, faotaiJw ltrtrtUfltnw, i-.Trti’lofu'-.iLM oil! -■ w‘:. ■ S; 1 " • . praijiH*DiT*BTWjn>»*snAT® l 1 . • ,y.. ; Hi ! 'O. : BJII'TH * ; CO. .Vy: Hi Gj: Smith. • TERMS—Two Dolinin por anmun; p»y*blo ‘in all eases in advanoe. ‘r ; Tm Lawgastbb daily HrrxLLicrxNotb is published every evening, Sander exdepted, at *S per Annum madyanoe. )FFIOB-SQUTHWXBT 00&XE2 Of OWOT UABS.: . ~aax~ AVTVfiir WOODS. Ere,.itt’tbe.tu*rtherngale, The summer tresses of the trees tie gone. The woods of Autumn, dll aroqndonrVale,. Have put their, glory oh., The mountains that enfold,'.. .. In their wide sweep, the colored landscape round, Seem groups of giant kings in purple and gold, That guard the enchanted ground. " I roam tbe woods that crown The upland,where the mingled splendors grow, Whore the gay company of trees look down i On the green fields below. • My steps are not alone In these bright walks; the sweet southwest, at play. Piles, rustling, whore the painted leaves are strown Along the winding way. And far in heaven, the while, The sun, that souds that gale to wander here, Pours out on the fair earth his quiet smile—. The sweetest of the year. Whoro now the solemn Shade- Verdure and gloom where many branches meet; So grateful, when the noon of summer made The valleys sick wlth.heat? Let in through all the trees Come all the strange rays; the forest depths are bright; Their sunny-colored Oliago, In the breeze, Twinkles like beams of light. The rlvalots, late anßeen, Where, bickering through theshrubsits waters run, Shines with tbe Image of its golden sorcen, And gllmmurlngs or the sua; But'noath you crimson tree, Lover to. listening maid might breathe his llame, Nor mark, within its roseate canopy, Her blush of maiden shame. Oil. Autumn! why so soon • Depart the hues that make thy forests glad, Thy gontle wlud and tby.falr sunny nooil, And leave thee wild and sad ! Ah! ’twere a lot too blest Forever In thy colored shades to stray Amid the kisses of the soft southwest, To rovo and dream for aye. And leave the vain, low strife That makes men ra<d—the tug for weulth and power The passions and tbe cares that wither life, .And wasto Its little hour. jjpigiccttanMis. My Brother Leonard. BY JULIA KAVANAOII It has always seemed to me, since I passed those giddy but happy years of my youth when we feel too much to care to think, —it has, I say, always seemed to me, that some of us are born to act and to sutler, and others to sit passively and look on. From childhood upwards to this present hour,—when I sit writing alone, a white-haired wo man, in an old chateau of Provence—to be the silent witness of my brother Leonard’s life has been my lot. No lover came to me ; no dream of love ever crossed my path. But Ido not re gret It; no, I do not regret It, though I am now a childless old maid, pale and withered. If love, with its blessings and torments, had sought me, if a hus band had taken me to another home than this, what should 1 have known of that shy and noble heart which grief never. conquered, but a great joy broke and stilled forever! According to the world’B estimate my brother Leonard’s life was not an event ful one. For In this, too, the parts al lotted to the actors in the great drama of life are unequally divided. Some get the glorious destinies. Their star sets or rises in a sort of tempestuous splendor, and leaves a long track of light behind it through the dull pages of history. So far as I can see, they are not more noble, more heroic, more beautiful than others of whom there is no reoord, who live and die unrember ed save by a few faithful hearts. But, after all, what matter? What Is it to my brother Leonard, in his grave, if the world never knew that it lost in him a pure heart, chivalrous and true as that which once beat in the bosom of Bayard, —of the knight who knew neither re proach nor fear, and who died in all honor after living without a stain? My brother Leonard never wielded lance or sword, but there are other battles fought in life than those in which blood is shed; and of all who ever struggled nobly against adverse fate, who knew how to bear defeat, or, harder still, how not to triumph over a conquered enemy, none were ever more worthy of honor than this unremembered man. Ho was the eldest" and I the youngest of a large family of children, all born in this old Provencal nest built on a rock above the Mediterranean Sea. It is a fair old manor enough, at least I think it so; I like its yellow sunburnt front and the square tower which rises above its low roof, and its many tall windows, with small glass panes, which flash again in the fiery light of the setting sun. I like its broad view of an azure sea with a whitening horizon, and even the arid plains which surround our old home, I like to. For in that desert our green garden is like a beautiful oasis, cool and shady. It is an old-fashioned garden, they have none such now, with straight alleys and clipped trees ; here and theie a few heathen statues, moss-stained and mildewed, appear in the bowers; and on the lawn, in front of the house, a slen der fountain ever throws up its waters, howsoever hot the noonday sun may be. But why do I speak of all this? I am the last of the De Lansacs, and in my languid veins their once hot Pro vencal blood is dying away feebly. We were trreat and rich once, say the records of Provence ; but the religious wars proved our undoing. We were Catholics, and had many a fight with our old foes and neighbors the Be Sainte Foys, who held the new faith. We beat them of course, but though we were fierce and revengeful, we scorned to enrich ourselves with the spoils, of our enemies, and as they soon bent to the storm the warfare which well nigh ruined us left them rich. Better times came for them, and worse times for us: they married rich heiresses and throve, whilst we wedded poor girls, had large families, and got poorer and poorer. We had but a slender pittance left under the First Napoleon’s reign, but we liated the De Sainte Foys, whose grand old chateau on the opposite hill went on adding wiDgs and building “pavil ions,” whilstour poorold manorcrumb* led away. The sight of it fed our hate. As a child I looked at it with wrath, and even now, when it holds alLthat is dearest to me, I never care to gazeatits broad facade. My brother Leonard and I were the only survivors of a large family, and many years divided us. Both our parents were dead, and we lived here alone with a maiden aunt, a pale faded woman, such as I am now, who glided noiselessly about the old rooms and sel dom spoke. , All the De Sainte Foys were hand some, and all the De Lansaea were tall. My brother was six feet high, a gaunt, thin yoUDg man, with harsh features, keen eyes,and heavy eyebrows. He was a great sportsman, yet most in consistently tender-hearted. I never saw him Btrike his dogs, I llever saw him hurt a fly ; once his gun was out of his hauds be was the geutlest of crea tures. For all that he wa9 a great hater. Especially did he hate the Corsican, as he called Bonaparte, and perhaps he hated him all the more that the De Sainte Foys were devoted to the new dynasty, and spent all their time in Paris. I remember the scornful looks my brother often cast on the closed windows of their chateau. “ Just like them,” he muttered. “Timeservers; anything for money, anything for rank; just like, them!” I was sent to a convent whenl was ten years old, and I remained there till I was seyenteeo. The nuns were very ’ kind to me, but spite their kindness I pined' for my old home and the Bea dashing up the beach, and the green garden with its mutilated statues and its little fountain. So when I stepped outof the convent gates into the little carriole which had been sent for me with our old servant Saint Jean, I was, spite a few team shed at parting from my kind companions, os gay os a lark. The sun was setting when we reached home. The sunburnt land looked flooded with fire and gold, and our old manor seemed almost fresh andyoung again in theglorious light. I skipped lightly out of the little jolting car; Iran up the stone steps, stillas worn andunevonasof yore; lentered, the bare old hall with all’the grim De Lan sacs looking down at me from the walls, 'we were not a handsome and I felt the happiest creature alive, till toy aunt, coming stairs to meet me, told me that Leonard was a way in Paris, and that no one knew when, be would comeback. This sobered ’ine at once. I feltanxlous. The times were troubled. Napoleon had left Elba and been con quered at Waterloo. Monsieur de Sainte Eoy, X knew, was a proscribed man, .. to , 7-‘- r ' r '' " - ' n ' :T: '- r ~ r - ~•• ~ ’.-u.j.ioir i-j'l'l' ‘ "■“ ' ' “ ■ ~i| ' ■;) ■■- -' -*T"?v'/ ;V',:. j--V- j ~! tu■■■‘i. »« - M 1 ' " ■" „ ■,. .i. ■. • VOtiTOE tt) O!"‘:r : S : :EMGASTER‘M WEDNESDAY MORNING OCTOBER 27 1869? :T •—^ : V . NUMBER 43 A. J, Btmmuif for we had.met a party of soldiere in search of him..:. •Yefc;'sarely f my brother the Coreican-haterwas safe 1 “0 yes; quite Then, looking ftt me wistfolly. Bhe ad* ded. “Rosei”—oh I ’ what a mockery: that hame of mice seems now,— 11 we . Lave a gueßfc! Obt'old cousin the Vis count died, you know, leaving a widow and are likely to remain. YonwiH do well to be friendly, with them, I 'Ma* dame de Lansao is a great beauty, and has been rather spoiled, and her little girl Is very wilful j- but still, ,r said my aunt, looking at me in that wistful way, “you will do well to be ..friendly with , them,” Youth is inclined to fried dUhess, and as my aunt's real meahibg never once occurred to me, I cheerfully promised to be all that the beautiful Madame de Laosac could wish. I had no immediate opportunity of showing her how amiable iwas; she did not appear, and when my aunt left me to attend to some domestic matter I remained alone. v But does solitudereally exist for youth with the delightful companionship of its thousand dreams and hopes and wishes, which are ever flitting about it like gay motes in the noonday sun? Besides could I feel lonely in the home of my childhood ? I went up to my old room and found it unchanged after all those years; then I ran down to the garden, so fresh and dewy in the pleas ant evening; I explored every green nook, I looked fondly at the poor old statues and fancied that they looked back kindly at me. I was half crazy with the joy of being home again. Of all the rooms in the manor, there was one which, even as a child, I had dearly liked, —the upper room in the square turret, whence there was a view of laud and sea unrivalled in the prov ince it was said. Why should I not climb up to it now, like the Lady of Malbrouk in the ballad, and gaze at a blue sea and a pale sky, where white stars began to twinkle, though the hor* zon was still rosy with departed fires! Perhaps I might evenseea boat gliding along£ the waters, —one of those low boats with broad lateen sails which I had so often thought of in my inland convent home. There is a broad central staircase in our manor, with steps of massive stone balustrades of iron which takes us to the highest floor of the house, aud ends iu a long corridor, full of doors, all leading to untenanted chambers save one, which gives aocess to the dark and narrow spiral stairs that climb up the body of the square tower, aud take one to a little room with four windows and a terrace around it, I seldom go there now, for my breath has failed me of late; my sight, too, is weak and dim and sees no more as it once beheld them the glories of God’s world ; but I was light as a bird then, ay, and as keen eyed too, and*ln a few minutes I had reached the tower. It was much alter ed from my childish remembrance of it. I had ever known it bleak and bare looking, and now it bore manifest signs of being tenanted. There was a flask of wine on a table, and when I curiously lifted up an old piece of tap estry which divided the room in two, I saw with surprise a low camp-bed be hind it. “I suppose someservantsleeps here.” I thought, and stepping out through one of the windows on the ter race, I looked around me with a delight which made me forget all else. The evening was very bright and clear, the sea lay calm and lovely beneath me, and far as eye could reach there spread a noble land stretching to the base of purple-looking hills. It was very fine, )ut I had no time to linger the beauty around me. I was rous* / by a sound of voices coming from t’ / room within. Hiding behind the shatters of the open window, I listened and peeped in. . Y “IteUvOU-I cannot.” aaid a tnan'a voice, “and I never said that I could. You must marry him.” The low weeping of a woman answered him. 1 saw the man first. He was no servant, as I had thought, but a gentleman, and, though long past youth, one of the handsomest men I had ever seen. He stood facing me with his arms folded across his breast, and a careless, defiant look in his dark eyes that gazed steadily on the clear evening sky. The lady was leaning against th e wall with one of her hands resting on a chair. I could not see her at first, but when she turned her face to me I was bewildered at her beauty. He was handsome, but en chanting loveliness are the only words that can describe her. If such she look ed to me when overpowered by sorrow, what must she have been when glad ness beamed from those deep blue eyes and happy smiles played on that sweet young face with its cloud of golden hair! I had never seen two such hand some creatures out of the fairy tales, and I was all amazement to see them here. “ O heavens!” she cried, clasping her white hands in an agony of grief, ‘have I betrayed him for that?” “ Why need he know it? ” asked her companion, drawing towards her. I was very young, very innocent, and would not understand their meaning; nut some revelation of it came to me when the door of the turret-chamber, which had remained ajar, opened, and my brother Leonard came in with sueh a look on his white face as I had never seen there before. She uttered a low cry, and starting back he turned pale as death; but Leonard raised his hand, and uttered an impeaious “ Hush I ” which silenced them. For a moment the room was so still that I could hear the low dash of the water on the shore below. “So that is the end,” said Leonard, looking at them in sorrow and in scorn ; ‘“'that is the end of trust and faith in man and woman. Do not answer— hear me both. Madam, I shall deal first with you. As the widow of my cousin, you asked me for a home, aud I gave you one. When you came to this house with your child, your beauty, I confess it, touched my heart; but if you had not one day given me to understand that you had seen my love and that it might be welcome, I never should have wooed a lady so young and so beautiful as you are. On such a hint, however, I spoke and was accepted. I promised to become your protector and the father of your child, and you, I suppose, agreed to be true to me. ■ How have you kept your pledge? Speak, butno, do not answer; be silent, let not at least your lips be perjured, even though your heart is false.” He ceased; he wa9 dreadfully agitated, and the lady sobbed pitifully ; but he soon recovered, and turning to her companion, he said, almost calmly, “You, Monsieur de Sainte Foy, came to me in your peril, and trusting to my gen erosity and honor bade me revenge the old feud of our ancestors by saving your life. How did I receive you? Like a brother. And how have you repaid me? You know on what errand I went to Paris. Well, sir, I have succeeded; you arepardoned. Youcauleave this house; you need its shelter ho more. You can go back openly to your own homq, where you, too, havo a child, sir, a boy for whose sake you implored my com passion, ; but mark my words, do not forget to take this lady with you.” “I cannot —I am married,” sulkily said Monsieur de Sainte Foy, for the first time attempting to answer my brother. • “ You are a widower, sir,” answered Leonard, gravely; “your wife died whilst I was in Paris. I repeat it, you can take this lady With you. And, sir,” he added, his eyes flashing angrily from beneath his heavy eyebrows,,“ let me advise you to do her justice. She is the widow of my cousin, and I will not see her wronged. I say no more; you are my guest, and though you have for gotten it. sir, I remember it still.” So saying, he turned away and left them. My eyes Were blind with tears, afid'my heart was full of sorrow fortoy brother Leonard. I stood awhile look ing down at the swelling boaom of the sea; then, when I was, or at least when Ilookedcalm,JenteredtheToom. The guilty pair had vanished* they left the manor that night, and this was the story of my brothers youth. . From that day forth Leonard.was an altered man. He.took to bpoks,tapd became a great reader. ' tTi« gun was added to the rußty old.armor in the hall and remained there unused , his .days in 1 the j library.; His tWo hounds, .Capitaine and to go and seek pirn r .there, looking at' him With wistful,.! questioning eyes:: but though they alwkys;gota caress' and' a kiud i Wordf they* could not -lure him forth. “Why should I go*ahd murder poor harmless creatures *that never wronged or betrayed me?” he once said, and that was the only allu sion I ever heard him make to the ;te::saaG3^ -; ehce. ,The blessing of avfopg.-riifa waa not.grahtedto the died within their marriage, Young Le .Sainte Poy -wafl btoartit 'up dn r Paris, <aad r seldom, caine fats' 'dhlld wa&‘ adopted fry & dteteit violation ,of. ana 0 tb TotosY she, * too t -married and died .we never satv her." And thus time ;pafls*d,;and Ibecamea se date old-maid*" ahd.aftei: my aunl?/3. death kept house for m'y'brother : Leqn-' ard, a vigorous old than, lock* were gray indeedjfrut'whose* step' was as flrpa, and ,'who*e .eyea were as keen ever* O He; wasoheerfhl, too, and .the joyous heartiness of his laugh was something to remember" In a man of his years, ' - Wd left home rarely,- and the. list tfuie7 that business' took us forth, our retain was made memorable fry a event. We had been a week awayj and I felt heartily glad wheal saw once more the square tower rising above the yellow front of our old manor, Leon ard, too, uttered arelieved “Ah I” as he helped meto alight, and Genevieve, our trusty old female servant, came forth to meet us with a beaming face. “Thank Heaven!” she said, crossing herself, “it had seemed a hundredyears since we had right now, and the little girl had come quite safely, praised be Heaven! A real cherub! For though her grandmother had been: foolish and wicked' enough to marry-a De Sainte Foy, the child—glory’ be to all the saints!—did not belong to that brood.” Here was news for us! The relations of that poor little orphan, our sixth or seventh cousin, had with rare coolness transferred her to us, and taken advan tage of our absence to deceive poor Genevieve. Without uttering a word my brother opened the door of bur sit ting-room. Itisalargeroom with brown oaken walls and a polished floor. A stream of red sunshine from the west was pouring in through the farthest window, that at which I always sit, be cause it has a deep recess and a broad ledg on which I put my work Tothis ledge the little stranger had clipabed, and there she now sat in a forlorn atti tude, with her feet gathered beneathher, and her little hands clasped around her knees. She might be six or seven years old. She looked fair as a lily in her deep mqurning, and when she turned towards us, and shook back her yellow curls to look at us with wistful wonder in her deep blue eyes, Iknew atonce thelovely face of her beautiful grandmother. I looked at .my brother .Leonard. His heavy brows were bent, and his keen eyes fastened on the child with a steady gaze. He smiled, too, rather a grim ironical smile, which seemed to say, “So the traitress has come back to De Ransac after all.” But the little thing returned his look very fearlessly, and, to my surprise, smiled up in his face, and never minded me. We had not the heart to Bend her away. We kept her, and I soon loved her dearly. She was a good, lovely, and joyous creature. It was like hav ing a bird, or a sunbeam, or anything bright and gay, to have her in the house. Leonard never took the least notice of her; I sometimes 'fancied he did not see her, so unconscious did he seem of her presence. Yet of us two it was this cold and careless cousin whom the perverse child preferred. Sbe would leave me any day to sneak after him. Lucie had been a year with us when Genevieve, who doted upon her, came one afternoon with startled looks. The child was missing; shehadbeenaearch ed for over all the manor, and she was not to be found. My brother loosed up from his book, and rose. I followed him up the central stairs, then up again in the tower to the chamber, which he unlocked, and there we found Lucie Caat Ln-.KU. nKair, OOrled round like a faitnful little spaniel waiting for its master. My brother never said a word, but took her up, and carried herdown stairs still fast asleep, and when Lucie woke below Bhe was on her knee, in his arms, and from that day forth in his heart. They were seldom apart. If you heard my brother’s stately step about the house, you also heard a pair of little feet paltering after him. His loud cheerful laugh was ever echoed by a childish voice clear as a silver bell, and if he locked himself up in the library for an hour’s lonely reading, his case was vain unless he closed the window; for Lucie would climb up the sill, jump down, and stealing behind his chair lay her rosy cheek to his, and mingle her golden locks with his iron-gray curls. How could he help loving a creature so endearing, —one who thought, felt, loved, and, hated as he did, and who detested the De Sainte kk>ys as cordially as if she had been a genuine De Lansac? I tried to check the feeling; in the first place because it was unchristian, and in the second because the Sainte Foys were in the shade just then. The son of my brother’s betrayer lived in Paris, and squandered or gambled all his large pro perty away. Theold chateau itself would have gone if he had not died rather sud denly, leaving but one son, a young man of whom report spoke well, and who, after his father’s death, came to Provence, with the intention it was said of remaining. It seemed strange to see the windows of the chateau open again after they had been closed so many years; but we got used to it. Monsieur de Sainte Foy had not been back more than a month, and Lucie was about seventeen, when he unexpectedly called upon .us one morning. I was working, Lucie sat by me unwinding silk, and my brother was reading, when our solitary manservant Jacques came in, and with scared looks announced our unexpected visitor. We all arose to re ceive the hereditary enemy of our house. He was a very handsome young man — all the De Sainte Foys were handsome —with a manly young face, in which I did my best to read hereditary perfidy, but could not. There was truth in his dark eyes, truth in his smile, and truth in the very sound of his ■froice. “Monsieur de Lansac,” he said, com ing forward, “our ancestors have not been friends, I am told; but I am young, I feel guiltless of the past, whatever it may be, and have no wish to cherish its resentments or its hatreds. It therefore come to you hoping that you will be so good as to grant your neighborly advice and friendliness to one who, though a stranger to this place, means to live and die in the home of those who have gone before him.” My brother smiled very kindly, and held out his hand, and thus a league of of amity was struck between the last of the De Lansacs and the last of the Da Sainte Foys. I had always deplored the old feud, but I had my fears about this reconcili ation ; and when young Do Sainte Foy, who did much need my brothera’s ad vice, became a frequent visitor at our house, I plainly tola those fears to Leon ard. Lucie was very lovely and young. What if this-young gentleman should be smitted with her, and win her heart. “ Well, and if they should love, where would be the harm? ” he replied, very kindly. Ah I what changes time can bring in its train I My brother actually wished for this thing, and when months passed, r and no sign of it ap peared, J read disappointment in his looks. Well, I, too, was dis appointed. They were both , young, ; both handsome, both gifted and good, and both exactly suited to each other, as it seemed to me. I could not imagine how they met without pleasure and parted without pain, as unconcern ed as if the magic of the word “Loye” did not exist for them. Besides, !longed for a love-story. There had been none in my own life; my brother’s had end ed in bitterness. Why would not these perverse young things give me one? It would have been so pleasant to see them adoring eafch other, quarrelling and making It up again, andgotog through their pretty idyl in the green garden of our old manor.. I was sorry that they did not care for each other, iand I could not help saying so to my; brother one evening as we walked alone in the gar den. Lucie was up in the tower; she had taken a great fancy to jfc,of and went Up to it every evening; ■* "“Andl, tpo, Leon ard, shaking his grayrTociks ragrefc&liy; “for, like that young man. very dearly; strange thataDe Lansac should say soris it not? • 'But he does not care for.thechUd, and, love will be. free.— Where is she?,, Jn'-the.tower,; tianai, Letusgo up toheiv -It feelsolosedown here;V; ::> '' 1 ' .-j-v’.' r---- 1 • I ; do not -kho# vrhy l opposed Leon-; ards wish. I seemed to have a presen timent of coming evil, and yet all I thought of was that the stairs were steep and high, and that the exertion would be too much for my brother. But he .Clfet VV ,-• i «:s.L> :ij VlLi: o °3y ; and said he would go and .Bee ; wba£ etara.the child was reading up .there,:! iH© was soontired, aslhad fore?- dfeenfriand’* obliged to, rest on the ’dark* A soundofybicea ftbm to. hs.' Lucie; ifehja WMTiQfc alche,: I heard • mynrpfcJrer.breatmhg;heavily, VVlAoiikr^ t ' , / 1 .;i jwhispered^ let me; go,” fprlji wasa man’s voiee lhatmin-' gled wttfr here-. : , , r He did not'answer, brrthevutine by.*: in a moment, as itßeemed, he had reached 'the door and pushed it open, I followed’hlm in; Lucle was alone in the roomi ' ‘ Without looking' at her, my brother, went straight to the window, and said,.calmly,.. You may come in, sir.^ ’ And thus summoned,youngMonsieur de Sainte Foy left the balcony and anr tered the room. Hooked at them both. There they were—the two ingratea—as I had seen them sq many yeare before; beautiful and deceiving, .again betray ing the kind friend and the generous enemy; but they were younger than in those bygone days, and I could read shame and grief on their two faces. My brother looked at them with the very look which I remembered, —a cold aud angry look; and he said, 1q a cold hard voice, — “ I have read somewhere that what has been is; that the same men and women live again and again to do the ; same deeds , over and over, and I And the truth of it this day. You, Monsieur de Sainte Foy, came to me, your here ditary enemy, asking our old animosi ty to be forgotten; and when I opened my house to you, aaif you had been one of its sons, you abased my hospitality, Even bo did your grandfather act, sir, when I saved his life many years ago. Hush! you will speak presently. You, he added, turning to Lucie, “ have be trayed me, your adopted father, as she whose image you are betrayed me, her future husband; and, true to your des tiny, you chose to do so with the des cendant of the man to whom I was sa crificed. I, too, fulfilled my part in this repetition of an old story, for I was blind, trusting and easily deceived.— Well, as I acted before I shall actagain. Let the lot you have chosen be your lot. You want this young girl. Monsieur de Sainte Foy ? Take her! For the sake of the fe w drops of De Lansac blood which flow inher veins she may remain in this house till she becomes your wife, but I shall thank you both to have the wedding over quickly, and then let me see either of you no more.” Lucie buried her face in her hands, and sobbed pitifully; but the young man became orimson, and said passion ately— , “You wrong us, sir;.we have been imprudent, but treachery was not in our thoughts. I repeat it, you wrong ns ” “Do you think I am angry?” replied my brother Leonard. “Why, you could not help yourselves. It was in your blood to betray me, and it was my lot to be deceived by you.” “Ah! do not say so,” cried Lucie, at tempting to detain him as he turned to the door; but he who had so loved her looked at her so coldly that she shrank back afraid. So we left them; and, turning back, I saw her sinking on a chair, pale as death, whilst her lover stood looking after my brother, gnaw ing hia nether lip, as if he still smarted under the sting of those bitter words: “It was in your blood to betray me.” Sad and bitter were the days that fol lowed this ill-fated evening. I attempt ed to say a few words for poor Lucie, but mjr hrnfViiay’a rtrtTjr nnanr.. “Keep her out of my sight till they are married.” He was a wilful man—one, too, whom the memory of a great wrong had em bittered. It was useless to dispute his commands, and I told Lucie so. “Ihave deserved it,” was her only answer; and she submitted, and kept out of hiß way. The wedding was to be a speedy one, according to my brother’s wish’; but, oh! how joyless were the few prepara tions, and with how heavy a heart I made them! Three days before that ap pointed for the marriage I again tried to move Leonard. It was a clear and calm evening, and we sat together on the wooden bench in the bower where the dilapidated Pan is ever playing on a broken reed. I pleaded for the two cul prits. I spoke of their youth, of the wish he had felt for their union, of for giveness and indulgence. He heard me out, then said, — “ I trusted them, and tljey^deceived me without need, without cause. By wha,t • magic can I ever trust them again?” I felt silenced. What is tnere, in deed, that can restore a lost faith? Still, I was Beekiug for some argument where with to move him, when we were both startled by a sound of steps on the grav elled path. Lucie and young De Sainte Foy stood before us. My brother's pale thin face took a slight hectic tinge, and he looked angrily at them both, but said not one word. “ Monsieur de Lansac, said the young man, —and I had never seen a Dobler and loyal look on man’s face than I then saw on his, —“ we would not thus intrude upon you if we could help do ing so, but we cannot; be so good, therefore, as to bear with us for a few moments.” ‘ ‘Speak,’ ’impatiently said my brother. “AJI we have to say is this; our love was boru and ripened in ignorance; our interviews were thejcesult of accident; we never designed to deceive you, or to betray your trust, and you have laid, upon us the burdeiLofa sin and a shame which, howevermuchappearancesmay condemn us, we will not bear. We love each other very dearly, but having no other means to convince you, we have resolved to part forever rather than give you the right to think that we, the de scendants of two who unhappily wronged you, have combined to betray you in your old age as you were be trayed by them in your youth. In your presence, therefore, and with her full consent, I give up all claim to this young lady’s love. Here I bid her adieu forever, and let the bitterness of such a parting atone for the imprudence which has cost ub both so dear.” I looked at Leonard; I could scarcely see him, my eyes were so dim with tears; but he replied in a low, bitter voice,— “ Yes, the old man has but a few years to live. It will do to wait till he is in his grave, will it not?” “Ah! we have not deserved this!” cried Lucie. “No, we have not deserved it,” an swered her lover. *• Sir, you wrong us very much indeed. A thoughtso cruel as that of waiting for your death never came to us. Our parting is to be irrevocable. My house and land are to. be sold, and the first ves sel which leaves Marseilles will take metolndia. Wemay never meet again,, and if we do, years will have passed over as, —years and their changes. If you do not trust us, if you think we are acting a part and speculating on your grave, the sio-be yours, not ours.” “Marvelous!” replied my brother Leonard, with a low, ironical laugh.— “A young man gives up his mistress, a girl gives up her lover, and all for the sake of a gray-beaded old man! Do not ask me to believe it.” “Sir, it is not merely for your sake that we part” said young De Sainte Foy, with an angry light in his dark eye; “it is also for the sake of our hon or. Oar error has sullied it but our sac rifice shall redeem it; and you yourself, sir, you our accuser, shall confess it.” My brother was staggered, but he would not relent. “Yes—yes, I.know,” be said, impati ently; “yon think I am one of those soft hearted stage fathers, who forgive the sinners and bestow their blessing in the last-act. You are mistaken. If Lucie-glvea'you up, she must give you up entirely. • Do you hear, bbth of you —entirely? I ask for no* sacrifice; Tex pect none. Bat ifyoudo giy© up thi' thing for the sake of your honor, yo 9 must not look back.” “We mean itso;”answered the young man, in a low tone. “Lucie.” He turned to her. She twined ; her arms afotf nd his neck; forafew moments they stood , before us in .the paid moonlight, clasped liD-so passionate an embrace :flbja.tlt r aepmed as if they could never hgatov be sundered. ‘ Neither spoke, neither, wept;, but .when I; looked, at them-rreo young, so fond,so noble,and so handsome—and thought that they -were> I could- not restrain • my tetos.” My brother looked oh unmoved. Hand ottered hot a‘word "brrelehtiiiL Young Monsieur de SainteFoyat length put her by, and walked away without bidding us adieu. She stood looking after him, pale and tearless. “Lucie,” quietly said my brother, ! .‘.i : ! ' back,if yon repent!' ynrir ' '■ y." ... - She looked at him swiftly, with a : ' ll \ ,r d J“ l<!J T>oaiUon or Providence, vague hope, poor child; but there was ~ no relenting lnmy brother’s eye, sober gram the Bpfiggfl.ld wgnnw'reflt w ; > face fell a little, and she only shook her' o Ainiong.the-nnmferoua diaastehfio the head, as much as tosay ll “I -do not re- coast-fishing, vessels Intherecenbgreat PS??”' >• i, v' ' gtf.e were. the.oompiete wrecks of two I have often wondered how my dear. Kockport schooners, with' their-crews, brother, sogenerons, so kind, could be so- ana but one" Survivor, Charles 'Jordan hard to these two. But he had trusted- oFthe schooner ßeten Eliza, ‘returned them entirely, and it pierced his very tdtell the tale of hls peril indeecape' heart that.they .should have deceived.: the reat of the twelve bravesnilorewere -him.:. Biased, itherowasnoreason why swept out of life as their, eraftwenfcto they: should hays done so. 'TtmustTiave pieces near Peak’s Island, In. Portland been tho waywardness ofyouth which harbor," leaving "desolate live widows allured them into this needless secrecy, and- seven orphans,- -besides mothers, giving sweetness! to a. hidden'loVe. I. sisters,-or sweetheartawho will mourn could have made all these allowances, the unmarried .seamen.: ; The-, captain for them, it seemed to me-; bntXeonard became., alarmed at the. threatening could not. He was hard because he was skies on the morning of the fatal day, himself the soul of truth and honor, and and ran for Portland. The violence of he was unrelenting because the memory the storm,-however, came upon the ves of his old wrong had never left him. It seltoosoon; both anohors were thrown may also be, that in his.secret heart he out and the cable snapping like thread thought to try-the two..culprits for a the rudder was powerless as a feather,, time; and forgive them.in the end; but and in twenty minutes of ungoverned it was not to be. ■. . ,’ running; the vessel struck the ledge.— Lucie bore this great trial with quiet Mr. Jordan was in the forecastle, strip fortitude, She looked pale, and her old lag off his heavier clothes for the chance joyousness was gone ;but if she grieved of life, when the bow was smashed in or wept, she kept both tearsandsorrows and'five men near him were killed in to herself. To my brother she was as stantly. He immediately ran into the gentle and affectionate as ever. His hold, when a tremendous sea knocked manner to her was unaltered, save for off the deck and he wasswepfe into the la slight shade—a very, alight shade raging waters. With a coolness hardly i—of more tenderness. - I thigk my creditable, he realized his position, and. heart must have been young still swam for the wreck, which he reached, in those dayß, for I kept on hoping, and, clinging to the wreck, regained to the last. I used to watchmy brother his breath. Soon after he was for- Leonards face, trying to read Bigns of tunate enough to catch an empty pity or forgiveness in his harsh features, barrel, for which he abandoned the but I saw them not. Then, I confess wreck. • The waves ran fearfully high, it, I acted a little part. I would sigh and as he was borne along he passed deeply within his hearing, or look per- two of his shipmates, clinging to' a sistentiy at the chateau, of the Samte plank. He heard them each speak of Foys, when we were all in the garden, their fearful position, and doubt wheth er murmur a Poor child. Whenever er they would be able to hold on: and Lucie left the room; but my brother heard them interchange the promise would not see, he would not hear,—he that if either of them were saved he never questioned me nor gave me the would tell them at home all about it.— opportunity I wanted. At length I got It required his utmost efforts to keep desperate, and spoke to him one eve- the barrel in position, as the underflow ~» T .. .. ... . was powerful, and so more perilous still . was the endeavor to safely land upon a lent? Do you know that De Samte a rocky ledge, then retreating, would Foy’s house and.land- are for sale, and engulf him in the treacherous grasp, will go to the highest bidder? Do you threatening every moment to bury rL no ™ t;nat b.e saiia to-morrow on board him beneath the water. When he the Memphis? .. .... finally succeeded then came a toil i_ You have seen him,” said Leonard, some passage up the jagged ledge, knitting his heavy eyebrows, “and he and he reached the top asked you to say ail this to me?” \ 7 exhausted. While resting, he “I have seen him, but not spoken to heard the voice of a shipmate hailing •fu’ u T angrily. “He someone. He answered, telling where is the shadow of his former self—so pale, he was, and encouraging the other to so worn so sad, has he grown at all this, try to get upon the ledge? but that was I) ?iTx ot e ? ,lm Ij ™ n ’ u ' d - . the last heard of him. He soon found He wiU_come back when lamm my that the ledge did not form part of the grave, answered Leonard, moodily. It island, but was covered at high water, waß useless to Mistrust had takeD an d the tide was already coming in. an iron grasp of him, and would not let g 0 with brief respite he again plunged « .., , „ , into the seething waters: another con- On the evening of the following day flict with the surf followed, in which it we missed Lucie. Genevieve told us seemed impossible for him to make any that Mademoiselle had gone up to the headway, as his strength was fast fail ♦???, r; h^T UeS3e<l^?i at ta ? en . ing. Words are inadequate to describe there.butLeonßrddidnctseem to think B uoh a situation. Moments seemed like that she might wish-for solitude, for he hours, and the sultan roar of the waters said to me. Let us go to her. as they beat upon the rockß was an Never shall I forget the sight that awful accompaniment to the burden of met us as we entered that ill-feted room. biB feara . l fter hifl desperate efforts It was full of a broad ruddy glow which bad cleared him from ‘the breaker, came from the sea, lighting up tbe coast his misfortunes were not over, for ho for miles uround ; a vessel was on fire . dropped into a fresh-water poud as he My heart seemed to stand still in the c ii m bed over a wall in his progress in horror of .that moment, and yet how I land,which wasasupplementarycalam remember .the pale evening sky, with ity uite unn6oesaa ry to the poor fel the round white moon, and Lucie’s Iow > 8 comfort. An especially remark ghastly face and wild eyes, as shestood ab i e faot ia that tbis £ tbe tblrd time gazing on the cruel sight in mute de- tbat Mr . ji rdan baB been tbe sar . B P?r r V ( u l , . . . vivor of disaster. Out of a company of yes- ner! ” he cried, —“God forgive me! ” And he sank back with a groan, and would have fallen but for me. He never recovered that blow; for it was the Memphis whose destruction we thus witnessed, and young De Sainte Foy, who had sailed In her, was not amoDgst the few who escaped to tell her lamentable history. He was the last of his name, and with him ended the line hereditary enemies. And Leonard, as I said, never recov ered that blow. His vigorous old age gave place to decrepitude; his gray hairs grew white, his form was bent, his steps became feeble and unsteady. The knowledge that his mistrust and hard ness had doomed that brave and true young man to a cruel death, anti con demned Lucie, his darling, to go through the agony of such a grief, was more than he could bear.