day round of farm life, and who had never been known to have the least ill-feeling toward each other, since the good old time when good old Parson Heriut had united them in the holy bonds of wedlock, twenty five years before. So well was the fact of their conjugal happiness know n, that they were spoken of far and near as the happiest pair in England. Now, the Devil (excuse the abrupt mention of his name) had been trying for twenty years to create what is called " a fuss in the family" between these old companions. But, much to his mortification, he had not been able to induce the old gentle man to grumble about breakfast being too late or the old woman to give a single curtain lecture. After repeated efforts,the Devil became discouraged, and had he not been a per son of great determination, he would doubtless have given the work up in despair. One day as he walked along in a very surly mood, after another at tempt to get the Mil lady to quarrel about the pigs getting into the yard, he met an old lady, a neighbor of the aged couple. As Mr. Devil and the neighbor were very partecular friends, they must needs stop on the way and chat a little. "food morning, sir," said she, "and pray \\ hat on earth makes you look so bad this morning? Isn't the controversy between the churches doing good ser vice?" " Yes." " Isn't Deacon W. making plenty of bad whisky ?" y es) , " Well what is the matter, my highly honored master:"' "Everything isgoing on well enough," replied the Devil, but and he looked as sour as a monkey on a crab apple tree) old Blueford and his wife over here are injuring the cause terribly by their bad example; and after trying four years to induce them to do right, I must say I consider them hopeless." The hag stood a moment in deep thought. " Are you sure you have tried every way ?" " Every way I can think of." "Are you certain':" " Yes." "Well," replied she, "if you will promise to make me a present of a new pair of shoes, in case I succeed, I will make the attempt myself, and see if I can raise a quarrel between them." To this reasonable request the Devil gladly assented. The old hag went her way to old Blueford's house, and found Mrs. Blueford busily engaged in getting things ready for her husband's comfort on his return from work. After the 'isual compliments had passed, the fol lowing dialogue took place : " Well, friend 8., you and Mr. B. have lived a long time together." " Five and twenty years, come No vember," replied Mrs. B. "And all this time you have never had a quarrel?" "Not one." "I am truly glad to hear it," con tinued the hag. " I consider it my duty to warn you, though this is the case, you In USt not expect it to be always. Have you nut ohserved that oil late Mr. B. has gronwn peevish and sullen at mes?" " A very little so," observed Mrs. Blue ord. " I knew it," continued the hag ; `and let me warn you to be on your uard." Mrs. B did think she had better do so, and asked advice as to how she should manage the case. " Have,you not noticed,': said the hag, "that your husband has a bunch of long, harsh hair growing under the chin on the side of his throat'?" " " These are the cause of the trouble, and as long as they remain, you had better look out. Now, as a friend, I would advise you to cut them off the first time you get a chance, and thus end the trouble, and as long as they re main, you had better look out." Soon after this the hag started for home, and made it convenient to meet Mr. B. on the way. Much the same talk in relation to his domestic happi ness passed between him and the old woman. " But, friend Blueford," said she, "I think it my duty as a christian to warn you to be on your guard, for I tell you your wife intends your ruin." Old Mr. B. was very much astonished yet he could not wholly discredit her words. When he reached home he threw himself on a bed in perplexity, and feigning himself asleep, studied the matter over in his mind. His wife thinking this a good opportunity for cutting off the obnoxious hair, took her husband's razor and crept softly to his side. Now, the old lady was much frightened at holding a razor so close to her husband's necand her band was not so steady as it once was; so, be tween the two, she went to work very awiiwardly, and pulled the hairs, in stead of cutting- them oft B. opened his eyes, and there stood his wife with . a razor at his throat. After what had been told him and seeing this, he could not doubt but that she intended to mur der him. He sprang from the bed in horror, and no explanation or entreaty could convince him to the contrary.— So from that time there was a jaw, jaw, quarreling and wrangling all the time. With delight the Devil heard of the faithful emissary, and sent her word if she would meet him at the end of the lane, at a certain time, he would pay her the shoes. At the appointed time she repaired to the spot, and found the Devil at the place. He put the shoes on a pole, and standing on the opposite side of the fence, handed them over to her. She was much pleased with them—they were exactly the article. " But there is one thing, Mr. Devil, I would like to have explained ; that is, why you hand them to me on a stick ?" "Very easy to explain," replied he, " any one who has the cunning and meanness to do as you have done, don't get nearer than twenty feet to me." So saying, be fled in terror. After a while the old woman died and when she applied for admittance to the lower regions the Devil would not let her in, for fear she might dethrone him, as she was so much his superior. So the old woman is yet condemned to wander over the world, creating quarrels and strife in peaceful families and neighbor hoods. Would you know her name? It is Madam Scandal. When she died the young Scandals were left or phans, but the Devil, in consideration of past services done by the mother, adopted them, and so you see he is father to that respectable class called ,scincial mongers. Reader, don't you know some of the family? The Inquisitive Yankee The following is a " new edition with improvements," of an old anecdote ; A gentleman riding in au Eastern railroad car, which was rather sparsely supplied with passengers, observed in the seat before him a lean, slab sided Yankee, every feature of whose face seemed to ask a question ; and a circum stance soon occurred which proved he possessed an " inquiring mind." Be fore him, occupying the centre seat, sat a lady, dressed in black ; and aftershift ing his position several times and ma noniveri lig to get an opportunity to look into her face, he at length caught her eye. He nodded familiarly to her, and asked with a nasal twang utterly inca pable of imitation : " In affliction?" Yes, sir," replied the lady. " Parent—latimr or mother." " No, sir," replied the lady. "Child, perhaps a boy or gal ?" " No, sir, not a child,'' was the re sponse. I have no children." "Husband, then, 'Speer.' " Yes," was the curt answer. " Hum—cholera, s'pose A tradin' man mebbe?'' "My husband was a seafaring wan ; the captain of a vessel; he didn't die of cholera ; he was drowned." "Oh, drowned, eh?" pursued the in quisitor, hesitating for a brief instant, "'save his chest ?" " Yes, the vessel was saved, and my husband's effects," said the widow. " Was they?" asked the Yankee. " Pious man ?" lie continued. "He was a good member of the Epis copal church." The next question was a little delay ed, but it came: " Don't you think you've cause to be very thankful that lie was a pious man and saved his chist ?" " I do," said the lady abruptly, and turned her head to look out of the ear window.'' The indefatigable "pump" changed his position, held the widow by his glittering eye once more, and propound ed one more query in a little lower tone, with his head slightly inclined forward over the back of the seat. "Was you cal'lating to get married again?" "Sir," said the widow indignantly, " you are impertinent," and she left her seat and took another on the opposite side of the car. " 'Pears to be a little huffy, said the unabashed bore turning to our narrator, behind him ; "she needn't be mad; I didn't want to hurtdter feelin's. What did you pay for that umbrel you've got in your hand? It's a real pooty one." Advice to an Apprentice 1. Seize every opportunity of improv ing your mind. 2. Be careful as to who are your com- pan ions. 3. To whatever occupation you may he called as a means of of obtaining a livelihood, determine to understand it well and work heartily at it. 4. Accustom yourself to act kindly and courteously to every one. 5. Carefully avoid all extravagant ha bits. 6. 1). tci mine to possess a character for honesty. 7. Cultivate a strict regard for truth. 8. If your parents are living, do your utmost to promote their happiness and comfort. 9. Recollect your progress in life must depend upon your own exertions. 10. Be a respector of religion, and do unto others as you would they should do unto you. 11. Be strictly temperate in all things. 12. Avoid all obscene conversation. 13. Be especially regardful of the Sab bath, and on no account desecrate it. 14. Make yourself useful. .4, Radical Minister Turned Rogue From the St. Louis Republican, 30th ult.] A gentleman from Pike county, who came to this city as a delegate to the mass convention, gives us information of a singular piece of roguery which was detected there just before his de parture. He says that a farmer living near Louisiana went home after a day's absence, and was surprised to find that some one had entered his house while he was away and robbed it of bedding, clothing, and a considerable number of other moveable articles. Fresh marks of wagon-wheels could be seen on the premises. Concluding that the rob ber had taken that means of removing the plunder, he mounted a mule and pushed rapidly on in pursuit of the ve hicle. Near Spencersburg, twelve miles distant, he came in sight of the object of his pursuit, and, summoning two or three men who live close by to aid him, he overtook and halted it. He found to his astonishment that the driver was a preacher of the Methodist Episcopal Church North, and an influ ential Radical. Like many others, however, he and his companions had learned, not only to doubt, but to dis believe in the morality of the generali ty of Radical ministers, and they in sisted upon a search. Their first ex ploration brought to light twoguns and four revolving pistols that had been stolen from some unknown person or persons; and a seoond.one disolossd all the missing olottking, etc LANCASTER, PA., WEDNESDAY MORNING, NOVEMBER 15, 1865. Incident' or the War From a Southern Contributor to the New York World. I - never pass the little village of \Ter diersville, on the road " from Orange Court-House to Chancellorsville, with out casting a glance upon a small house —the first from the right as you enter the hamlet upon the west. It was here that General J. E. r l3. Stuart, command ing General Lee'al cavalry, had oue of those narrow escapes which were by no means unusual in his adventurous ea- reer, and which will make his life, when time has mellowed the events of this epoch, the chosen subject of those wri.; ters dealing in the romance of war. It was about the middle of August, 1802, and Jackson, after deciding the fate of the day at Cold Harbor, and de feating General Pope at Cedar run, was about to make Eii3 great advance upon Manassas with the remainder of the army. In all such movements Stuart's cavalry took its place upon the flanks, and no sooner had the movement begun, than, leaving his headquarters in the grassy yard of the old Hanover Court House, where Patrick Henry made his famous speech against the parsons, Stuart hastened to put his column in motion for the lower waters of the Rapi dan. Such was the situation of affairs when the little incident I propose to re late took place. Fitz Lee's brigade was ordered to move by way of Verdiers ville to Raccoon Ford, and Cake posi tion on Jackson's right; and General Stuart hastened forward, attended by only a portion of his staff; toward Ver diersville, where he expected to be speedily joined by "General Fitz."— Stuart reached the little hamlet in' the evening, I believe, of the 18th of Au gust, and selecting the small house which I have described for his tempo rary headquarters, awaited the ap proach of his column. He sent Maj. Fitz Hugh of his staff, down the Chancellorsville road about a mile to look out for surprises. The Major established his pickets and weut into a house to take ti nap, But about daylight he was aroused by the tramp of armed men in the house, and soon found himself in the custody of a Federal scouting party. The Major was furious at this contre temps, and glanced around for his wea pons. He el u tched his pistol and cocked it; but his wrists • were immediately seized, and an attempt made to wrench the weapons from his grasp. The Major retorted by twisting his hand, and fired the two barrels, but without result. They then rushed upon him, threw him down ; his arms were wrested from him in a trice, and he was conducted to the commanding officer of the force, at the head of his column without. The officer wasa colonel;a:q as ked Major Fitz Hugh a great number of gustions. He was ev idently lost. The major declined re plying to any of them, and now his fears were painfully excited for Gen. Stuart. If the column should take the direction of Verdiersville there was every reason to fear that the general would be sur- prised and captured. Meanwhile Ma jor Fitz Hugh had taken a seat upon a fence, and as the column began to move he was ordered to get up and walk. This he declined doing, and the alter cation was still proceeding, when an of ficer passed and the major com plained of having . his horse taken from him. " I am accustomed to ride, not to walk," he said; and this view of the subject seemed to impress the federal officer, who, either from courtesy or to secure a mounted guide, had his horse brought and returned to him for the nonce. The major mounted and rode to the front amid " There goes the rebel major !" "Ain't he a fine dressed fellow ?" " Don't he ride proud!" sounds soothing and pleasant to the captured major, who was dressed in a line new roundabout with full gold braid. But his thoughts suddenly be came far from pleasant. The head of the cavalry column had turned toward Verdiersville, only a mile distant, and General Stuart's danger was imminent. The courier had also been captured ; no warning of his peril could be gotten to the general, and worse than all, he would doubtless take the column for that of General Fitz Lee, which was to come by this very road, and thus be thrown completely off his guard. A more terrible contretemps could not have occurred than the major's capture, and he saw no earthly means of giving the alarm. He was riding beside the colo nel commanding, whohad sent for him, and was thus forced to witness, without taking part in the scene about to be enacted. Let us return now to the small party asleep on the porch of the house in Ver diersvillc. They did not awake until day. Stuart aroused by the noise of hoofs on the road, and concluding that Gen. Fitz Lee had arrived, rose from the floor of the porch, and without his hat walked to the little gate. The column was not yet discernable clear ly in the gray morning; but in some manner Stuart's suspicions were ex eited. assure himself of the truth, he requested Capt. Mosby—the famous partisan afterwards—and Lieut. Gibson, who were with him, to ride forward and see what command was approaching. The reception which the two envoys met with, speedily decided the whole question. They had scarcely approach ed within pistol shot of the head of the column, when they were flied upon, and a detachment spurred forward from the cavalry, calling upon them to halt, and firing upon them as they retreated. They were rapidly pursued, and in a few moments the federal cavalry had thundered down upon the house, in front of which Gen. Stuart was stand ing. The general had to act promptly. There was no force within many miles of him; nothing wherewith to make resistance; flight or instant capture were the alternatives, and even flight seemed impossible. The federal horse men had rushed at full gallop upon the house ; the horses of the general. and staff were unbridled, and the only means of exit from the yard seemed to be the narrow gate in front, scarcely wide enough for a mounted man to pass, and right in face of the enemy. In ad dition to this the little party had just been aroused ; the general had even left his hat and cape on the floor of the porch, so complete were the feelings of security ; and when Mosby was fired on he was standing bare-beaded at the gate. What followed, all took place in an instant. The General and his party leaped on their horses, which had been hastily bridled, and sought for means of escape. One of the staff officers darted through the narrow gate with his bridle reins hanging down beneath his horse's feet, and disappeared up the road fol lowed by a shower of balls. The rest took the fence. Stuart; baFe-headed, : and without his cape, which still lay,on the poroh, threw himself:upon. bridled horse, seized the halter, and digging his spurs into his sides, cleared the pailings, and galloped off amid a hot fire. He went on until he reached a clump of woods near the house, - when he stopped to reconnoiter. The enemy did not at once follow, and from his point of observation the general had the mortification of witnessing the capture of his hat and cape. The federal caval rymen dashed up to the porch and seized these articles, which they bore on in triumph—raising the brown straw hat looped up with a golden star, and decorated with its floating black feather, upon the points of their sabers, and laughing at the escapade which they had thus occasioned. Major Fitz Hugh, at the head of the main column, and beside the federal colonel, witnessed all, and burst into laughter and sobs, such was his joy at the escape of his general. This attract ed the attention of the federal officer, who said: "Major, who was that party? " That have escaped?" The major looked again and saw that, on "Skylark," Stuart was entirely safe by this time, and unable to contain his triumph eiclahned: "Du you really wish to know who that was, colonel ?" "I do." " Well, it was General Stuart and staff.' "General Stuart!" exclaimed the officer ; " was that Gen. Stuart?" "Yes, and he has escaped!" cried the overjoyed major. " A squadron there !" shouted the colonel in excitement, " pursue the party at once! Fire on them ! It is Gen. Stuart !" The squadron rushed forward at the word upon the track of the fugitives to secure their splendid prize; but their advance did not afford the general much uneasiness. Long experience had told him that the federal cavalry did not like the woods, and he knew that they would not \enture far for fear of a surprise. This idea was soon shown to be well founded. The federal squadron made a very hot pursuit of the party until they came to the woods ; then they contented themselves by tiring and advancing cautiously. Soon this ceased and they returned to Verdiers ville, from which place the whole col umn departed in the direction of the Rapidan. The colonel carried off' Major Fitz Hugh to serve as a guide, for he had lost his way, and stumbled thus upon Verdiersville. If you wish to laugh my dear reader, go and see Major Fitz Hugh and ask him what topograph ical information he gave the federal commander. It very nearly caused the capture of his command; but he got back safe to Pope's army, and took our friend, the major, with him. Proceed with thy Elephant In Columbian county, Ohio, resides an old fellow renowned for his belliger ent disposition, who is generally known as Friend tihavey, Born and bred a Quaker, he was long since read out of meeting, on account of his quarrelsome propensities, but he still pertinaciously clings to the plain clothes and plain language of his earlier days, possibly as a protection against the wrath which he was continually provoking by his over bearing and irritating demeanor. He is always the owner of the crossest dog in the neighborhood, the most trouble some, breach.) , steers, &c., and is con tinually in hot water with some of his neighbors, in consequence of the depre dations committed by his unruly live stock. A few weeks since, Van Amburghls Menagerie, traveling through Columbia, was obliged to pass his residence. little beiore daylight, Nash, the keeper of the elephant Tippoo Saib, as he was passing over the road with his elephant, discovered this pseudo-Quaker seated upon a fence by the roadside, watching a bull which he had turned out upon the road, and which was pawing, bel lowing, and throwing up a tremendous dust generally. In fact, from the fury of the animal's demonstrations, one would readily have taken him for one of the identical breed that butted a loco motive off a bridge. "Take that bull out of the way !" shouted Nash, as he approached. " Proceed with thy elephant," was the reply of the Quaker. "If you don't take that bull away, he will get hurt," continued Nash, ap proaching, while the bull redoubled his belligerent demonstrations. "Don't trouble thyself about the bull, but proceed with thy elephant," re torted Friend Shavey, rubbing his hands with delight, at the prospect of an ap• proachiug scrimmage, the old fellow, having great confidence in the invinci bility of his bull, which was really the terror of the whole country around. Tippo Saib came on with his uncouth shambling gait; the bull lowered his head and made a charge directly upon the elephat. Old Tippo, without even pausing in his march, gave his cow catcher a sweep, catching the ball on his side, crushing in his ribs with his enormous tusks, and then raised him about thirty feet in the air, the bull striking upon his head as he came down, breaking his neck, and killing him in stantly. "I'm afriad your bull has bent his neck a little," shouted Nash, as he pass ed ou. " Bent the Devil," cried old Shavey, with a troubled look at his defunct bull; "thy elephant is too hefty for my beast, but thee will not make so much out of the operation as thee supposes. I was going to take my family to the show, but I'll see thee and thy show blowed to blazes before I go one step, and now thee may proceed with thy elephant, and be d—d, please!" the "please" being added as Shavey took a second look at the proportions of the stalwart elephant keeper. ornerea Covetous people often seek to shelter themselves behind the widow's mite, and give a paltry sum to the benevolent objects under color of her contribution. The following incident has a moral for all such: A gentleman called upon a wealthy friend for a contribution. "Yes, I suppose I must give my mite," said the rich man. " You mean the widow's mite, I sup pose," replied the other. ' "To be sure I do." The gentleman continued: " I will be satisfied with half as much as she gave. How much are you worth?" "Seventy thousand dollars," he an swered. "Give me a check, then, for thirty five thousand ; that will be half %much as she gave, for she gave all she had." It was a new Idea to the wealthy mer chant. • • A Sister's Sacrifice "Oh, dear me ; Marie, are you not tired of this work, work, day after day, and no change?" These words were spoken by a very pretty girl, sitting in a most comforta ble little parlor, one side of which was formed of a wide screen lined with green silk, which divided it from another por tion of the room fitted up as a jewelry store. Marie and Jeanne were the daughters of Pierre Galoubet, a diamond jeweller, renowned more for his taste and hon esty than for his fortune or luxury. He was a widower, with two daughters. Marie and Jeanne were the very idols of his heart. Pierre had been a soldier in his youth, like most Frenchmen, and during his absence in Algiers his wife died. When he came back a kind neighbor took him to her cottage and, leading him to a cradle, showed him two little infants sleeping side by aide on the same pillow. Pierre knew that in his absence a child had been born to him, but he had received no communi cation from home for more than a year before his return. He therefore turned from the children to his neighbor with a look of inquiry. "Are they both my children?" said he. "Why , no," replied Jaquinetta. "There's a whole history about them, and Pierre, you are a clevei man, and have traversed all over the world, per haps you will be able to settle a point that has pi3O.led us ever since the death of your wife." W h a t is It:` "Why, which of these two is your daughter?" " Which? Why, who is the other?' "Oh oue day, about a mouth after the birth of your c hild,when your wife open ed the door 11l t• morning she found on the threshold ore of the infants. She knew which it was, but your poor Mme. Pierre died suddenly, and she never hail time to tell me which daughter was }ours." Again Pierre leaned over the babies and xi they opened their eyes and smiled on him, Pierre felt as if both were appealing to his heart, both ask ing his protection. From that hour Pierre Galoubet call ed both children his, and Marie and Jeanne, as he christened them (forthey had no name until his return), became the idols of his life. When they were grown up, Marie and Jeanne, who both adored their father, helped him in his business. Marie kept the books, and Jeanne, who had a _great talent for drawing, which had been cultivated, made the drawings and designs for the settings of the diamonds. They were now both eighteen; at least, knowing the age of one, Pierre had always put them down as the same age. Their father's strict honesty had prevented his making a fortune, but, thanks to the management of Jeanne, they were in easy and comfortable cir cu instances. Of late a cloud, however, had risen on the household so full of thesunshine of affection. Jeanne had grown pen sive, and even looked pale and thin, re ceiving her father's caresses with indif ference, and sitting for hours, pencil in hand, without drawing a stroke. Now, on this evening, when the sisters were alone together, Jeanne had pushed the paper from her with disgust, and throw ing down her pencil, had declared her dissatisfaction to her sister. "Jeanne," said Marie, looking up, " you have never felt dissatisfaction be fore ; but you are unhappy, and you will always be so until you confide what troubles you have to your best friends, your father and your sister." "Not to my father—l dare not ; but to you, Marie. Oh ! sister, I am so wretched ?" " Wretched? pened '—why, what has hap " Marie," said Jeanne, sitting down on a stool at her feet, " listen, but do not look on me. Some mouths ago, you re member, I came homeon o day morn ing from church, where I had gone with our servant, with a sprained ankle." Yes, I remember." " Well, I had fallen—slipped off the marble steps of the church, and fainted fmin the pain. Well, as I lay there and the crowd began to gather around me, a gentleman advanced, and, putting aside those who crowded over me, lifted me up in his arms. Preceded by his servants who had made way for him, he carried me to his carriage, and plac ing me in it, asked our servant Our ad dress, and drove me home. "He was young, handsome, and in manner so fascinating as to have been able todispense with either, Marie. The next time I went out I met him. I have often seen him since ; he love me; I love him." " Well, if he is an honest mail, true and sincere in his love, why should you be unhappy? You know your faille will consent—" " He is the Due Octave de•Blnssae.." " The Due de Blossac, Jeanne?" 'les ' " But not an holiest man, or he would never have dared to speak to you of "He is an honest man, for when he spoke to me of love he told rue that he could not marry me, but he offered to devote his life to me ; he offered never to marry." "But he did not offer to marry you?" " You know that was impossible. So we are parted, I suppose, forever, and this is why I am wretched." " Jeanne," said Marie, " if he loved you—l will not talk thus to you, you are blinded by love—l will tell you to think of our father, whose only hope we both are, whose only love we both are.'' " Yes, my father, my own dear father, but his love can not he the only love of my life." At this moment the door opened_aud Pierre himself entered the room. His daughters rose, and both rushed up to him, throwing their arms around him. " My dearest father, you look sad ; tell me what is the matter with you ?" "Ah ! girls, girls, my own two children —you are both my children, are you not ?" " Yes." " Something has happened that I felt would happen one of these days. It is proved to me that some one besides me has the right to the love of one of you." " Ah I father, what do you mean ?" " You know your own history—you know that one ofyou is not my daughter. " We never liked to think of it." "Well, children, this evening I had an appointment, of which I told you nothing, so much did I dread it. It was with an eminent lawyer. He has proved distinctly to me the person who claims one of you ; told me theyhole history, but how am I to part with either of you ?" NUMBER 45. "Which of us, father, is not your child?" " Here, precisely, is the puzzle; we cannot tell, but I cannot give up either of you, for I love one as well as the other." "We both love you as,our father; we do not want to leave you ; we can lob no other father but you." "The daughter that is not mine has neither father nor mother, it is her mother's mother wLo claims her. But she will give her what I cannot give—a great name, riches and a position in so cfety far above the one I placed her in. Which of you is it ?" Jeanne and Marie both kissed his cheek ; neither spoke. Jeanne was thinking that the advantage set before her would remove the obstacles which separated her from Octave, but she only sighed deeply ; not fbr an instant did she dream that she could ever lay claim to ail this brilliant fortune ; but Marie, taking her father's hand, calmly asked him ifflhere was no sign by which they ought to recognize the rightful heir? "The heiress of the Marquis de Val bourg has a sign—so says a letter from her mother. Ido not think it is love that makes them so anxious to find her, but the Due de Blossac is heir to the property, and the revenues of all the estates have been accumulating for years. Until the death of this girl is proved the Due de Blossac cannot touch a penny. Jeanne, what is the matter with you?" " Nothing, father; I feel faint." " My darling, sit down." "Well, you must know that by an amicable arrangement made years ago, when the existence of this daughter was suspected, it was decided that when she should be found and installed in her rights she should become the wife of M. de Blossac, thatyoung, handsome Duke, you know, he has been here often to buy diamonds—but Marie, Marie, look at your sister, she has fainted." Jeanne was conveyed to her room, for she had indeed fainted. An hour afterward Marie slowly entered the room, where her father was anxiously pacing the floor. "Father," said Marie, "Jeanne is better and she will sleep soon, then all will be right. Father, have you ever had a favorite between us." " Yes; the one who was sick when you were children I always loved most; now that Jeanne is suffering and seems unhappy, why, darling, I think I love her— "Not better than your Marie—that can never be. But would you be con tent to see Jeanne happy ?" " At any cost." "Tell me the sign by which the lady says she can recognize her grand daughter." " A violet mark imprinted in the way in which sailors mark their arms, put over the heart." " Then," said Marie, "you must love me best, father, for I am your child, and Jeanne is Duchess de Blossac." " To lose one of you is terrible, my darlings; but Jeanne will be a great lady ; do you think that will console her?" " I do, though she will never forge us." That night Marie knelt by her Jean ne's bedside; the door was locked and the sisters were alone. " Marie!" exclaimed Jeanne, " I can not hear of this sacrifice. What right have I to deprive you "Of course, my sister. You love the Duke ; Ido not. If I claim the inheri tance I must become his wife. I can not; so now submit." Still Jeanne resisted ; but Marie was firm, and drawing aside the night dress, with a firm and light hand she pricked the shape of a violet just over her sister's heart. Then rubbing it with gunpow der, she made the mark indelible. " Now, Jeanne, said she, that is exactly like the one on me—the one probably my poor mother made. But I love Pierre, who has been to us a father. I have no taste for splendor. Be happy, my own sister, and do not forget us." So Jeanne, in great state, was recog nized as the heiress of Mme. de Val bourg, and a few days afterwards was married with great pomp and ceremony to the Dec de Blossac. For a few days she had hesitated, then she determined not to accept her sister's sacrifice, but she loved, and the temptation was too strong. The inher itance she could have renounced, not Octave ; so forever she buried her se cret in her bosom. Without one pang did Marie watch her sister drive away in her brilliant equipage. With a smile she looked up into her father face, and he, wiping a tear from his eye, pressed het to his heart; neither then, nor to the day of his death, ever knowing that the child who made his home so happy, who lov ed him so faithfully, a woman full of sense, simplicity and sensibility, was the heiress of the house of Valbourg and should have worn a ducal coronet. Wirz--•Ills Sentence Communicated to Rim. WASHINGTON, Nov. 7, 18E35. Yesterday afternoon, about four o'clock, General Augur, commanding the Department of Washington, ac companied by Major Russel, Provost Marshal, and Captain George R. Wal bridge, Commandant of the Old Capi tol prison, proceeded to Captain Wirz's room, and, having informed him of his unpleasant errand, read to him the death sentence and the time fixed for his execution—namely, Friday next, between the hours of six iu The morn ing and noon. The prisoner listened to the reading with much apparent com posure, when General Augur asked him whether he had anything to say, to which question the prisoner replied, " I have nothing to say except that I desire to state to you that I am innocent of the charges broughtagainstme." Hav ing been asked abouthis wifehe remark edthat she was in Kentucky, and hardly could come here in time ; besides he did not wish to witness the trouble in which she would be plunged at seeing him in his extremity. The prisoner made a request that the Rev. Father Boyle and Louis Schade, Esq., of his counsel, should be sent for, which was granted. Before the officers retired Captain Wirz is represented as saying : " I have been persecuted, and if there is such a thing as a spirit com ing back to earth I'll come back to per secute those who have perjured them selves to hatig me." To-day Father Boyle, who had previ ously visited him during his imprison ment, was in attendance and talked to him long and earnestly with reference to his spiritual interests. In the afternoon Mr. Schade called to see the prisoner, who informed him that the last night he slept better than he had at any time since he was brought to Washington. He was glad to be out of suspense; for he had desired to know his fate. Three days ago he prepared a letter to be sent to President Johnson, re questing his decision at once, to relieve him of all anxiety. He made up his mind to suffer, but his-anguish was now over, and he had no fear to Meet his Mater, knowing that he yvasto beinade a eaeriftes to suffer for,the deeds of Antnesg*Anylfilittisirelan; SI. • Year squareatten-Ilnea;Unper-cent fractions or. ayear..7_ . paw, Eifir ", 4 Lre_raGN.Ap mirROPERTT..II rßuenimegl zsAL Ai) Cenfaa-line.. for the and 4 CORD! for each snbeeenent Inser- PATEFr idsaucirss and.other . .aderfs , by One column, 1 yean„L.:.......:.,:;;....11.100 -Hell column, 1 60 Third column, 1 40 quarter c01umn,, : .. ..' ' 80 Bustiniss CARDS, often - llnesor less, one year .... - Business Cards, five lines or less, one year • 6 LEGAL AND OTHER NoTicra— • Executors' notices ZOO Administrators' notices ..............«....2.00 A.ssi an ees'. notices 2.00 Auditors' notices,—_._ 1.50 Other "Notices, ' ten lines,.orless, three times, .50 others. He felt resigned, and believed that in all instances justice would be done to him hereafter He stated that Father Boyle had ask ed him to forgive all who had_testified against him, and who, Captain Wirz said had perjured themselves in his case. Captain Wirz replied that though he was given up to die, he could not con scientiously do so, as he was opposed to his lips uttering a sentiment of for • giveness that did not come from his heart in humility. His lips must utter forgiveness of his prosecutors, but he could not be a hypocrite at heart. Mr. Schade asked Captain Wirz if he desired any money, he being in feeble health and fed on prison. tare. The prisoner said he had only three days to live; three dollars would be sufficient— which amount Mr. bdhade handed to the officers. Rather Rough Honeymoon On last Friday morning an athletic young farmer, iu the town of Waynes burg, took a fair girl, " all bathed in blushes," from her parents, and started for the Aral town across the Pennsyl vania line, to be married, where the ceremony could be performed without a license. The happy pair were accom pained by a sister of the girl, a tall gaunt, sharp-featured female of some thirty-seven summers. The pair crossed the line, were married, and ,returned to Wellsville to pass the night. People at the hotel where the wedding party stopped, observed that they conducted themselves in a rather singular manner. The husband would take his sister-in law, the tall female aforesaid, into one corner of the parlor, and talk earnestly to her, gesticulating wildly all the time. Then the tall female would "put her foot down" and talk to him in an angry and excited manner. Then the husband would take his fair, young bride into a corner; but he would no sooner commence talking to her than the gaunt sister would rush in between them and angrily join in the conversation. The people at the hotel ascertained what, this meant about nine o'clock that evening. There was au uproar in the room which had been assigned to the newly married couple. Female shrieksand masculine "swears" startled the people in the hotel, and they rushed to the spot. The gaunt female was pressing against the door of the room, and the newly married man, mostly undressed, was barring her out with all his might. Occasionally she would kick the dour far enough open to disclose the stalwart husband, in. his Gentleman Greek Slave apparel. It appeared that the tall female in sisted upon occupying the same bed with the newly wedded pair ; that her sister was favorably disposed to the ar rangement, and that the husband had agreed to it before the wedding took place, and now indignantly repudiated the contract. " Won't you go away now, Susan ?" said the newly married man, softening his voice. " No," said she, " I won't—so there !" " Don't you budge an inch !" cried married sister, within the room " Now—now, Maria," said the young man to his wile, in a piteous tone, 'don't go to cuttin' upiu this way ; now don't." " I'll cut up's much as I woofer 1" she sharply replied. Well,' roared the desperate man, hrowing the doer wide open and stalk- iug outainong the crowd,-" " jest you two witninin' put on your duds amigo right straight home and bring back the old man and woman, and your grandfather, who is nigh on to a hundreu ; bring 'em all here, and I'll marry the whole d—d caboodle of 'em, and we'll all sleep to gether !'' The difficulty was finally adjusted by the tall female taking a room. Wells ville is enjoying itself over the sense tion.—Muaund The Estate of John Gray James---It Es- cheats to the Commonwealth In March last, John Gray James, an eccentric citizen of our Borough, died here at the house of Griffith Walker. He was unmarried, reputed au illegiti mate child, esteemed quite wealthy, and there was much speculation as to the disposition lie would make of his for tune. He lived a life of absolute pover ty and denied himself every comfort and convenience. He died without known kindred. His death made known the fact that ou the 3d of February, 1860, he made a will, leaving all his real and personal estate, after the payment of his debts, to the "Sunday School Union." On the 15th of March, 1865, a very few days before his death, he made a codicil to his will, by which he left a small house and lot in this Borough to the wife of Thomas Griffith Walker, with whom lie boarded the latter days of his life. He was reputed to be worth some sixty or seventy thousand dollars, but during his life lie deeded a valuable property in Philadelphia to a charitable institution in that city. The will which he made in 1800 was not at tested by witnesses us is required by act of Assembly in the case of eleemosy nary bequests. As soon as his death was known to Passmore Williamson, of Philadelphia, he wrote to the Audi tor General of the State under date of March 27th last, announcing that Mr. James had died without any known heirs or kindred, seized of considerable real and personal estate, and which es cheated to the Commonwealth. We are informed that, a la ly living in Doyles town also lodged information that he died without kindred, and that his es tate escheated, but her letter was a day behind Mr. 'Williamson's. On the Bth of September last, the Au ditor General of the State appointed and commissioned Henry I'. Ross, Esq., of Doylestown, Deputy Escheater General charged to inquire into the matter al leged as the act of assembly requires. Whereupon Mr. Ross isssued his pre cept to Sheriff Wilkinson on the 10th day of October, commanding him to SUM, mon a jury of twenty-one good and law ful men of the county, to come before him on the 30th of October to inquire whether John Gray James, as alleged, died intestate as to any part of his estate and without heirs or known kindred. They met on the day mentioned, and on that and the following day decided the case. The inquisition found that the deceased died seized of real estate in worth $720, and personal estate worth 53868.20, situated in this county, that he left neither heirs or known kindred, and that said estate escheats to the com monwealth. If John Gray James could arise from his grave lie would look with holy horror upon the disposition the law makesof his estate which he had acquir ed by a life of labor and self-denial. How, much better had he given it all away while alive, and thus saved it from the State and a mercenary infor mant. The failure of his will to cariy the estate bequeathed should bea lesson to all other persons who wish to leave property to religious or charitable in stitutions. The informant is entitled to one-third of the personal and one fifth of the real estate after deducting costs. —Doylestown Democrat. ' —A gentleman, in this city, says the other day a girl called at his door and asked if his family "wanted house help." He replied they did. "Do you have small children?" she asked. "No." "Do you have your washing done out of the house?" "No." "Will my room be carpeted ?" "Yes." After going on a while in this manner the gentleman turned the tide, and said he would like to ask her a few questions. "Can you play the piano?" he began. "0, -n0."... "Can you speak French?" "No." "Can you sing the opera?" "No." " Can you dance the lancers?" "No." "Well, then," he concluded, "if you can't do any of these, you won't suit," and off went the astonished maiden smelling mice!—Lewistown (Me.) Jour. Sales of Blooded Horses at Lexington. John M. Clay last Wednesday sold his bay colt Revolver, by Revenue, out of Balloon, to Mr. Crouch, of Ohio, for $1,600. James A. Grinstead sold to the same person his chestnut colt, by Im pgrted clipse, dam imported by Weathernitexfor $2,000. This colt, al though badly backed; i'an= second <to Norway iii the two.year old stakes at this place this fall.=-Zotiiivfll4476llWlßlit OE=
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