Lancaster intelligencer. (Lancaster [Pa.]) 1847-1922, October 27, 1869, Image 1

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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,
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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
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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
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has secured for It the most prominent position
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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,
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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,