- He brooded over the thought incessantly. The weather was fine, and that part of the garden where he could sit and look at the chateau of the De Sainte De Foys, now closed forever on its ancient tenants, was that which he liked best. He would sit there, gaziDg at the shut up mansion, for hours atatime. When I tried to rouse him from this bitter contemplation, he only shook his head and said, “It was an old quarrel, along quarrel; it lasted ages, but the De Sainte Foys had the best of it in the long run, Rose. Far better perish on board the burning Memphis—better lose love and life for honor, than live to be a hard and revengeful old man.” This was the thought that was killing him.— “ Make him forget,” said the doctor whom I called in, “ and then you may hope to save him.” Make him forget! I would have laid down my life for It, —O, how gladly!— but it passed my power; Lucie herself did her best and failed. What she really felt and suffered she nevershow ed. She was a generous little creature, and from the first she buried her grief deep m her heart, and kept it there fast locked from our view. Her one thought seemed to be to cling to Leonard. He no longer read now, though when he could not go to the garden to look at the cha teau of theDe Sainte Foys he would sit in the library with a book lying unread before him, his moody eyes ever seem ing to gaze on the tragic ending of the ill-fated Memphis. But no more then than formerly could he escape Lucie. She would steal in upon him as she had so often stolen in her childhood, and lay her cheek to his fondly and silently. I do believe she had never loved him more tenderly than she did then, per haps because of the Bame deep "grief through which they both suffered; and which, as I saw with an aching heart, was wasting them both away. This had lasted three weeks, —weeks, as loDg as years,—when the end came. We were all sitting iu the garden, I remember, in that very arbor where the poor god Pan is ever piping away, when Gene* vieve came up to us with startled looks. “ Monsieur! Mademoiselle” ! she gasped. “He strode towards her; he pushed her away, and then young De Sainte Foy stood living before us. ‘Sir,’ he said, “I did not mean to intrude upon you; but my life has been saved by a miracle, and, as I am told that the report of my death has been a heavy trouble to you, I come—” He did not go on. “ Thank God !” gasped my brother. “ Thank God ! But it is too much ; ah ! it is too much.” And it was too much iudeed! The joy was too exquisite and too great for his true heart, Tor as he uttered the words he sank back on his seat and died. What sorrow, what faith betrayed, and love lost, had not done, the joy of seeing his hereditary foe safe and well before him, did. My little tale is told. lam very hap py, for my dearest Leonard has only gone before, and the two whom we both loved so dearly, are blest. Yes, lam happy; but you know now what I meant when I said that the lot of some is to suffer, and that of others to look on. This was certainly my lot, and maybe that is why, though so happy, I sometimes feel rather useless. My part is ended, and all I can do now is to re member what I csin see no more. Be it so; memory, too, is sweet. Tbe Tax on Iron andiron Banoiaelnres. Washington, Oct. 19.— Mr. Moorhead, late member of Congress from Pennsyl vania, has been here for several days in the interest oT iron workers and manufacturers of articles made of iron. -He has been seek ing to obtain a revisal of the rulings of the Commissioner of Internal revenue on the assessment of the tax on iron and. iron manufactures,, buttq-daySecretary Bout well, to whom the matter hadbeen appeal edfrom thededsibn De lano, sustained the "ratings of the Internal Revenue Boread.; > Thefiedalon thus sus tained is, that where parties, work the iron from the ofe, and then make the iron up into-articles suoh as pikes, tools, railroad chairs, etc., theyrmuß* pay the Specific i tax on iron as material, "and also the taxon articles os toandfactures; 'this cons traction'has' beeii-cotqpli®a ;i witb’ In stimeplaces,' but Ib-FittaburgrClevektod. - Btrfialo, ana Troy,'especially; havo insisted on paying, onlyfbhW namely, the tax on manufactured articles. A large sum of moneyjwas involved in this decision, and from it the Government will reoeive hundreds of thousands of dollars heretofore withheld. ‘ft'idj ‘ Pi ■Ji J. i ABwlm forilref> return home; and out of a crew of 30 men wrecked on Cape God, he was the only one saved. He has certainly a fair right to consider himself the subject of providential interposition. Can Keep a Hotel. It is not every man who can keep a hotel. In fact not one man in a hun dred is fit by nature or education to fill so laborious and responsible a position. The old style of taverns of the years agone a man might keep and not hurt him much, providing there wasnothing to do but entertain two persons a day, raise garden stuff, take care of a horse, keep a hot fire in the bar*room in win ter. or a cool seat in summer, with an occasional change of water in the rin sing-tub. pan, pail or Blop-dish. Hotel-keeping is a science. It requires brain and knowledge of human nature. A man must know his business to keep hotel successfully. Folks ain’t now as they used to be. They go quicker, travel.faster, and don’t stay so long. Two thousand miles to-day is no more than twenty miles twenty years ago. Men act differently, think differently, feel differently, are different. They are bolder, quicker, more reck less, more independent, and less caring for public opinion. They give and re quire more attention now than then. There are travelers and stay-at-homes. There are men who want attention, expect to pay for it, are entitled to it. If they do not find it at home, they do at a hotel, if it is well kept. And the hotel. It should be neat, clean, in order,— The best should always be given, and in abundance. Then people like to stop there, and are in lesß mood to hasten away. The table should be neatly set —viands clean, rooms in order with conveniences handy. And the hotel keeper. \ He should be a good-natured, social, well-informed man of dignity, yet able to give and take a joke. He should know of human nature from contact therewith. He should be a good-hearted man, who can introduce himself to guests, and make old people and timid ones from the country somewhat un used to travel, to city and hotel ways, to feel perfectly at home. There are those who never stopped at a hotel before—who do not understand just how to act—yrho are timid about asking for what they want, or for infor mation. The genuine landlord will care for all such with extra attention* And he should be able to give infor mation about road 3, routes, beat time to go and come, cost of goiDg, &c. And he should do this without grumbling— as if to do so was a pleasure. And he should give more information, never less than asked for. And he should act as if those who were his guests were ladieß and gentle men, till he knows to the contrary. Should greet them kindly, be not - in quisitive, nor yet distant, bold, haughty and stuck up, as if all he wanted was the money. j And he should be in the dining room before and at meal times. A word here and there—a little inquiring of this-one and that one—a looking to see that all are well served, and the poor waited on equal with the rich. And then he should feel and act as though bis guests were his friends, and be interested in their happiness and comfort. Such men know how to keep hotel. "Who of our landlord readers can fill the bill ? We know many who can—a few who can not.— Brick Pomeroy . Terrible Affray—Several Persons Bhoi and Killed. A dispatch from Louisville says: A ter rible shooting affair occurred at Taylors ville, Warwick connly, Indiana, on Mon day, resulting in the death of two, if hot five persons. The difficulty was between a man named Springster, on the one side, and two others named Clark, on the other —in which Haryey Springster was killed, and his brother so badly wounded that be died shortly after. The difficulty originated in a dispute about the settlement of some accounts. Shortly after the shooting, a number of citizens who compose a self con stunted vigilance j committee, proceeded, armed and equipped, to the residence of Moss Bice, wno had been warned to leave the; neighborhood by the 20th instant, and fired several shots, frightening him so much that he cleared out in a hurry, leaving the neighborhood. The Springsters are said to belong to the -vigilance committee. .Ap other of the Bices, who had been warned.to leave hat paidmo attention to the warning, was found dead in the woods near the town ship road. Two men named Whittinghill father and, son, who refosed to. take any part either for or against the committee, were also warned toleave. A terrible state of affairs-exists, and the law-abiding people Seem to be parallzed. ' J Death From Starvation ‘ Think’ of a chlld for : want iff food—in Jersey City, in the midst of thousands of people, the father from 'sickness," to work, and a stranger in "a -Btrangefetidf Such an event occurred'on Saturday .night. ‘.Two;.other, children, be longing to the Bame family, are said to have stiffened.upappeased hanger sd long that they will likefyfollow’thedtUeoDealready dead. Such occurences are enough to make us doubt the value of the social system under which we claim to be the best, hap piest, and least oppressed of all the earths people* .-vrlvQLiti W^rktosmuL who lias bwn sent to tiiUopouftycas: a.representative' of the . English Ti^ett-Uiiioa?,-and whose speech at the -Coqp£f Institute mass meeting\>£ workingman, OnlfondaynighVwasjjQ welLreceftfed, on account pf its keehfmaly sfa of the principal questions affecting the interests of the tabbrvng classes, called at of paying Mr. Connolly is a Mvorabte.specttmto-bfthobestclassofEhg* lish-workingmen;- 1 - ' • >5 -- r Theronyeraation fell upon the question .■ jnijp&tion to inis country; and th ® he wished to ascertain whether BoguSh workingmen thought they: would faafce :ar r feir chance in' the .United Stales. been stated that some Eng lish workingmen had returned.to their own ahd otiierahad written home, say .inglhM get no employment bo* cause they.Yfer©-English. Mr. Connolly—Oh, there Is jnpt the alight eat difficulty in Eoglishhteii getting em ployment i?l apy.pf the tradm. I Beard of one case.-that of an English, painter, who was unable to flhfl work. Ko dohbt most of the painters are Irish'; and perhaps a man might have some difficulty with them. But as ageneral .thing, I don’t believe an English workman would have the slightest troublein getting employment. r * Reporter—As a rule, what are the opin ions of tbVEngllsh workmen in regard, to. • free : trade and protection ? ‘ ’ Mr. Connolly—Oh, the - working people there are net protectionists in any sense.—* They are believers in Cobdeii and Bright and free-trade. They must be idiots if they were not; for they know;,very well that fiee*trade is the very thing that has made the country what It is,* has [lncreased the manufacturers, and given prosperity to arti sans. Reporter-r-Is it not considered that trades unions conflict with the principles of free trade? ' Mr. Connolly—By no means. There Is no relation between them. Trades-unions are intended to keep wageß up to a fair market price; and are not in any sense protectionist organizations. Reporter—You do not find the laboring olasses so well combined-In trades-unions here as they are in England ? Mr. Connolly—They are not. They have not had time to do it yeL You see trades unions are now ramified all over England and Wales. Almost all the artisans in every trade beloneto'one or another of the tradea societiea. TnrEhgland the trades-unions are very powerful, You see the men have now got to know how to use them without being intolerant. And they use them very effectively. A particular trade cannot go ou a strike now for a trivial matter. They have to submit their case to the society at large; and the society determines whether they shall goon strike or not. Thus, sup pose among the stonemasons there is a dis pute between the masters and the men, the former wishing to increase the hoars of labor—or, suppose the latter wish to obtain higher wages,,; They must render an ac count of the state of trade in their town, the number of men at work in the place, and so on. The Union then sends men from the adjoining lodges to make inquiries; and it, upon a review of the case, they do not think it advisable to enter upon a straggle, those masons have to defer their strike until some future time. Reporter—Then the effect of those large amalgated societies is to prevent trade dis putes to a great extent ? Mr. Connolly—Yes; and to keep up. a better state of feeling between the employ ers and the employed. Reporter—And there is very little scope for the prosecution of individual or selfish interests in those large amalgamated socie ties ? Mr. Connolly—Exactly. Interested peo- Cle have the power to influence small local odies; but they can’t do it in the society at large. Reporter—And what effect do yon con sider the trades anions have upon the in dividual skill of the workmen? You know, there is a talk that by the operation of these societies the bad workmangetsjust as much Mr. "Connolly—My experience "Is that trades unionß .develop a better class of ar tisans. When a man who is an indifferent workman gets into a shop with good ones he sees how they work, and very soon his ambition leads him to make himself their equal. I have seen this in numerous cases. After indifferent workmen have been in a shop for six or eight months, I have seen them turn out first-rate work. The system ol trades-unions acts upon a body of labor ers as a military system does with soldiers; the plea for equal wages is based on amili tary conception. And in place of having a tendency to bring good men to the level of the bad, it draws the bad up to the level of the good. Where a bad workman is placed aloDgßide of a good one he learns how to work better, and is.quickly put to the top of his speed. Reporter— Are there not prejudices among the trades-union men to piece work? Mr. Connolly—They don’t objeot to piece work except in trades where the estimates cannot fairiv be made. Where the value of the work can be fairly estimated they never offer objections. There is, however behind this a real objection to piece work, because it produces bad workmen and baa wages. The tendency of men engaged on piece work is to hurry up their work, and not finish it properly. The work then falls in value; and wages fail as a consequence. However, piece work is good enough where it does not reduce the price of wages. I know a joiner’s shop in Bishopsgate street, London, Ashby & Sons’, where they have done all. their work by piece for the last twenty years. Reporter—What success have the co-oper ative associations had in England ? Mr. Connolly—l don’t know of any real success in productive co-operation; but distributive co-operation has had a certain success. You see, the tendency in these productive co-operative societies is to run into ordinary joint stock companies. But, from its very nature, dißtributiveco-opera tion would be successfuL Still, there are some drawbacks even in regard to these. Co-operative stores are a success in rural townß j but notin London; and it is the women who are the great impediments to complete success. Yon see, when a man gives his wife his money on Saturday night, she wants to go “ shopping.” If she can’t indulge in these delights of ” shopping,” you might as well give her no money at all. It is the women, with their love of “ shop ping,” who interfere with the complete suc cess of tho co-operative stores. Reporter—Then really, as a matter of fact, the working classes don’t take much stock in co-operation 7 Mr. Connolly—They have a leaning to wards it. They like it in theory, hot they don’t practically carry It out. Reporter—But they believe in trades unions? Mr. Connolly—Oh, yes; because that is an immediate advantage to them in their struggle with capital. The gilders have a co-operative society for making pic ture frame?, which, I believo, succeeds very well. The masons of Paris, too, had a co-operative society, and made very large profits; they began, I believe, with about sixty members, but as these died or moved away the direction got into fewer and fewer hands; and it does not differ much now from a joifat stock company. They work themselves; but they also employ men to work for them. They pay their men the best rate of wages; but, from the fact that these men could not make np their minds to bear a share of the losses, they were not going to give them a part of the profits. Reporter—Well, what about those indns trial partnerships? ' Mr. Connolly—Ah, that is a system which works better, to my mind. In industrial partnership the employer allows a certain 1 bonus to the workman for the interest he receives on his capital. In Briggs Colliery the employer first estimates the value of his capital invested in the undertaking, and then agrees todraw 10 per cent, for himself, as bis share of the profits. What then is over ho divides with his workmen. But then they axe entitled only to a certain per centage after he gets his 10 per cent. Some thing is reserved for losses and injuries to the plant. The system baa been found very beneficial in makingthe rn*en more energetic at their work, and in preventing waste, for the workman feels he has a personal inter est in the affair. ; ■Reporter—But how would it be if those men were to get nothing more than their wages, or if they had to suffer a diminution of wages fqr unexpected losses ? Mr. Connolly—Well, that. I suppose, would undoubtedly produce dissatisfaction. Beporter—Of course you find, as a gen eral thing, that the American workman lives better than the English ? Mr. Connolly—Not a bit of it. The rate of wages is so adapted to the cost of living that I don’t see any difference. Beporter—what kind ot schools do' you have for your children T. Mr. Connolly—Only the national schools, where the three “Ra°—reading,writing and arithmetic—are taught. We bear that in the State *of Massachusetts every native-born adqlteanread and write; and we are deter mined to have equal advantages ourselves. Xou ought to value your freeschdol system very much. It is one ofthegraudest insti tutions in the country, and i should like very ranch to see its equal at home. • Reporter—What kind'of houses do Lon don workmen usually have? ; Mr.-Connolly—Most Of them live in the suburbs, at Lambeth, Battersea, and slmi* lar places, unless thqyure too ibr from'their work. : They have nice little cottages with six rooms, nsnaliy'occupied by two fami lies, each .paying a rent of- frye shillings per * week'.- The place where 1 am stayinghere; which isnotnear so comfort able, costs $l3 per,month; y?e havenothing like your immense tenement houses; and are much better off hi tlfis respecti, X can’t understand why 1 youdfevn'tdiad'ftff under ground before.thls, and saburban names for hftisafia. ' Beporter—What kinds of recreation do you have in London ? Mr. Connolly—After a man has got home from his work, changed his working-clothes for a lighter suit, and cleaned himself up a LfaA.DMACi: bit, he eats his supper, and then goea out to spend the evening. Probably there .will be' A lecture, or a polTticat meeting, somewhere while the youngermen will go to aoonoert hall,'hr outer similar place of. amusement. You don’t appear to have as much life as weTiave, and I think 1 that is one. of the greatest defects to be observed; " grjal gotirrs. FUTBersuiAßna fritz, late of West Lampeter township,'deceased.— nectars of administration ou: Bala, estate hav ing been granted to the undersigned, .all per*, sons Indebted thereto are “requested- to make immediate payment,: and those having claims or demands against the samp will present them, for settlement to the undersigned, real ding in said township. • BENJAMIN FRITZ, f ootfl-ifr-fitw ; , QuarryvUieP. a, 1 dr JACOB ZtVPHIt. IATE rj of East Hempfleld township, deoeased.— Letters testamentary on said, estate having been granted to the undersigned’, all persons Indebted to Bald decedent are requested to make immediate settlement, and those having: claims or demands against the estate Of said decedent, to znako known the same to the un dersigned without delay. PHILIP BBEHM, Sr, or SARAH ZERPHKY, < Executors. • octfl-404tw redding.in said township. ESTATE OF JOUI KOTEB, LATE OF f*j Leacock township, deo’d.—Letters Testa ,mentary on Will of said deceased having been granted to the undersigned, all persons in debted to deceased are requested to make Im mediate payment, and those having claims or demands against tho same, will present them < ‘for settlement to the-undersigned, residing In said township. JOHN BOYER, oct IS-41*6tw Executor. IN PURSUANCE OF THE PROVISIONS of Section Fourth, of the general Turnpike Law of 1849, the Annual Meeting of the Stock holders In the “ Bridgeport and Horse Shoe Turnpike Boad Company,” for the Election of Officers for the ensuing year, is called at the Public House of Jonatoan Bprecher, In the City ol Lancaster, ON MONDAY, NOVEM BER the Ist. 1889, between 2 and 4 o’clock, P. M* By dlreotlon of By-Laws. AND. M. FRANTZ, President. OO 8 4tw 40 Estate of george moUleb.xate of Epbrata township. deo’d<—The under, signed Auditor, appointed by the Orphans' Court of Lsnoftster.OoUnty. Pa., to distribute the balance remaining In the hands of Wm. K. Paul, one of the Administrators of said dec’d., to and among those legatly entitled to the same, will attend for that purpose ou FRIDAY THE STH DAY OF NOVEMBER, 18G9, at 10 o’ciook, A. M., In the Library Room of the Court House, In the City of Lancaster, Pa., where all persona Interested In said dls* tribntlon may attend. H. B. SWARB, Auditor. 020-4tw42. TISTATE OF FKUX SWEIOABT, LATE _Ej of Drnmore twp., Lancaster county, tlec’U. Letters testamentary on said estate .baying been granted to tbe anderslgnod, all persons lndebced-to cald decedent are requested to make Immediate settlement, and those having claims or demands against tbe estate of said decedent, to make known tbe same to tbe un dersigned wltbout delay. Jacob shoff. WASHINGTON WHITAKER, ool2Q-fltw 43 Executors.s Estate of petek ebvo, lath of Providence township, Lancaster county, deo’d.—Tbe undersigned Auditor appointed to distribute tbe balance remaining In tbe bands of Jobn Hildebrand, Administrator of said deceased, to and among those legally en titled to tbe same, will Bit for that purpose on FRIDAY, NO VtsMBERSTH, at 2o’olock P. M., in the Library Room of the Court House in the City of Lancaster where all persona In terested in said distribution may attend. t“j. DA vim, Oct. 214tw-42 Auditor. A GENTS WANTED,—AGENTSWANTi D J\ . $75 to $2OO per mouth, male and female, to sell tbe celebrated and original Common Sense Family Sewing Machine, Improved and per fected; It will hem, fell, stitch, tuck, bind, braid and embroider In a most superior man ner. Price only $l5. ForsUnplicUy and dura bility, it bas no rivaL Do not buy from any parties selling machines underlhe same name as ours, unless having a Certlflcato 01 Agency signed by us, as they are worthless Cast Irou Machines. For Circulars and Terms, apply or address, oot 20-42 2tw* H. CRAWFORD * CO., <ll3 Chestnut Street, Philadelphia, Pa. WturrJ PUILVNOPHT Or OAKBIAOE.—A New Course of Lectures, as delivered ai the New York Museum of Anatomy* embrac ing tbe autyeots: How to live and what to live for; Youth, Maturity and Old Ago; Manhood generally revived; The cause of indigestion , flatulence and nervous Diseases accounted for; Marriage philosophically considered, Ac. Pocket volumes containing these lectures will be forwarded to parties unable to attend on receipt of four stamps by addressing, SEC RETARY, New York Museum of Anatonly and Science,<olB Broadway, New York CONSUMPTION; Bronchitis, Asthma and Catarrh cared by in halation. AbboW.t Inhaling Fluid la the only remedy known that operates on the lungs— dissolves the tubercles, whloh are thrown oil, tue cavities heal, and a cure is effected. Treat ment by letter or In person can be be had only Of Q. VAN HHMMRI.T. M. D. a3-10m 16 West 14th st.. N. Y. d>l AA A MONTH SALARY PAID FOR u) lUU Agents, male and female; business permanent. Enclose 3c. .stamp. Van'AJien a Co., 171 Broadway,New York. [Clip odt and, return advertisement.] oo*4w A- WATCH FREE— GIVEN GRATIS to every live man who will act as agent In a new, light, and honorable business, paying $3O a day. No gift enterprise. No hnmbug. No money wanted in advance. Address K. MONROE KENNEDY A CO.. 06-4 w Pittsburg, Pa. £jHEAP PAINTING. iIOO fl>3 of the PECORA 'COM PANY'S COLORED PAINT (costing $12.50; will paint as much as 250 lbs of Lead, and wear longer. For particulars, address cust LEAD. IS. BOWEN, Secretary, No. 100 {N. Fourth NL, Phil da. 00- ALLEN'S LUNG BALSAM LTHE REMEDY FOR;CURING CONSUPIION, COUGHS, BRONCHITIS, ASTHMA^ akd:croup. AS AN EXPECTORANT I£T HAS NO EQUAL; It Is composed of the active principles ol roots and plants, which are chemically extracted, so as to retain all their medical qualities,. Ministers and Pablic’Spenkers Who are so often afflicted with throat diseases, will fl cd a sure remedy in this Balsam. Loz enges and wafers sometime give relief, but this Balsam, taken a few times, will en&nre a per manent. care. Will all those afflicted with Coughs or Con sumption give this Balsam a fair irlair They will be pleased with the resalt, and confess that the Sure Remedy Is Found at Last. • 06-4 w IT IS BOLD BY ALL DRUGGISTS. SPAIKii KILLER. h<£2SL 1 PAIN is supposed ;to be tbe lot of ‘ns poor mortals as Inevitable as death, and liable at any time lo come upon os. Therefore It is Im portant that remedial agents should be at hand, to be used on emergency, when we are made to feel the excruciating agony of pain, or the.de presslnglnfluencos of disease. . f£M9ji Such a remedial agent exists in PERKY DAVPi’ “PAIN KILLER,” the fame of which ha-i extended over all tbe earth. Amid the eternal Ices of the polar regions, or beneath the intolerable and Darning suns or the tropics. Us virtues are known and appreciated. And by it suffering humanity has foundrellef from many of Its Ills. The effect of the Pain Killer upon the patient, when taken Internally, In cases of Cough, Cold, Bowel Complaints, chol era, Dysentery, and other affections of tbe sys tem, has been truly wonderful, and has won for It a name among medical preparations that can never be forgotten, Itsauccessln remov ing pain, as an external remedy, In cases ol Burns, Braises, Bores, and Bpralns, Cuts.Stlngß of Insects, Ac., and other caoses of suffering, has secured for It the most prominent position among the medicines of the day. Beware of Counterfeits and worthless Imitations. Call for Perry Davis’ Vegetable Pain Killer, and take no other. Hold by Druggists and Grocers FARMERS HELPER Shows how to double the profits OF THEFARM,andDowrarmersandlhelr sons can each make 8100 FKB UONTH Id Winter. IOfiOO copies will be mailed tree to farmers, Send name and address to zeiglek, mccurdy a co. f Philadelphia, Pa. WANTED— Agents, Teachers, Students, Clergymen, farmers’ sons and daughters, and all to sell BEFORE THE FOOT-LIGHTS AMD BEHIND THE SCENES, * V .BY! OLIVE L 0 G A tf The Great Reformer of the Stage, who, having abandoned stage life, now exhib its In vivid oolors the whole show world Before and Behind the Beene*. Being truthfal. Moral, and high-toned, as well as (Sensational, Rich and Racy, it outsells all other books. Beauti fully illustrated with inspirited engravings, 24 fall-page cuts, 650 pages, on rose-tinted paper. Greatest inducements yet offered. Frospeetue, Bcrmpli Copy, Boxes and Btalionkry Free . For Circular. explaining, address, immediately, PARMELEE& CO., Publishers, either at Phil adelphia, Pa, Cincinnati, Ohio, or Middletown, Conn. ■ . o2Ww ESNBI WAR D BEECHER’S _ SERMONS IS PLIEOU.TE PULPIT, ( Are being read by people of every elate and l<le nomination tdl over this conn try and' Europe. They, are faU’of vital,, beautiful, xellglaas thought and feeling, Blymouth Pulpit Is . pub lished weekly, *ahd- contains Mr.- Beecher's sermons and Prayers, In form euitable for. pre servation and binding. -For sale hy all news dehlers.PrftelOo. Yearly subscriptions ?e -.calved ,by the publisbers (*3) giving two hand some volumes;of over 4<x> pages each,‘Half yearly, (11.75). A new and;superb.Steel Por trait or Mr; Botcher-presented .to all ’ subaorlbeac: Plymouth Pulpit ($3), and The Christian Union an Dnsectanan, Independent, Weekly -Journal of Christianity—with Lecture Boom Talks and Editorial Articles by Mr. Beeoher—sent to one address for 52 weeks for four dollars. Bpedsi in ducements to canvassers and those getting up clubs. Specimen Sc.) OMw Fub’k" 88 Fuk ROW, si'z. :tnSSSb Braxx Ahv*KlHiho, io centra Un*for :.theom l aj^i^ttrQr l eacli subsequent In* tcncßAX,ADYXKxiaarafeintsa.lino faritfco andTconti for eacli subsequent lnssr ' iE7ottcßS Inserted DklfcoonT,Column iper : ■ ~| , , ~; I , j; ->itAT. Kotzoxs preceding marriage* and deaths, 10 bents per line for first insertion! and 6 cents fbr every subsequent lnsortlon{l •; ' ; Executors’ ~.. iff) Administrators' notices, .... 2*60 Assignees* - iff) Andftorß* TiQttnfta,, 2.00 lines; or less,' 3 three times, £ff) seat t&\ stair. F°S Wft*- FAR* OF 80 ACRES, sltoated-ln Londonderry township, Ches ter county, ira. The improvements Are a Three-story Log Weatborboarded HOUSE and :* largo Barn, with all the necessary outbuild lugs. There is a line Orchard ol ifruit Trees on thepremlses. Address, M.B.ESHLEMAN, Cochranvllle, Chester co. &ng2>3mw3l* A T PRIVATE HALE FOR THIRTY A, DAYS.—TO CAPITALISTS AND STORE KEEPERS.—The New and Large Hotel, or Eating and Store property, located at IheCbrlstben Road, on' the Philadelphia ami Baltimore Central Railroad, Chester county, Fa;, can be bought at a rate that will pay big lnterest on thelnvestment. It la doing a flue business now. and when the railroad couneota sonth ln-a ftrw weeks, It will materially en hance the voice of the property. Apply to the owner on the promises.. Isep3otfw39 PRIJATEJJALE OF A HOTEL J»ROP. ERTY.—The undersigned, o tiers nt private sale the real and persona; estate, the property of the late Robertßmlth, deceased, Bliuaiod lu Port Deposit, Cecil county, Md., and known as the “FaAHF&’S A&D OOHMERCIAIj HOT&L."— This Hotel has been long and favorably known to the traveling oommnnlty, and Is receiving a large share or public patronage. The house is huge and commodious with, good Stabling. Ice .House, and all the appurtenances attachoa tola Hotel. Persons wishing to purchase will please call on the undersigned, who Is now occupying the property and will snow the same, cep 2 tfw3s) i . M ARY C. SMITH, Port Deposit, Sept. 2,1868. ' yALDABLE FARM AT PRIVATE BALE I will sell at Private Sole the farm on which I reside, sltuato on the Conocochcaguo crook, miles north west of Hagerstown, containing 207 ACRES OF GOOD SLaTE LAND, Hr ACREB of which are cleared and In a good state of cultivation. About 71 Acres are Prluio Bottom Land. The 60 Acres In Tlmbor aro of flue growth. The buildings aro a Two-Story LOG WEATHBR-BOAKDKD HOUSE, Stone and Frame Bank Barn, Wagon tiheu, Corn Cribs, umoke House, anu other out-bnlldlngu. There Is a Qne ORCHARD of cbolao fruit trees on the fhrm, and a well of water near tho doorj alio, Springs of running water on tho farm. The farm Is under good fencing.' Persons wishing to puronaso a farm aro In vited to call and see this one. It will ho sold cheap and on easy payments, sep 16 tfw 87 DANIEL LAMBERT. DEAL ESTATE AT ORPHANS* COURT XV BALE.—On SATURDAY, NOVEMBER 13tn, 1869, by virtue of an Order of the Orphaua’ Court ot Lancaster county, Pa., the under signed Administrator ol Elizabeth Behm, lato oi-Penn towusulp, said oounty, decoased, will expose at pnbllosale.on the premises, situated on the public road leading from Ltitz to Mount Hope Pumaco, about 4 miles from Manheim. tho following Real Estate. Into the estate ox said deoeosed, to wit s A small Tract of Land containing 2 ACRES AND 88 1* HuHES, more or less, adjoining lands of Dau’l Glbble, Daniel Minuich, and Joeoph Ulbblo. Tho Im provements thereon erected consist of a one story LOG DWELLING, Hog Pi u, ac., Ac.. Ac., on excelleut Spring of Water near tho door, Orchard of cUolco Fruit Trees in bearing con dition. The land Is In a high state of culilvu tlousud under good lenclng. Persons desiring to vlow the proporty beforo the day ot sale, may call upon the undersigned, residing near White Oak. Terms of sale made known by undersigned on day ofsale, EAIA.nUEL KKKNEU, oct 20-12-18 w Administrator. niIBLIOHALKOy A VALUABLE MIXI t. ANDFARM.—UuTUUiteiDAY, NOVEM BER 4th,1869, will be sold at publlo sale, on uie premises, the following valuable real es tate. to wit; A TRACT OF 35 ACREB of good land—about 12 ACREB (dear, balance Chestnut Spropts—in Drumoro twp., Lancas ter county, Pa., on the sou side or the road leading from Liborty Squaro to thv Buck Tav ern, one milo east of Liberty Square good two and a half story Frame Grist a.!'* Merchant Mill, Saw Mill. Circular und other Saws, Ac., with first-rate Water Power on Fish ing creek. The buildings and machinery aro all In good repair, and the mill Is doing an ox cellWnt custom business. • Also, 02 ACREB and 137 PERCHES of first quality land, adjoining the above, on the north side ol said road, with ugood two-story we&th er-boarded LOG HOUSE with 9 rooms, good Cellar, Smoke House, Spring HooaoauUUne Spring, largo double-decker STONE BAttN, W agon Shed and Cribs, and alt ueceasary out buildings. The farm U well watered, has been lately well limed and manured, and the fenouw are ail In good order. The above will be sold separately, or together, (o suit purchasers, .-Ltmoi deßlrlng to view tho premises will call on Joseph P. Hutton,residing thereon. Bale to begin at lo’olock, P. M„ of said day when terms will bernado known by . HERR RIFE, Real Estate Collection and Insurance Agonls. VALUABLE FAR3I AT .PUBLIC MALI? —. On TUESDAY, NOVEMBER oth, mo undersigned Executors of Joseph Kyle decotuiod, will soli at pabllo sale, ou tne prem ises, in Drnmore township, Lancaster county. Pa., about one mllo and a half from Chostnut Level, and one mllo from Mechanics' Grove on the road leadlug from Mechanics' Grove to Chestnut Level, the following described prop- a tract of land containing about , EIGHTY ACREB, •adjoining lands of H.H. Loug, Chas.Acheßon and John Hoffman, The Improvements oon slstof a tweatory DWELLING HOUSE, with Back RuUdlng, large Barn, Wagon &hod. Corn Crib, Stone tipring ilouso. and other necessary outbuildings. The buildings are all roofed with slate and are In good repair. Thore Is a flue Sprlug which supplies thohoosoand barn. There Is a fine Orchard of Apple and Peach Trees In full bearing. Tho land Is conveniently divided Into fleldß, and cattle have access to water from all of them. The land has recently been heavily limed, and Is in a fine state of cultivation. There ore about ton cores of line chestnut timber on the premises. The prop erty Is convenient to churches, schools, mills, stores and postofflee. Any person wishing to view tho proporty can do so by calling on the undersignwl, or John Cummins, residing on the premises. Sale to commence at 12 o'clock, on said day when terms will be made known by the under signed. 8, MARTIN ANKRIM. ALEX. SCOTT CLARK 1 . Executors of Joseph Kyle, doo'd. oct 25*43 Stw Avery desirable farm OFJTKBKD AT „ U 1 „ PRIVATE SALE. This flue Farm of 170 ACRES, lies partly In Drnmore and partly In Fulton townships, Lancaster oounty, Pa., on the road leading from Penn HUI to Fairfield, 15* miles west of the former place, and 2W miles north from Peachbottom Ferry. The improvements consist of two substantial STONE HOUSES, two Bams, Wagon Honses, 4c. There aro 60 acres of superior Chestnut and Oak Timber' and two Orchards on tho properly. The place is finely watered, under good fence, adapted to all forming purposes and produces well. It Is OU miles from .Nottingham titatlon on the Pnlladelphia and Baltimore Central H. K., and 'Si miles from the Columbia and Port Deposit R. K., whlcu is now belngput.under contract; and Is in a healthy,thriving neighborhood, con venient to mills, stores, churcues and schools. Tho farm could. If desired, be conveniently divided Into two tracts with buildings, tlmbor and water on each. The present owner having removed to the city Js determined to sell the above property at a very reasonable price. Title Indisputable; terms moderoasy to'snlt purchasers. For farther information address THOS. M. OOULBOW. Lancaster city, Pa. b22-4Lw3B T®'! WAIUABtE PARKS AT PBIVATB JL BALE.—The subscriber offers for sale his TWO VALUABLE FARMrt, situate In Free? dom township, Adams cooutv, (on Marsh creek, about five miles southwest of Gettysr burg.) The one contains * 153 ACRES, SSttuS 1 ’^ 1 B, L?. nd has a two-story BRICK HOUHE, Bank Barn, Corn Crib, Wagon Bh<kL and everything else needed in the line of buildings; splendid well of water at the door anda stream through the farm; prime orchard, ; land well limed, and In productive condi tion. The other Farm contains 149 AUBES, more or less, also with good buildings, plenty of good water, fruit, Ac.; land has been Timed and in excellent order. These Farms offer rare Attractions. The terms will bo made easy, as the money Is not much needed. Call on or address ABRAHAM KRIfIE, Gettysburg, Pa. oct2o-42-5tW V ALUABLE BEAL ESTATE AT PUBLIC BALE.—On WKDNEBDAY.NOVEMBER 10th, 18<J9, in pursuance of an Order of the Or phans’ Court of Lancaster county, the under signed Administrators of the estate of Darla Gyger, late of the toyrnsblpof Straaborg, dec'd. will sell at public sale oo No.l, the following valuable Real Estate, via; No. 1, containing VJ ACRES AND 108 PERCHES of first-rate land, situate In Btrosburglown ship,adjoining the Borough line, and lands of Joseph Holl, Adam Holl. Jno. BrachbLll Adam Herr, and others. The Improvements are a large two*story Brick DWELLING HOUSE Bock Kitchen attached, Bwisser Barn Wagon Shed, Corn Crib, Carriage Hon«e, Hog Pen,andother outbuildings; also, two Tenant Houses and large Grain Shed; a never-falling Well of excellent Water with Pump therein near the door; also, several line springs on different parts of the farm, one of wnlch ls so situated that the water can be conveyed to the buildings; a line young bearing Apple Or chard. with a variety of other choice fruit trees, grape vines and shrubbery. There are also a Dumber of thriving Locust trees, some very lino large Oak, Hickory, Ash and other timber on the property. The land Is In a high state of cultivation, and divided Into conveni ent fields. This farm Is very pleasantly located, being near the Borough, convenleutto schools, churches, mills, Railroad Depot, and other places of business, which makes It among tho most desirable properties now offered fox salo. No. 2, a wood lot c< nLa In log EIGHT ACRES. more or less, situated In Ktrashore township, about one and a half miles from straaburg, on the rood leading to the White Oak, adjoining lands of Samuel Herr, Jacob H. Hoover, Henry Roat and others, and Is very woll set with good heavy oak, chestnut, hickory and other Umber, fit for cutting. - No. 8, also, a wood lot, containing THREE ACRES, situated In Btraaburgtownship, about two and a half txilles south of Strssburg. adjoining the- White Oak Road and lands of H.N. Breneman, Hervey Brackblil, and well set with good chestnut. Any person wlshlngto view any of the prop erty before the day ox sale, may call on wm. Steacy, one of the Administrators, or on Jacob Hildebrand, residing In Btrashing Borough. -Bale to commenee at 1 o'clock, P. M., ol said day, when attendance will be given and terms of sale made known by • , . • JOHN GYGER, ' WILLIAM BTEACY, . [ - .... •* Administrators.* Bout. DowzntY, AuoUoneer. oct HM2-tsw COUPONS! ; ; vTfce Coupons of the First Mortgage Bondi .pftha ... .... r'.,.. WILMINGTON* BEADING RAILROADCO., maturing October 1, will be paid, free of taxes on and alter that date, at tho banking house of WTT.t.tam PAINTER A CO., HO. W S. THTRP STREET, •yyTT.T.TAM 0. TTTT.TiEH, B®.imdAW seontazy and Trswww,
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers