Ml= ghi gantitOter Nutt!ligtattr, PUBLISHED EVERY WEDNESDAY BY 11. G. SMITH it CO. A. J. STEINMAN H. G. SMITH TERMS—Two Dollars per annum, payable all eases In advance. OFFWE-SOUTICWIST CORNER OF CENTRE SQUARE. Jaren letters on business sho s thd be ad dressed to H. G. Satan & Co. Ettrar2. 1 A Bunch of Vlolets. "1 1. say, will you lend me a hand, please?—l'm in a mess !" It was a small, boyish voice, that rose somewhat shrilly above the clamor of the birds, and the babbling of the river over which the owner of the voice hung stopended. His arms were thrown rand a branch, that bent, with his weight. His trim suit of black velvet was the worse for bramblbs, and his scarlet cap had badges of a mossy green hue upon • it. Nevertheless, the round rosy face under the cap had a certain undaunted bravery, that seemed to con tradict that sharp tone of dismay in which the boy made his appeal. The wanderer in the wood below look ed up smiling, and said " Keep a firm grip a moment longer, my man. Now then, hold me fast—that's right. And now tell me what a wee laddie like you can be doing all alone in the wood?" The boy did not answer ; he waSbusy examining his torn kniekerbookdis and the patches on his cap. He shook his head at the rents, and began rubbing the rap with his sleeve. " I'm in for a row," he said, specula tively ; "but I should have got a duck ing as well if you had n't passed by. I must have dropp'ed soon,—splash,—see here!" The stranger took the little delicate, childish hand in, his, and saw that the lingers were grazed and bleeding. "Poor little man I" said he. "0, that's nothing, you know. But forgetting. Thank you for pulling me down. Let me see, now," said the small man, gravely,—" I don't know your rues. You don't belong to Corven ',' " No," was the reply. "A stranger?" said the boy. " From a long way off, eh ?" " Pretty well," was the reply. "Alt, then you know nothing about it ?" •said the boy. "That's the village over the water there, and this is Corven Wood,—Jolly, isn't It?'' " Very Jolly!" said the gentleman. " Do your friends know you are here by you "0, they know I'm somewhere about," replied tile boy ; " but of course' I shall tell them all about it. That Is our house,—you can see a bit of the chimneys through the trees. It used to be a farmhouse. But my father does n't farm,—he's a gentleman. Do you have to do anything?—to work, I mean,—or are you a gentleman ?" The stranger laughed,—a low, quiet laugh, like a musical note. It seemed to strike even the boy, for he stopped rub bing his cup to look curiously into his companion s face. He did not know exactly what there was in tile eyes, half grave, half humorous, that met his own. Ile know nothing of thatstrunge pathos which has Its element of regret, but a larger one, perh aps, of pity, that steals into the heart of the man who has known sorrow, and wrong, and bullet lug, at the sight of such a child as this. The boy's life lay before him an uuwrit tC.ti page, and he stood at the beginning or It with a fearless front, thoughtless of care and c.ontemptuousof danger. In volvnttrily, however, as he looked into the stranger's face, he drew nearer, and touched the knapsack that was slung over one shoulder. "I didn't mean that you mightn't be a gentleman, of course," said he; "but then you carry that yourself. Papa doesn't carry his. My name is Antony, but they call me Tony ; what Is yours? because I shall have to tell about yours." "My name is Noel Caperne," replied the gentleman, " and I do work for my living. lam a painter." Master Tony looked again dubiously at the knapsack, and began to think of certain beings with paper caps and an Incurable habit of whistling popular airs, who had been occupied about the woodwork of his father's house. He de cided that his new friend could not be long to that class. - "(l!" said he, "a painter! Well, I tell you what, it would be very Jolly if you would come home with me. Papa won't scold me before a stranger. That's what people would cull downy of me, Is n't it. I am rather a downy chap, and that's the truth. Aunt Lucy would like to thank you. she's fond of me, though she is a bit sharp, sometimes. You won't? I must go, then. Good by, Mr. Caperne," The lad went a few steps and turned irresolutely; then he ran back and put out his scarred little Lingers to the stranger who worked for ills living. " 3 1 forgot to shake hands," said he. " Say, I've got a box of colors, myself, and I should like to see-what sort of a hand you are at painting. I almost always bring Aunt Lucy to the wood sonic time in the day,. she likes it. If I come to-morrow will yeti bring rue a picture to look at,—a swell one?" Mr. Caperne put his hand on the child's scarlet cap with a smile. "I shall be miles away to-morrow, kiddie. Good by, and don't climb. There might not always. be a chance wanderer at hand to help you down." The Spring air was very sweet in Cor ven Wood; and the birds sang to the accdmpaniment of the rippling river with a Jolly abandon that must have fascinated the strange artist. At any rate something did; since he was not miles away on the morrow. He was in the wood again ; oddly enough, at about the same hour that had found him there the day before. I don't know whether he expected to meet the small man again, or why be altered his plans; per haps he did not know himself. He looked over the village, which was to have been simply a pausing place for refreshment ; at the fickle sunshine throwing light and shadows over the wood, which was so beautiful even in the winter bareness, and thought that a day might be well spent in such a place. Mr. Noel Caperne sat on a mossy stone by the river, and watched a squirrel springing from branch to branch, till the brown fur began to turn into a vet- vet coat, and lie caught himself wander ing back to yesterday's adventure, and speculating as to what sort of a recep tion the little chap had met with at home. All at once, he put his bearded chin into his hands, and bent a per plexed frown upon the river. "There's something in his face l've seen before," said the aptist to himself. "I wonder what it is. A. fancy of mine, perhaps. Don't believe that though. hatever it iskircumstances not pleas ant have to do with it. lam a fool." Here he broke into a laugh which the very solitude of the wood around him seemed to rebuke and silence. Of course he was a fool. The day was de clining, and he had a stage of his jour ney before him ; what was the use of sitting on a moss-covered stone specu lating on ghostly resemblances? As he got up from the stone Mr. Caperne heard voices, and paused. A little below him there was a turn iu the path, over which the branches, leafless though they were, fell so thickly that he dared to peep through them without being seen ; and there was Tony, velvet coated, red-capped, and long-tongued. Mr. Caperne saw something else also, which appeared to him more worthy of attention ; only a young girl, with a bunch of violets iu her hand, early violets, and sweet, so far as he could judge, since each one travelled to her lips before it was arranged in its place amongst the tiny bits of moss which served as a foil to the blossoms. "In the first place, Tony," said this young lady, "you had no business ''up u tree,'as you call it,—horrid slang ! In the next—" "But, don't I tell you I was after a squirrel," said Tony; "and don't you know bow papa hates squirrels? And this was the very chap that ate our nuts in the Summer,—l knew him by the curl of his tall." " in the next," proceeded the young lady, calmly, "you must have been shockingly rude to a strange gentle man, by your own account." "Aunt Lucy, I didn't say he was a gentleman," cried Tony. He works for his living. Girls never will under stand things." " Very stupid of them, certainly," said Aunt Lucy. " Then you think. if , . , , - --- h. mum . ~ ........... . • , . . . . . . • ..; 2' ki- • . 1.. i. •, ~.., .. i ~:.; 5 ,10 Lai ~.. ,e. :..r , • - . _ .. ,. 1 . , , . • :: ~; .'• • . I '. : i i ' ' .. ' t• :.; ,erl r ~ . 41a .•:-u> :::,- . .. m . Ith ,- . _•••• •• I ere i ... 1 ~ ... - • [,•.,...; ! , ..1 :::i . _.:, . , _i , -, • • •,-.-- L. • . :11 ...1 .11 .' • . , . ._. . ,„ .. 1 . !I; . 1 1 r 'll - •,•,•1 . '', •r : : . 1 •' ' : :,' ''' ;"; .'. : ' - ; I -:',. ,' .- .;,•,1.1 ri ",..., .. , ~r - -- . ~.: . ;•...., . •, , , , . • , . . .. . VOLUME 68 I were to soil my hands with anything but flowers, I shouldn't be a lady, eh ? They are very sweet, Tony." This was about the violets, hut the girl looked up as she said it, and Mr. Noel Caperne drew back suddenly, and went away down the path with noise less footsteps. He went to his room in the queer old inn by the river, and looked at the knapsack, which lay ready for him, but he did not take it up. He threw open the casement instead, and leaned out over the river, where it ran, dark and sullen, under stone arches, and the distant rush of a mill-wheel reached him. But these things were only palpable to him vaguely. What he really saw with his discerning mind's eye was the picture of a girlish face bent over a bunch of violets; and as this rose before him, Mr. Caperne brought his eyebrows together, and said', impa tiently, " Where have Iseen it before?" HI. The mill-wheel sang on its monotone, and the moods began to have suspicion of green about them ; still, the strange gentleman stayed on at the clumsy old inn by the river. People talked about him curiously, which was not of the least - consequence; the landlord took credit to himself that the old inn was better worth staying at, after all, than your modern stucco and ginger'oiead in ventions, where men were treated more like sacks ofgrain than human creatures, with bones to break; and the landlady hinted that her guest must be in love, because he was mooning about by the waterside, in Corven Wood. He was doing some bit of a painting, too, she thought ; but what it was she could not get at to see, for he always looked it up when he went for these rambles. At any rate, the longer be stayed the better. for them, mince his purse was open, and lie neveraskedquestlonsabout the items of his bills, only looking at the amount, and paying it, us a gentleman should do. Mr. Caperne knew nothing of all this criticism ; if he had known it, it would not have affected him in the smallest degree. When he came In one evening and found his hostess bustling about his room in all that agony of putting things which belongs to the nature of orderly housewives, he took no further notice of her movements than by holding the door open with silent patience until it pleased her to take the hint and go. That was what she complained of. lie never spoke to her; never asked any questions like other strangers would ; never even gave her any opening to en lighten him respecting the neighbor hood, as she flattered herself she could have done. 'He simply dismissed her with silent politeness, when she had only been anxious to put his room into something like decent order, and good ness knows It was a disheartening task enough. " Fidget!" said Mr. Caperne, briefly, as lie looked round and proceeded to undo her work. Then he went to a drawer and took out the bit of a picture upon which she had surmised him to be occupied. Mr. Caperne worked at the picture for an hour diligently ; the rush of the mill wheel fell upon his ear like au ac companiment which custom or associa tion had made pleasant to him. When he stopped to examine his progress, the corners of his mouth turned down with an expression which was not so much annoyance as perplexity. The girlish face was there, bent over the bunch of violets, a perfect likeness in feature and coloring ; but that one expression which had so struck and haunted him, the artist could not paint. Whereas In his own mind this expression was dimly associated with wrong and suffering, while he had looked from time to time into the girl's face all idea of such words left him, and he could paint there only what was fresh and sweet and beauti ful. It was a beautiful face. Examin• lug it he wondered whether the land lady, if she had chanced to stumble upon the painting in her prying visits, would have recognized the subject of it, —the fairy for whom he stayed in the clumsy inn and haunted the Corven woods. _ ... The red mounted into his cheeks at this thought. No, it was not for her sake, but for the acquisition of a beau tiful picture. And he then looked out upon the mill, and thought that the whirling steps were like men who splash forever in the waters of their own little round, and never look beyond it, or write their mark upon the world out• side. To•day Mr. Caperne had been disa pointed. Corven Wood was as bright as ever, the river like a silver sheet In the Mardi sun,.and the birds had sung his welcome as usual, but there was no fairy. He began to wonder If It were yet too late. How could he possibly finish his picture without another look at the original ? And then there was the chance thatthey might meet,—accident ally, of course—and the possibility that she would look up and give him a bow In passing; for Master buy had found out his rescuer, and darted upon him with noisy glee, and a noiser Introduc tion to Aunt Lucy. It was incumbent upon the artist to lose no chance of making his work as perfect as he could. By this time he had crossed the bridge, and was entering the little footpath that led to Corven Wood. And the landlady, shading her eyes from the western light, peered after him, and said, "There he goes again • I've half a mind to follow and see what is in the wood." But Mr. Caperne was unconscious of Ills danger; unconscious that a crisis of his life was at hand, that he was not to return this night nor the next, nor for many nights—some of them long and weary enough, to the inn by the river. He remembered afterwards that some sudden presentiment quickened at once his pulses and his step as he drew near the spot where the path fell steeply down to the river ; and a mental speech of his own, made some days before, came across his brain like a flash of fate ful meaning. " The lad is always climbing," he had said to himself, as he watched the little figure swinging like a monkey from branch to branch. " Should n't wonder if I have to fish him out some day yet." Aud so he had. Almost as soon as the splash and cry reached him, Mr. Caperne was in the water, seeing, tu3 he sprang, the red cap dangling in its mocking vividness from a bramble above him. It was comparatively easy to lift the drenched boy into a position to be helped to land by the girl stand: ing on the river's brink ; but Mr. Ca perne did this with his left arm, for somehow his right was powerless. And then a sudden faintness came over him ; sparks danced before his eyes ; the noise and rush of the mill-wheel seemed to draw nearer, deafening him; and he knew no more. When Mr. Caperne awoke to full con sciousness he was in bed in a room which turned round with him for the first few moments, and then was steady again; and at the foot of his bed there was a sturdy little chap cutting a stick, and whistling softly to himself. Mr. Caperne again closed his eyes. He be gan to have a confused recollection of lying on a moss-covered bank ; of feel ing soft hands chafing his own ,• of a passing glimpse into eyes darkened with anxiety,—anxiety for him. He raised the hand that had been so chafed and passed it across his lips softly ; and it seemed to him thattheodorof violets lingered about it still. A little while longer he lay and watched the cutting of the stick, till the boy, turning sua denly, said, "Hallo!" and began clam bering upon the bed. " You're to hush, you know," he said, with all the grave authority of a young physician. ' But you're better. I'm jolly glad! Now I must go and tell—" " Walt one moment, Tony," said Mr. Caperne. "Tell me what it's all about, —and how long I've been here,—aud where is ' here' ? It's not the Inn ?" The boy laughed, and then brought his lips together with an odd contortion. " I'm not to laugh," said he " I don't think I ougnt to speak. You're• sure it won't hurt you?" " Quite sure," replied Mr. Caperne. "Well, then," said the boy, "you fished me out of the Cor, and broke your arm. And you'd have been all right long since, but they said fever super—something.. 0, have'fit you talked nonsense, Just! There now, you r'e going red. I shall so catch it!" "One word more, said Mrs. Caperne —" is this your home?" " To be Hare it is," replied Tony. " Ah!" sighed Mr. Caperne. The lad jumped down from the bed with as little bustle as was consistent with his turbulent nature, and went away, shutting the door gently after him; but the unwonted caution was lost - Upon Mr. Caperne. for he lay with his eyes closed dreaming. " You fished me out of the Cor, and broke your arm." Heremembered it all now,—the sharp, sudden pang, the sparks before his eyes, the roaring mill-wheel. How long was it ago ? and who had been his curse ? he wondered. The trees in the wood were bare then,—would they be green now? And his picture, and the half finished bunch of violets,—what had become of that? Mr. Caperne, had painted flowers before, but never with so careful a touch. A vision rose be fore him of the fidgety landlady in his room ; of a big duster, and brooms, and clumsy fingers, that left no corner un touched, and respected no look. He grew hot as he thought of it, and of his own helplessness. Then all at once a blackbird began to sing In a tree outside the window, and he was back in the woods again, dreaming. Who talks about the monotonous dreariness of a sick-chamber ? Mr. Caperne would have spurned the notion if he had not been too utterly languid and lazy for so much exertion. Day after day he felt the latent life coming hack to him as he lay there, dreaming. Pleasant dreams, but foolish perhaps— who knows? He never took the trouble to consider. He had visions of a gentle old lady with gray curls and a rather forein ar, whom Tony introduced as "Cira g utly i ," and who purred about him ILi his eon VIlie8C(111e0 as though her whole heart were in l:is comfort and his recovery. He remembered trying to utter his thanks to her; breaking down signally, and then feeling his lips silenced by the touch of the kind old hand upon them. " You will say no thanks, mon fila," said the old lady, stroking his hair as if he had been a child. " You saved our boy ; and, madcap as he is, we can never reply you for that." " If I might see my kind host," plea ded Mr. Caperne, and assure him that I am sensible of his hospitality—" 'That, you perceive, Is impossible, since my son is from home," said the old lady. "Hels in Scotland, and will probably remain there for the next mouth, so that my patient must be con tent with his nurse for the present. Now I go to see after luncheon," Mr. Caperne looked after her with a smile, and the gray curls that always shook and quivered when she talked seemed to have a sort of halo round them. lle was dimly happy. The thought of his lonely wandering life, and of return. ing to it, did come upon him sometimes with a strange sinking of the heart, but he shook it otr. He knew whose hand gathered the flowers that decked his table. They brought a sort of mist into the room, out of which there Came again to him the eyes saddened with anxiety and the shadowy touch of a soft hand upon his awn, Ile got to know iu round-about way at what hour Aunt Lucy was accustomed to gather these flowers, and then he never rested until they let him get up and sit at the win dow, where he could see her without being seen. One day, in his absorption, Mr. Ca perne bent forward to the front of the window, and Aunt Lury looked up sud denly and saw him. It might have been the pathetic appeal of his pale face, and the coat•sleeve which hung at his side empty ; at any rate, Lucy waved her hand with a smile that moved him like sweet music. After this he used to look out for her eagerly, and that little recognition grew to be the event of this day, the one great centre round which all other circum stances clustered vaguely, insignificant accessories, until the day came when he was allowed to go downstairs for the first time. Aunt Lucy was standing beside an open French window when Mr. Caperne went into the drawing-room and he knew at once that the easy-chair drawn up near her was for him, for the man whose past had been a hard battle' single-armed, upon whose life for many a weary year had fallen no touch of gentle fingers, no whisper of womanly solicitude. There was a rose in the bosom of her light Spring dress, and a tall arum thrust forth its blossom from behind her. Mr. Caperne saw all this in his own hurried glance. He will see it again many a time in days to come. It be came for him one of those photographs which the brain has a trick of taking for our ceaseless torment or happiness. She came forward to meet him, holding out her hand, and In his eagerness he quitted the arm on which he leaned. He was weaker than he had thought. The carpet grew unsteady beneath his feet; the tall arum multiplied itself a dozen times ; and, but for that out stretched hand, he knew that he must have fallen. " You have been imprudent," said Lucy, quietly. "My mother should have kept you prisoner a little longer, though f know how weary the days must be." It was the voice he had heard in the wood, nearer to him now, speaking to him, and about him. " Weary!" repeated Mr. Caperue, slowly. " I think that they have been the happiest days I ever spent." She turned from him half smiling, as Tony gave vent to a whistle of boylsk contempt for such an idea of happinesT " In that ease it was lucky I dropped into the Cur," said Tony. " But it is au odd notion. I know I shouldn't like it; and I'm sure Aunt Lucy wouldn't either. Why, she's out all daylong, amongst the flowers, or the pigeons, or the green ducks,—such swell ducks ! Mr. Caperue. You wouldn't believe what a quacking they set up at the sight of us? But you shall see them. Here comes granny ; and now, Aunt Lucy, go to the piano, and we'll have a jolly evening." Mr. Caperue leaned back in his chair, and listened. Through the open win dow he felt the soft Spring air, all flower.scented, on his cheek, as he watched the tiny white clouds chasing each other, and fell into a hazy sort of speculation upon the strange chance that had brought him here ; and through all his thoughts rang the music of Ste phen Heller's " Sleepless Nights," full of wonderful pathos and wild abandon. When the music ceased, and Mr. Ca perne looked up, the clicking of mad ame's knitting-needles ceased too, abruptly. She gave him a little per emptory nod from her seat in the cor ner, rose up briskly. like the resolute nurse she was, and then he knew that his evening was over, and he was to be sent away. "I would rather live than merely exist," said Mr. Caperne. " If the pains are keener, so are the joys." He did not at once get an answer from Lucy, for the " green " ducks were about her feet, gobbling up her bounty with noisy enjoyment, while Tony threw stones into the pool for a drench ed retriever to bring out. Mr. Caperne might. have gone on with his philoso phy, but Lucy gave him her empty basket, saying lightly : "That's a slur on my poor ducks, I suppose. It is get ting late, Mr. Caperne, and the little Cor hangs out foggy signals. You had better go ln." Mr. Noel Caperne followed, not quite satisfied. He wanted to say something about going away; for of course, now that he was comparatively strong again, there was no excuse for remaining ; but, somehow t the . , words would not come. He looked back upon the days that had passed'since he first left his sick•room, apd wondered to find that he could not count them. He had had his puzzles and perplexities. It occurred to him one day, with a sense of awkwardness, that he had never known by what name to thank'his good Scaritans. When he spoke of this tamrnering, Tony broke into a wild fit nonsense, which Madame checked with = uplifted finger, LANCASM PA. WEDNESDAY MQRNING, MAY 15 1867 . - and tcourions compression of her lips. "You are not to thank us at all, sir. I thought I had made that plan. As to names," she went on, after a little pause "you will say Aunt Lucy and Granny, as. Tony does ; or you may call me madame, After my son's fashion, if you pprefer it. I am French, you know, —at least I was. You should feel at home with us now, mon fits." The quick red came up into Mr. Caperne's face at the words. Though she had used them before yet. they seemed just then to take a new signifl• canoe. " Tell me," said the old lady, softly, "is it not so?" "Madame," said Mr. Caperne, "you have been everything to me,—more than I have words to express." He was in an abnormal and unreason ing state of mind. With Lucy he had arrived-at that stage when It seems im possible to make use of any name at all, and by and by he forgot all aboutit. To night,.as he took his usual seat at the window and watched her closing it carefully to shut out the river fog for his sake, Mr. Caperne turned away with a great sigh, the meaning of which Tony instantly demanded. "I'm like a spoilt child, my boy, that's all," replied the painter. "It's time to go back to school, and I'm frac tious that my holiday is over." "Holiday, indeed !" repeated Tony. "And what do you want to leave us for? Hasn't Granny been good to you?" "Only too good," he replied. " And haven't I ?" said Tony. " And hasn't Aunt Lucy? I say she has, al. though you wouldn't give her the por trait, you know." Involuntarily the two looked at each other. Mr. Caperne had finished his picture, and meant to keep It; but when Lucy begged for a copy of the bunch of violets, what could he do but put his heart and soul into each tiny blossom as it rose to life under his hand? " I tell you it isn't everybody that she outs the choice flowers for " con tinued the boy. "Don't you like us, Mr. Caperne?" " Yes, Tony," he replied. " Then what's the good of going away ?" said Tony. "It's u curious thing now, isn't it?" continued the young philosopher, catching Lucy's dress. ' Why does one like people?" She only laughed and said It was a question for the chemists, but Noel Ca perne raised his head quickly at that. " You wouldn't put the wine of life Into an alembic, would you?" said he. " We don't wantthat analyzed, I think." Ho saw the faint Color pass over her cheek, and leave It pale again, but she did not answer. "To be sure," proceeded Tony, re turning to the subject " perhaps you do find it a bit dull with Granny and Aunt Lucy, but then there's me. Aud I can show you lots or jolly places where womankind would be afraid to venture. You don't kinfw what cowards they are. You haven't any belonging to you?" The painter's face grew dark, " No, laddie," he replied, " I had a sister once." "Had you?" said Tony. " Was she like you? Were you fond of her?" Mr. Capernesaw Lucy touch the boy's lips with her finger, and he bent for ward in a sudden tumult of gratitude. "Shall I tell you about her ?" he asked. " If you will," said Tony. " You are very quiet here," said Mr. Caperne•gently. " Your life seems so calm and untroubled that It has occur red to me more than once to wonder what you would think of my past if you knew it. What would you say If I told you I was once a murderer at heart?" Lucy looked up at him, but she did not speak, and Tony drew nearer with a gesture of profound appreciation. Mr. Caperne put his hand on the boy's head, but it was still to Lucy that he spoke. ," You don't seem half so shocked as you ought," he said. " Perhaps in these sensation days the announcement Is not very startling. It is true, nevertheless. I will tell you about it. " My little sister was not stro❑g, and we used to spend the hot months by the seaside• Well, in one of those mouths I found out that a chance acquaintance had become more to her than ever I could be or had been• You will under stand that it seemed a little hard at first• She was all I had to care for in theworld• The stranger was poor, but spoke eagerly of his hopes for the future ; was a barrister. I did what I could. I stipu lated for a year's grace in which to test that large language of his, and they parted. There was a little old church standing on the top of the hill, which my sister had always preferred to the more fashionable and crowded town churches below. It was there I found her that evening when he was gone ; her two hands resting on the church yard wall, and her face looking out sea ward towards the sunset; but when she turned at my footstep I knew tir light that shone there was not fur ue any more. "My story is not a uew one. There came letters, often at first, then more seldom ; at last they ceased. Twelve mouths after the parting in the church yard I read of that man's marriage. He had sold himself for money. You will think, perhaps, that I should consider this giving me back my sister, and be glad ; but there Is a little more to tell. She was very patient and good ; his name was never mentioned between us, but I knew what those solitary walks meant. I could read the listless, far away eyes that needed many words from me before they could be called back to any present interest. " I thought I would work hard for a short time, and then take my sister abroad amongst new scenes, but I never did it. One day I heard my studio door open softly, and my poor little girl stood beside me like the pale patient ghost of what she once had been. " Noel,' she said, ' don't be angry with me. I want to see the little church on the hill once again.' "I drew her—down close to me and spoke of my scheme, but she only shook her head sadly, and laid it ou my shoulder like a tired child. " Nbel,' she said, ' I want to tell you something, and you must not think I am fanciful. I believe lam very ill,— dying. Let me see the church once more.' " Mr. Caperne stopped a moment to stroke the curly head on which his hand rested. " I knew what was in her mind then," he resumed ; " but I could not thwart her, and I was right. I left my sister at rest in the little churchyardon the hill, just where she leaned over the wall one balmy evening, looking out into the sunlit West; and the waves must rock her to sleep," finished Mr. Caperne, softly. "Now, is it any wonder that I was a murderer at heart?" he said. " I wan dered to and fro over the earth seeking vengeance, but I have never found him yet." " Mr. Caperne," said Lucy, slowly, " have you forgiven ?" He looked up at her with a strange mixture of wistfulness and determina tion in his face. "No, lam not a murderer now," he replied; "but I will tell you what I have done. I have knelt on the grave in the little churchyard and vowed a yow never to touch the hand of this man or any belonging to him in fellow ship; to remember, as long as I live, that there is blood between us." Lucy's heart sank with some unde- finable fear and foreboding, and she put her hand on his sleeve, hardly conscious of the act. " Mr. Caperne !" she said Then he forgot that there were others in the room, for he took the delicate fingers in his own, and said, "Do you blame me, Lucy ? You must not,—you of all people In the work. I could not lose your good opinion, and live." No one but the person they were meant for heard those last two words; but at this juncture madame's knitting needles, which had long been silent, were put away, and she crossed the room hurriedly, and went out. Half an hour afterwards Lucy found her standing be fore the portrait of a boy, painted some twenty years ago. The kind old hands were pressed together tightly, and the lips were miming ; but when her daughter spoke, she only stooped, and kissed the girl's forehead, with a brief good night. As for Noel, he was loaning against his window, looking at the moonlight over the Cor, and the gray church-tower, and the trees ; and there was a strange tumult in his heart. " Why did I tell her?" he mused. "I don't know, but I feel better for it, calmer. She did not turn away from me. She would have meforgive. Would she forgive, I wonder, in such a case? I meant to go away to-morrow, it is true, but I cannot. I cannot put the cup from my lips just yet—the opium cup which brings such dreams as mine. I do not write poetry, because every day is a poem, sweeter than mortal hand could wr ite. The whole world has changed its face, I think. Will there be any awakening for me, I won der? and how, and when ?" VI. Thus was the awakening. They were bending together over the piano, Mr. Caperne carelessly turn ing over the piles of music, when something seemed to startle him, and he stood upright, with his hand pointing_ to a name written in a bold, straggled hand, on one of the songs, "Julian Dudley." "This belongs to—" he stammered,— " tell me." Lucy looked up at him, in sudden wonder. She did not know why, but the same Instinctive terror which had smitten her at the artist's story smote her now as she looked at him. "Tell me," repeated Noel,— your brother?" " Yes." she replied ; " but—" " But,." Interrupted Noel, with whitening lips , "in all these books, In Tony's, and your brother's books—" "The name Is Woodfield," said Lucy. " Yes, my brother's wife was an heiress, and he was required to take her name ! —an unnatural arrangement, I think,' she said, trying to smile. "If I were a man,—Mr. Caperne, do you know you frighten me ! What is it?" Noel looked into her face once, as a man looks at a treasure which is to be taken away from him; he Just said, "God help us both!" and turned to wards the door. It opened as he reach ed it. There we' e sounds of an arrival in the hall, and he stood face to face with the host whom he had so longed to thank. The eyes of this man fell as they met Noel's; there was a weak, imploring gesture of his hands, and a hurried, nervous "Not here! not here, for pity's sake I Come with me." Noel followed into the room opposite ; he closed the door behind him, and set his back against it. "Julian Dudley, I have found you at last then," said Noel. "Caperne," said Mr. Dudley, putting up his hands, deprecatingly, "listen to "At last!" replied Noel; "only to It now that I have shared your roof, and eaten your bread. I wonder it didn't choke me. I wish it had. I wish—" "I ask you to hear me, Caperne," said Julian. "After that, load me with your curses, if you will; but hear me first. Look at me! Am I not old before my time,—a broken man? Heaven is my witness that I have suffered enough to satisfy even you. You think I did a wanton and cruel thing in the days gone by. It was wicked, but not wanton. I have never loved as I did then. But even when I dared to win her, I was 143 debt, Noel, and knew not where to turn for money. I had been wild. You see I confess all. I could make nothing of my profession ; things grew worse with me, and at last I was arrest ed. The only terms on which my friends would help me were that I should marry the woman, who was a good wife to a bad husband as long as she lived. Think of it. What could I do? What hope was there for that other engagement? I wrote to her," said Mr. Dudley, quickly, seeing the gathering wrath in Noel's face, "and told all, but I got no answer." " She never had your letter," said Noel. " I will pass over the rest briefly," said Dudley. " I gaveup the profession that never had been more than a name. With my wife's fortune, there was no need of it. When I heard of your sor row, Noel, which was my sorrow too,— a darker one than yours —I thought my heart must break. We left Eng land, andVandered about the Continent for years, till my wife grew homesick, and I bought this place. Have patience a little longer. I knew who you were, of course, when you heaped coals of fire on my head, and were brought here hurt. I knew also that, if you found me out, nothing would induce you to stay in the house. I told my mother the story in part,—only my mother, mind ; bade her keep you ig norant of the name as long as possible, and I went to Scotland. They told me you were going away last week, or I would not have come home." "The work was done," said Noel, grimly. "I had found you out; your presence was not needed to teach me whose guest I had been." "Hear me out, Caperne" said Dud• ley. "I have had ,a hope ; I have prayed for it to come true. I hoped that in time you might take happiness from my hands, as you once took sorrow. Noel, I am humble enough ; let me have your pardon." Noel laughed, a hard metallic laugh, with no mirth in it. "I vowed a vow on my sister's grave, Mr. Dudley. I owe you a double debt now; the wreck of my own life as well as that other one. Ask forgiveness elsewhere." He opened the door and passed out into the shrubbery, where he had walked so often with Lucy. He put up his hand over his eyes, for her face met him at every turn as he had seen it last, when she said that he frightened her. There was a little path leading from the shrubbery into Covern Wood, and Noel took it. He went away far into the wood, and threw himself down in that very spot where first the childish ac cents of appeal bad reached him; cud the little Cor ran brawling by, the mill wheel sang in the distance, and all the wood was full of pleasant sounds. Im agination plays strange tricks with a man at such times as these. He heard the babbling of the river, and the mill wheel, and the birds, but plainer than any of them there rang through his brain one sentence, spoken by a voice which he must never listen to again, "Mr. Caperne, have you forgiven?" No, he had not forgiven ; he could not forgive. In that evil hour Noel said hard things of the fate that had brought him hither; the fate he once thought so wonderfully happy. He did not fully know yet the heaviness of the blow that had fallen upon him ; he was like a man stunned and only half con scious; shrinking from the examina tion into his hurt, which yet he was aware must come.sHe knew now what was that ghostly resemblance which had so troubled him at first, both in Tony's boyish features, and afterwards in Lucy's face, as she bent over the vio• lets. At that thought Mr. Caperne sprang up to leave the wood which he might never see more; he went away along the path to the bridge under which the stream ran sullen and dark—there he paused to look round, and he said, 1 with his eyes far away beyond Corven 1 Wood, "Never again—never!" VII. Five years since Noel Caperne found Jullan Dudley's name on the bit of music ; five years since he lay on the grass, reviling the pleasant music of the wood; which jarred upon his misery ,• and he was back again • gray amongst his hair, weariness in his look and list less gate; back beside the brawling Cor, wondering dimly what had brought him there; stirred to the very bottom of his soul by the sweet and bitter memories that hung about the place, but rigid as ever in the resolve that he had written its lines by this time in his face. He wandered about the wood until the evening dews began to fall; then he saw the foggy signals rise on the breast of the Cor, and remembered the voice that used to warn him of their danger. What on earth had he come here for? He crossed the bridge, and heard the familiar wheel, without wishing to hear it. He got away to the old inn by the river, and asked for lodging. At first the landlady started at him as she would at a stranger in that quiet place then suddenly, with a start., she gave him the usual courtesy, and led the way to his old room. Mr. Caperne paused on the threshold, aud held back. " Can't you put me somewhere else?" he said, with a little impatience. "But no, never mind; perhaps this Is best after all." The landlady thought so too. She watched him throw down his knapsack wearily; she tried In vain to tempt him in the matter of supper; and when his persistent replies that he wanted only rest and quiet, and should remain but one night, drove her to the last ex tremity, she went forward with some hesitation and unlucked the drawer which used to contain the artist's mys terious painting. "If you please, sir," she said, packet." "The packet?" repeated Mr. Caperue, vacantly. "I left none that I am aware of" " No, eir," she replied ; " but the young lady—Miss Dudley —Miss Lucy, as she is called about here.—" "Well, what of her?" said Noel, turn ing sharply from the window. Nothing, sir," said the landlady ; "only she left this ; it's years ago now. We were to forward it, but we never could find out where. We've kept it safe, sir, and I'm sure—" "'Thanks," interrupted Noel. "Leave it, please. Good night." When/he landlady was gone, Noel got up and locked his door. He struck his hands together roughly as he sat down again, for they were trembling, and then lie opened the little parcel which Lucy had left. Noel laid it down upon the table beside him, and put his hands over his face, with a gasp. It was the little painting he had done for her— the bunch of violets. Did ever flowers look at him with eyes like those before? For the moment, when the woman first spoke, it had flashed across him that she was going to tell him Lucy was dead. He sat there ter ror-stricken still at the shock. It had never occurred to him in all these years that she might suffer even as his little sister suffered. His own misery, his own pride and vengeance, left no room for such a thought ; but it came to him now, as he sat with her token before him, and remembered all. What had he done? He never knew how long he sat there: the landlady declared that she heard him walking up and down all night like a madman, or some one who had committed a great crime, as indeed, who could answer for it that he had not? But it was late In the morn ing when he left his room, sane enough to all appearance, dressed very much as lie had been used to dress five years ago, and took the path towards Cor von Wood, careless of the curious eyes that watched him. It was In the sweet freshness of early Summer that Noel Caperne passed once more into the well-known shrubbery, and found Lucy amongst her flowers. She stood up when she saw him, and then the color left her face, and she drew back the hands he would have taken. "Lucy, Lucy !" he cried, " won't you speak to me? Won't you forgive me?" " I have nothing to forgive," said Lucy, coldly. She had been stronger than the little gild who was at rest in the churchyard on the hill. And then, seeing his altered looks, she added, fal tering a little, " My brother—" " What drew me hither, Lucy? I could not know that I should find my poor little painting wainting for me, rejected. You have conquered through your token ; take it again from me." A little while they stood silent, Lucy trying to be calm, Mr. Caperne to read the face that changed so often. At last he spoke again. " I have loved you so long and so well, Lucy; I have been so wretched a wan derer; give me hope." " Your vow ?" said Lucy, briefly. • "Was wicked, and ought not to be kept," said Noel. " I want to give my hand to Julian Dudley, if he will take It. Let me see your face that I may know If I am forgiven." She raised It to him simply, with the sunlight on it, and he put out his arms. " You will not send me away, my love?" said Noel. " No," was the low muttered re ply A Diabolical Outrage by Negroes—.A Whole Family the Victims. [From the Mobile Times, May 2.1 At . a wood yard situate about ton miles from the city, at a place known as the "three forks,' on Dog River, half a mile up the south fork, and about .cyttit miles front Dog River factory, lives Mr. Fred. Peters, an old man over sixty•five years of age, whose family consists of a wife and four. children. On Saturday last, at about seven o'clock in the evening, a negro man, known as Sam. Ketchum, came to the pines and asked litany questions from the birds Ile to their cum burs, their quarters, and whether there were ally dogs on the place. After eight o' Meek tlim seine night tour negroes appeared on the p 1...., where, as In old times, and when perniet security reigned In the land, the doors and windows were unbarred. The negroes at once rushed on the fainlly and threaten ingly demanded from Mr. Peters his money; ho Minded them all he had about himself, $3.50, but the negroes Insisted that he had more concealed, and began to search for It, tearing and breaking up bed nrniture, presses and finally, find. Mg their attempts unsuccessful, violently laid hands on Mrs. Peters, and took front her persons $1,300, part in gold and part In currency. Then they proceeded to ransack the whole house, robbing it of all provisions, meat, candles, flour, dm., dm. And now commences the tragedy, one before which humanity shudders with horror! A young girl, Just twelve years and two months old is brutally assaulted by the largest of these brutes, the most odious violence is attempt ed upon the innocent anti—we can not relate further but the knife of the heartless monster is called in to aid the satisfaction of his ferocious passions. The unfortunate victim passes insensible from the arins of one to those of two of his brutal companions, while the last of them commits like violences on the unfortunate motiler of the dying girl. And the father, shot at three times, knocked into a corner of the room, a loaded pistol presented at:his breast, is made the terrified witness of the disgrace of his family. The other children —one a girl seven years of age—are victims of a like brutal treatment. That little girl is, with imprecations, dashed against the wall, the boys are raised off the ground by the hair, and kicked until insen sible, or hung by the heels, to make them tell where more money can be found. In fine, after four hours of rev elry and riot, amidst blood, plunder and carnage, the monsters retire from the scene of horror, and make towards the swamps. The remainder of that horrible night was passed without any assistance being brought to the trembling ‘lnmates of the desolate home, and when daylight broke in upon the fearful scene, the hands, upon approach ing the premises, discovered the bleeding and unconscious victims. With a laudable zeal they gave them the first succor, and then went for assistance to the Freedmen's hospital, situated some distance up the river. On the facts being brought to the knowledge of the officers in charge of that institution, they hastened to repair to the spot with all the means at their disposal to rescue the victims and trace up the perpe trators of the outrage: The condition ofthe Peters family is still very precarious. The young girl has ever since remained in a trance, with burning fever. The mother is hardly any better and the poor children are bruised and crippled from the odious vio lences to which they have been subjected. Mr. Peters himself is, notwithstanding his hurts and his great age, in a better state than could be expected. Sinoalar Suicide of a Congreasman A special despatch to the Louisville Courier dated May Bth, The lion. Elijah Rise,just elected to Congress from the Third istrict by an almost unanimous vote over his Radical opponent, committed suicide this afternoon by blowing out his brains with a pistol. He left a note stating that, in the present condition of the country, his advanced age precluded his doing the country any good, and, therefore, sought relief In death. Democratic Victory in Indiana NEW ALBANY, Ind., May 7.—The entire Democratic tickt was elected for city offi cers by a large majority. Mr. Sanderson, for Mayor had over 600 majority. Only one Radical Counbilman was elected. NUMBER 19 -;iialtantougi. MZEM:MI The Maryland Constitutional Convention met at Annapolis yesterday. Secretary Browning, of the Interior De partment, is convalescing. Columbus Cornforth has been appointed by Governor Geary Inspector of Soldiers' Orphan Schools in this State. On Sunday a tire broke out In New Or leans which greatly damaged thegas works of the city. Loss $12,000. General Hancock has hada conference at Fort Dodge with Arapahoe chletS, and the latter have promised to be peaceful. In Taylor county, Ky., on Monday, an alleged murderer was takon from Jail and lynched by a mob of thirty men. General Sickles, lu South Carolina, and Gen. Griffin, in Texas, are appotriting colored men among the registration officers. Income returns for this year at Cincinnati will not, it is believed, much exceed 25 per cent, of last year's return. It will be two years the 22d of this month since Jefferson Davis entered the portals of Fortress Monroe. In Arkansas, Governor Murphy has issued a proclamation, based on an order from General Ord, dissolving the Legisla ture of that State. The St. Paul Pioneer denies the report of destitution in Minnesota. There is a scar city of seed grain in some quarters but of food In none. The increase of the area under cotton cultivation in the' Bombay (India) Presi dency is about 270,000 acres, representing increased export to the value of $5,000,000. The subscription at Pittsburg, Pa., in aid of the destitute of the South amounts to 85,813. Ono lady donated her ring and ear drops to the fund. Many of the wealth,' old creolos of Lou isiana aro returning to France. They are disgusted with the Radical sway now ex isting in the State. The whole amount received by Nov York Southern Relief Committee since its organ ization has been 8193,000, the sum expended being $BO,OOO. The delegates to the Medical Convention in Cincinnati have been entertained by two banquets—one of them at the residence of Hon. George H. Pendleton. The plantations south of Memphis along the shores of the Mississippi are nearly all overflowed, and the planters are reported starving. United States Marshal Underwood, at Richmond, Va., has received the Davis writ of &them 9 co7puB, and starts with it for Fortress Monroe to-day. The death of Hon. Samuel S. Marshall, Congressman from the Eleventh District of Illinois, is reported. He was the Demo credo nominee for Speaker of the Fortieth Congress. The third annual sheep fair of the Now York sheep-breeders and wool-growers be gan at Auburn yesterday. The show was Ilse, but the rain prevented a large attend- Alexander Cummings, or Philadelphia, has resigned his place as Governor of Colorado, and entered his securities as In ternal Revenue Collector of the Fourth District of Pennsylvania. Jacob Riley was tried recently in the Allegheny County Court, of Maryland, for killing his father, and sentenced to sixteen years' imprisonment. The case was an aggravated one. Some planks of a scaffolding in front of the Lindell House In St. Louis, gave way yesterday, precipitating four men to the ground. One of them was killed, one fatal ly wounded, and two others badly injured. The eight hour labor strike In Chicago Is about subsiding, many of the discontented workmen having returned to work at ten hours with the usual joay, or eight hours with a proportionate deduction. England and Wales have a great many lunatics. On January Ist 1887, there were 80,896 lunatics confined in ssylums and hospitals in those countries, and about 10,- 000 were in various workhouses and poor houses. A company of Brownlow'm Tennessee militia became dissatisfied with the result of the election for officers recently, and a general fight ensued, in which one man was killed, another had his skull fractured, and eight or ten more weresoverely injured. A Washington letter says: 1411ot has re ceived an order to paint a full-length por trait (MO) of Charles Knep, who made n fortune during the war from contracts for casting heavy ordnance, at the Fort Pitt Foundry, near: Pittsburgiq'and has located himself here. The master mechanics and manufacturers In St. LOUIN have hold a meeting, and adopted resolutions expressing a determina tion to adhere to the ten-hour rule. They have also agreed not to employ any man who IN a member of a workingmen's so ciety. A now and important brunch of Southern Industry is developing in the swamps of North Carolina and Virginia, from which large quantities of peat are now extracted. In the Dismal Swamp pent can bo manu factured at $1,50 per ton, which now costs $6 in New York. Rev. Mr. Boyd, the well-known "Coun try Parson," has charge of the largest church In the north of Scotland. He says, " Our parish church is seven hundred and fifty years old, and In our church-yard people have been buried for ono thousand seven hundred years." It. Is said the President has decided to com promise between not going South at all and going upon a general tour by going direct to Raleigh, and remaining ono day and night there and then returning to Washington. I fe will consequently ho gone three or four days. A long time ago, a little boy twelve years 61d, on his way to Vermont, stopped at a eountry tavern, and paid for his lodging and broakilun by sawing wood Instead of asking It as a gift. Fifty years later the 911100 boy passed the same little inn as tloorgo Peabody, the banker. The death of the old horse Henry Clay, who In his time has been one of the great celebrities, and who was believed to be the oldest living stallion, occurred in Seneca county, New York, April 22d. The age of this horse is announced at forty-three years and seven months—certainly a surprising ago for a horse to attain. Germany shows the world at the Exhibi tion as well as the French what's the time of the day. The clock tells the time at twenty-six different points in all parts of the world. It also shows the moon's changes, the hour of noon at any spot on the globe's surface, and the state of the thermometer and barometer. An Omaha dispatch says : Track laying on the Union Pacific Railroad was resumed last week. Two ranee of track were laid yesterday. General Casement expects to average two and a half and three miles of track daily during the summer. Four hundred and fifty miles of track material are lying at the depot grounds here, ready for use. John Titus, aged ten years whose pa rents reside at Villa Ridge, sixteen miles from Cairo, accidentally stepped into a crevice near his home, which proved to be a den of rattlesnakes. The reptiles bit him so that he died in twenty•four hours. The weather not being warm enough to have entirely restored snakes to their full vigor, citizens found and killed them. It is reported that there has been a falling Out between Edwin Booth and ex-manager Stuart, the result of which is thatthe former will not have any interest in the new theater which the latter, with John Brougham, is about to erect on the site of the Moffat Museum, Union Square, but Booth's friends say he, too, will have a theater himself before the Stuart-Brougham combination goes into effect. A gentleman named Reverend J. C - - White, undertook to lecture on Romaniem In Quincy, Illinois, Wednesday night, but the ball was taken possession of by the Catholics, and upon his attempting to speak he was hustled out of the hall, and barely escaped lynching. At least two thousand persons were present, inside and outside of the hall, armed with clubs, stones, and other missiles. An appeal was made to the Mayor, but he answered that the people had rights as well as the speaker. An important discovery has been made in Peru. It is of a silk plant. The shrub is three or four feet in height. The silk is enclosed in a pod, of which each plant gives a great number, and is declared to be su perior in fineness and quality to the pro duction of the silk worth. It is a wild per ennial, the seed small and easily separated from the fibre. The stems of the plant pro. duce a long and very brilliant fibre, su perior in strength and beauty to the finest linen thread. Small quantities have been woven in the rude manner of the Indians, and the texture and brilliancy is said to be unsurpassed. The Davis Habeas Corpus. The President has directed the Secretary of War to issue an order on the comman dant at Fortress Monre to surrenderJefier son Davis to the 'United States Marshal of Virginia when the proper legal process shall be issued by the United States Circuit Court. • ° BusnizEr-.-Appa ga2 a year per rP.F, rift f 6r 40 , 2- 4111110NAL PiAnorn, and Ozer. g~LAVTIMIT2II22 • re, 7 ants a line for the MAUR Camas for each aubseguent Maar. •Om • • : • areariaL lederaia inserted in Local O2lunen, .13 estop er ilreL • • • . iiiezatar. moTIOXII , Priglinjt marriages and deaths, 10 oentil per 'tor nun Lunation, and I mem for CraryalMatit insertion. Bminelaa Caane, or ten es Or less, 10 Business Cards, five Minoreu, one 6 Lamar. al i as ant e a Namoza— Executors' -- 2.00 Administrators , 2.03 Assignees' 2.00 Auditors' L ' s° Other "Notteee,” ten lines, or less, three time ~....»»...»»» 1.50 gkttorutiwat-fant. B. C. EIBEADY, • No, 38 North Duke et., Lancaster A. J. NTEIBMAN, No. 9 East Orange at., Lancaster! GEO. NAIIMA.N, No. 15 Centre Square, Lancaster H. N. NORTH, COlumbla, Lancaster county, Pa. R. A. TOWNISIEND_, No. 11 North Duke et., Lancaster IL SWARB,_ NO. 13 North Duke et., Lancaster CHAS. DENIM, No. 6 South Duke at., Lancaster ABRAM SHANK No. 86 North Dux° at.. Lancaster • J. W. F. 6WIF'7', No. 13 North Duke et.. Lancast or A. HERR RMITH, No. 10.8outh Queen at., Lancaater EDGAR C. REED, No. 16 North Duke St., Lancaster B. F. BAlglll, No. 19 North Duke eL, Lancaster D. W. PATTERfiON, No. Z 7 West King at., Lancaeter F. N. PIrFER, No. 5 South Duke et., Lancaster R. R. REYNOLDS, No. 5:I Eilast King st., Lancaster J. W. JOHNSON No. 25 houtb Queen et., Laneaater J. B. LIVINGSTON, No, 11 North Duke et., Lancaster. A. 3. NANDERNON. No. 21 North Duke street, Lancruiter N. H. Pam, No. 8 North Duko et., Li ueester WM. A. WILSON, No, Ai East King et., Lanoastor WM. LEAMAN t No. 8 North Duke at. Lunenater WM. B. FORDNEY, No. H9utit Queen mt.., Lauctuitur gegat gleam. ESTATE OF JACOB °ATRIA N. LATE OF Idadsbury township, deceased.—Letters of administrat,on on said estate having been granted to the undersigned, all persons indebt ed thereto are requested to make Immediate payment, and those havingolaims or demands against the same will present tiaem for nettle inalit to the undersigned, residing in Bart township. Hit. JOHN MARTIN, apr ILIUM* 14 Administrator. . . . STATE OF JAMES OIRVIN, LATE OF Paradise township, doeeaseci.—Luttors ur ou said estate having been granted to the undersigned, all persons in debted thereto are requested to make Imme diate settlement, and those having claims or demands agnitm the same, will present them without delay for settlement to tho under gned, residing lu said township. JOHN tilitVlN HENRY (ERVIN, Administrators. am 2 utw• ESTATE OF SARAH H. PORTER, LATE of Lancaster city, dec'd.—Letters testa mentary on said estate having been granted to the uudersigned t All parsons indebted to said estate are requested to make immediate payment, and those having claims or demands against the same, will present them for settle ment to the undersigned, or either of them. SAMUEL H. PORTER, LOUIS kitIiSSLER. Lancaster city, Pa., April 23d, NC. apr Z 3 tIN THE COURT OF COMMON PLEAS of Lancaster County.—ln tho matter of ie application of "Tho Mt. JoaoWe Beneficial Raving Fund Amapalotion of the City of Lou. caster,' fora Charter of Incorporation April 27th, 1807. Charter presented and the Court direct the flame to be tiled, and notice to be given that if no sulticlent reason Ie shown to the contrary, the said Charter will be granted at the next term of said Court. W. L. BEAR, Prothonotary. 9tw ESTATE OF ELIZABETH BARD, LATE of the City of Lancaster, deceased.—The undersigned Auditor, appointed to distribute the balance remaining in the hands of Isaac Mahler, Administrator of said deceased, to and among those legally entitled to the same, will sit for that purpose on FRIDAY, MAI L 24 18437, at 2 o'clock. I'. M., in the Library Room of the Court House, In the City of Lancaster, where all persons interested in said distribu tion may attend. B. C. K READY, may 1 4 tw 17 Auditor. ,ESTATE OF BARBARA NETZL Y, LATE of West Cocalico township, deceased.— The undersigned Auditor appointed to pans upon the exceptions tiled to the account of Joseph lienly and John Fassnacht, Adminis trators of the Estate of Barbara Netzly, late of West CocaDeo township, deceased, and to die tri hut° the balance remaining in the hands of Kalil administrators to and among those le gally entitled to the same, will attend for that purpose on TUESDAY, the 11th day of JUNE, A, D. 18117, at 10 o'clock. A. M., In the Library Room of the Court House in the City of Lan caster where all persons interested in said dis tribution may attend. B. C. KREADY, may 8 4tw 18 Auditor. ESTATE OF WILLIAM TURNER, LATE of Columbia borough, Lancaster county, deceased, The undersigned Auditor, appoint ed to distribute the balance remaining lu the hands of Margaret and John A. Turner, Admlustrators, to and among those legally entitled to the same, will sit for that purpose 011 MONDAY, JUNE ard, 1867, at 10 o'clock, A. M., In the Library Boom of the Court House, in the City of Lancaster, where all persons Interested in said distribu tion may attend, J. W. JOHNSON, may 8 4tw 18 Auditor. OTIOE—WHEREAN LETTIMPI TES. tamentary to the estate of Alexander ullen, late of Salsbury township, Lancaster county, deed, have been granted to the sub scriber. All persons indebted to the said estate are requested to make immediate payment, and those having claims or demands against ,he estate of saidAlecedent will make known same withourcielay to MAHLON FOX, Executor. may 8 Ot.w j ADMINISTRATOR'S NOTICE...ESTATE of Rachel Jackson, Into of Lancaster city, docessed.—Letters of administration on said estate having been granted to the undersigned, all persons indebted thereto aro requested to make immediate settlement, and those haying claims or demands against the same will pre sent them without delay for settlement to the undersigned, rosidin In said township J EDWARD MORTON, R., may 8 0t...w 18 Adrainlstrater. A CCOIINTS OF TRUNT ESTATES, etc.— .L - 1. The accounts of the following named estates will be presented for conCrmation on MONDAY, JUNE 3d, 1807: Christian Demmy's Eestute, Henry H. Kurtz, Committee. Peter Holre Estate, Jacob Burn, Trustee FM`JIMMUS=MI I;a4IM=MUM Phares Good's Estate, Henry Burckhart, Trustee. Jacob Charles' Estatp, Jacob Seitz Trustee. Samuel Shroud's Estate, Martin. B. Harulsh, Committee. Wm. Tros4lol wife's Estate, Jacob Getz and Lyme , Assignees. W. L. BEAR, Proth'y. PnoTnoNarAnY's OYFICE, Lancaster, May 1, 1860. j may 8 Stw 18 gardwart, Atom, • &c. G. M. STZINKAH. C. F. R./GHOUL ISAAC DILLER HARDWARE! THE OLDEST AND LARGEST ESTABLISH KENT IN CENTRAL PENNSYLVANIA. GEO. M. STEINMA.N & CO., WEST KING STREET, Having recently enlarged their store and thus greatly increased their business facilities, now offer to the community, AT THE LOWEST PHILADELPHIA RATES, the finest assortment in the market, of HARD WARE SAD DLERY OILS, PAINTS, GLASS STOVES IRON AND STEEL, CEDAR WAREq_ sLEIGn-RELLS, CUTLERY, OIL CLOTEItI, SKATE, PERSONS COMMENCING HOUSEKEEPING will end a full assortment of goods In then line. They are also agents for a auperlor article NAILS, and for DUPONT'S CELEBRATED UUN AND ROCK POWDER in-The Mgt:Lest cash price paid for Clover Timothy, and old Flax Seed. Ldeo 81 tfdew SECRET nv BEAUTY GEORGE W. LAIRD'S "BLOOM OF YOUTH. This celebrated preparation imparts to the skin a soft satin-like texture, and renders the complexion clear and brilliant. This delight ful Toilet is different from anythidk ever offered to the public before, and is warranted harmless. Ladles give It one trial and be con vinced of its value. Genuine prepared only by aDORGE W. LAIRD, 74 Fulton Street, New York. Sold by Druggists and Fancy Good Dealers everywhere. (may 181yw 19 AGENTS WANTED.—..WE WANT Agents in all sections of the States of Pen n. Bylv . s w i4 Maryland, Delaware and the District of Columbia, to sell a'very valuable publica tion. Active agents can make 1120 per day, of which we can satisfy any one desiring the in. formation. Persons wishing monde' will direct to SIMON O. PtrEns ado,. BOX 40, Harrisburg, ra. Straw 16
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers