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UATTLE.M OUX HAN VERS.
1 saw the soldiers come to-day.
From battle-field afar ;
No conqnerer rode before their way
On his triumphant car,
But captains, like themselves, on foot,
And banners sadly torn,
All grandly eloquent though mute.
In pride and glory borne.
The >se banners, soiled with dirt and smoke.
And rent by shot and shell.
That through the serried phalanx broke—
What terrors they could tell 1
What tales of sudden pain and death
In every cannon's boom,
When even the bravest held their breath
And waited for his doom.
By hands of steel these flags were waved
Above the carnage dire,
Almost destroyed, yet always saved,
Mid battle-clouds and lire :
Though down at times, still up they rose
And kissed the breeze again,
Dread token to the rebel foes
Of true and loyal men.
And here the true and loyal still
Those famous banners bear ;
The bugles wind, the tiles blow shrill.
And elash the cymbals, where
With decimated ranks they come,
And tlirongli the crowded street
March to the beating of the drum.
With firm though weary feet.
God bless the soldier! cry the folk
Whose cheers of welcome swell;'
God bless the banners' black with smoke.
And torn by shot and shell!
They should he hung on sacred shrines,
Baptised with grateful tears,
And lived embalmed in poesy's lines.
Through all succeeding years.
No grander trophies could be brought
By patriot sire or son,
Of glorious battles nobly fought,
Brave deeds sublimely done,
And so. to-day. I chanced with pride
And solemn joy to sec,
These remnants from the bloody tide
Of glorious victory!
Bale.
THE LOVER'S RESCUE,
Tlic morning sunshine was streaming in
rivulets of broken gold athwart the craggy
wildernesses that skirt the easterly shore of ;
Mount Desert.
Mongthe whole iron bound coast of Maine
tln-rc is no single spot so feared by wary
skippers and worshiped by art-tourists as the
beetling cliffs and hollow-sounding caverns
•if Mount Desert. Woe betide the luckless
bark that loses her reckoning in a foggy
morning near the treacherous breakers that
lurk beneath the restless tide ! \\ oe be
tide the good ship that trusts herself too
hoar these dreadful cliffs !
There are few dwellings scattered along
this bleak and inhospitable shore, yet the
September sunshine gave a sort of home
like ha ik to the weather-browned cottage
that seemed to have nestled down among
the neks, where a shelving terrace offered
a hit of garden-room, and walls of black
green lirs and spruces leaned against the
dill's hevond. It was not much of a gar
il' ii, however : a single gnarled apple-tree,
bending over the porch in an attitude that
somehow contrived to convey the idea that
it had wrestled with the fierce coast gales
until it had become completely discouraged,
and didn't care whether it lived or died ; a
lew thrifty vegetables on a sunny slope,
guarded by a sturdy battalion of currant
bushes ; two mammoth hjdrangeas, in
green-painted boxes,whose rank leaves hung
over the door-stone, and a bright border of
orange marigolds and blue German asters
along the narrow path Brave-hearted lit
tle autumn blossoms they were ; for when
the tides ran high and the winds unloosed
their fateful legions the driving showers of
spray fell like rain over, all the garden do
main,
Of course one could hardly expect any
thing more real than a sea-nymph in this
marine wilderness ; but there was nothing
shadowy or unsubstantial in the rosy New
England face of Lettice Moore as she stood
at the gate, shading her clear eyes with one
blown hand, while the salt wind, fresh from
tin- rocking billows of the Atlantic, lifted
the curls from her low, pure forehead. She
was rather small, but lithe and quick, with
• vt s as blue and dewy as freshly-blossom
'■'l morning-glories, and cheeks where the
crimson glow of perfect health shone thro'
'live shadow left by sea-winds and fer
i' 'it suns. For Lettice Moore was a sea
' 'plum's daughter, and had grown up iu
tup open air, just like the native pines and
spruces whose moaning branches sung her
! "ice11 in the cloudy autumn nights.
Hie looked very lovely in her dress of
luu'idcr-red calico, with its coquettish ruffl
p ' kets fastened with reef buttons, and
''•" trim collar fastened at her slender throat
w jt!i a fantastic bit of coral, almost like a
-"•wing drop of blood, that her father llad
!, 'iight from foreign shores years ago.
, Suddenly the carmine deepened on her
" 'k, the blue eyes sparkled into soft bril
liance.
. Bes/'oming !"shc murmured ; "I hear
- - i'-otsteps on the rocky stair." And she
'Hi-red back into the house like a red au
-11,111 ''"b It was very evident that she did
' intend htm to know how long she had
1 there shading her eyes with her hand.
Bill, straight young fellow,with bright
"' /l ' r " NS " eyes, and u tawny mustache
j i umging a mouth whose frank smile
• a-s la tter than a dozen letters of introduc-
l:. O. GOODRICH, Publisher.
VOLUME XXV.
tion, you might have known him for an ar- J
tist hy the sketching-case and camp stool !
that were slung carelessly across his shoul
der. And as he came round the curve in
the path, whistling softly to himself, his
face shadowed by the broad brimmed Pan
ama hat, whose black ribbon was fastened
into his button-hole, he never for an instant
imagined that Letty Moore's blue eyes were
shyly watching him behind the dense leaves i
of the hardy scarlet-runners that vailed the
kitchen window.
Mrs. Moore's kitchen ! Ah, reader, if you
could only have seen it you would have ab
jure the vanities of buhl and ormolu, rose
wood and brocatelle, from this time forth
for evermore : the square of rag carpet in |
the centre was so bright and fresh—the |
boards were scoured to such snowy purity, '
and the golden light come sifting in so viv
idly through the dancing leaves of the scar
let-runners ! And then the tin dishes shone
like silver on the trim dresser, and the red
peppers hanging from the beams overhead
glowed like giant rubies, and the black-1
bird in his wicker cage talked softly to him- i
j self, and kept an eye on the chickens that !
were skirmishing round the open door, like
a policeman in a new jet-black suit! While
Lettice herself, deliciously unconscious,was |
nestled in the window-seat with a bit of
! fine stitching in her brown fingers, singing
the low refrain of some old fishing song she
had caught from sailors on the bay.
"Mr. Wayne!" she exclaimed, looking
. up suddenly as a bright sprig of sea-weed j
fluttered into her lap. " Why, how you
i startled me ! Is it possible that you are
back already ?"
"Already!" repeated Kenneth Wayne,
with an indescribable something of pique
in his tone, " it is nearly eleven o'clock."
" So late as that said Lettice, biting off
the end of her thread with teeth that were \
white and even as grains of rice.
Mr. Wayne stood leaning against the j
window ledge, his eyes fixed dreamily on j
the bright disheveled curls, and the olive i
cheek with its wine-like glow, where the j
moving leaf-shadows came and went at
every second.
" How lovely she is !" was the unsylla-1
bled fancy that shaped itself in his mind.— J
" 1 wonder," he thought, setting his teeth |
close together, " if I am but a mad, conceit- j
ed fool, blindly putting my own interpreta- i
tion on every look and glance, or if she j
really loves me !'"
As the thought floated through his brain
Lettice looked up.
" Are you going out again this afternoon,
Mr. Wayne ?"
" Yes, I am going down to take a study
or two from the great cavern."
" How ?
" The little boat lies at the landing. You
need not laugh, Letty, I am enough of a
hand at the oars to get across to the cav
ern even if 1 haven't grown, like a barna
cle, on these rocks."
" Did I laugh ?" said Letty, demurely sur
veying her bit of stitching.
" You'll go with me, Letty ? Think how i
deliciously cool those green waves will be j
at noontide."
" I don't think 1 care to go to-day," said i
Letty with an air of supreme indifference. i
" Letty !"
" Well, Mr. Wayne !"
" Why will you be so provoking ?"
"Am I provoking ? Keally 1 wasn't i
aware of it !"
" Letty," said the young man, with a
sudden spot of crimson burning on his
cheek, " I can not endure this uncertainty
any longer, 1 must know my fate !"
She lifted the blue, limpid eyes to his face i
with the innocent wonderment of a child,
while her scarlet lips, half parted, were j
like the deep incarnadine of the West In
dian shells taat lay on the shelf beyond.
" I love you, Letty !" he said passionate-1
Jy : " I have loved you since the day I first
looked upon your face. The time is coming 1
when I must leave this desolate shore : let j
me take you with me to be the sunshine of j
my life. Don't turn away from me, Lettice j
Moore—give me one word, one look, to j
which I may cling and still hope on."
"You hurt my wrist," said Lettice, petu-1
lently. " Don't Mr. Wayne !"
" You have not answered me, Lettice."
She stole a shy, arch glance at him under j
her long, brown lashes.
It was neither more nor less than women's i
instinct, this strange impulse that prompt- j
ed Lettice, in that moment when the fate of j
her whole life trembled in the balance, to j
play with her lover's earnestness, and hide j
behind a mask of simulated indifference. — j
And so Lettice pouted her pretty lip, and !
twisted the bronze-brown curl round her j
finger, and looked out at the blue sweep of I
the distant sea and answered never a word.
" Tell me, Lettice, do you love me ? Ay j
or no—an answer I will have."
Would have an answer, indeed ! A pret- j
ty idea, thought wilful Letty, to pretend an j
abject and humble devotion, and then use j
such lordly phrases at this. He should j
have his answer—for the present at least. !
It would be a good lesson, and one that Mr.'
Kenneth \\ ayne appeared to need So she ;
; drew herself up, and replied in one haughty
monosyllable,
" No 1"
He stood looking at her a moment, while
the blood seemed to recede from his face,
i leaving an ashy ling around the lips, and
then turned quietly away, and took a slow,'
listless course down the rocky path, with
eyes that saw not the blue glimmer of the
, distant sea, nor the lines of cloud that skirt-
I ed the far away horizon.
The instant his footstep crossed the thres
! hold Letty started up,as if to call him back.
But the words seemed to die in silence up
i on her lips, and she sank back on the win
dow-seat, hiding her face in her hands.
| " What have 1 done ? Oh, what have I
! done ?"
But the next instant she dashed the moist
ure from her eyelashes with a quick,haugh
ty movement, and took up her work, as if
fully resolved to dismiss the whole affair
; from her mind.
How long she sat there, mechanically
plying the needle, she could never have
| told ; it might have been five hours. Her
mind was in too fevered and restless a state
to take much note of time ; and the old
| wooden clock in a grove of asparagus be
i tween the windows ticked monotonously
! on, as it had ticked for thirty years, while
the blackbird dozed in his cage, and the ci
i cadas chirped shrilly from the stunted bush
i es along the cliff.
" Why, Letty, you ain't sick, be you ?"
Mrs. Moore had bustled into the room,
TOWANDA, BRADFORD COUNTY, PA., JANUARY 19, 1865.
with a basket of shining crimson apples on
her arm, and through her bright spectacles
keenly regarded her daughter's face.
" No, mother, I am not sick ; why did
you ask ?"
" You're as white as a sheet, child ; you
've been sittin' too close at that fine work.
However,the color's beginnin'to come back
a little now !"
Mrs. Moore sat down in a cushioned rock
ing-chair, and untied her bonnet strings ; a
plump, cheery little body, with cheeks like
the sunny side of a Bartlett pair, and bright
gray eyes that had a winning sparkle in
them yet.
" I've been over to Desire I'cabody's to
find when Mahala Ann was to be married,"
began she ; " and I come byway of the
medder on the south hill, and the ground
under that tree was jest red with these 'ere
apples. I calc'late they blowed down last
night, when the gale come up. Jest as red
as though they'd been painted ; they will
make beautiful pies, won't they, Letty,with
a pinch o' fennel-seed and plenty o' good
brown sugar ? The very tree your father
insisted was Rhode Island greenin's. I
told him better,but Isaac always was dread
ful sot in his ways."
Mrs. Moore broke into a mellow laugh as
she surveyed the glossy treasures in her
basket.
" By-the-way," she resumed, looking
around the room, and leaning back in her
chair to get a furitive glimpse into the iit
tle parloi beyond, " where's Mr. Wayne ?"
"He went out to go over to the Great
Cave," said Lettice, bending over her work
till her cheeks rivalled the scarlet runners
without.
" The (ireat Cave!" ejaculated Mrs
Moore, lifting up both hands in dismay,
" when there's a storm blow-in' up, and the j
tide runnin' at the top of the cliff like all
possessed."
Lettice sprang up and went to th<> east
ern window, with a strange, undefined fore
boding at her heart.
The sky was covered with a rack of lurid
clouds, breaking into ragged shreds before
the wind ; and even where she stood she
could hear the hollow booming of the sea—
the "roting," as it is significantly called by j
those who follow fisher-craft, with ever and
anon a sudden report like the discharge of
artillery, as some gigantic breaker shiver
ed into clouds of spray against the rocky
headlands.
She glanced across at the clock.
" It is strange that he has not returned—
it is later than I thought," she murmured.
Once more at the garden gate, the wind
wildly flinging her curls about,and her eag
er eyes straining out upon the dizzy rise
and fall of the ocean beyond.
" Mother ! the glass. Give me the glass!"
Her voice had risen almost to a shriek.
Mrs. Moore caught the glass from its case
under the mantle,and was at her daughter's
side in an instant.
" What is it, daughter ? Letty, what do
you see ?" she asked clinging to the slender
girl, with a thrill of terror at her heart.
" Look, mother !" said Lettice, eagerly
giving the glass into the elder's hand, and
speaking iu quick, gasping tones. "Do
you see that black speck just beyond
Schooner Head ? There—it is drifting tow
ards us."
" 1 see it," said the mot her,looking stead
ily out at sea.
" What is it?" questioned Lettice,breath
lessly.
"A boat—our little fishing-boat!"
"I thought so," wailed the girl. "Oh,
mother, mother ! it is the boat that Mr.
Wayne rowed away in this very morning.
It is loosened from the moorings, and has
drifted away, and he—O Heavens ! he is
tide bound in the Great Gave !"
They looked at one another, pale and ap
palled, these two helpless women,with eyes
lull of unspoken horror.
" Jabez is not here, mother ?"
"No ; he went to Ellsworth this morn
ing."
" But his boat is moored below."
" I—l believe so, Letty !my child—you
would never risk your life in such a sea as
this ?"
Lettice turned upon her mother with sud
den fire.
' Mother ! I may be in time to save his
life—who knows ? But if his dead corpse
is thrown upon these dismal rocks, when
the tide rolls in, mine shall lay beside it."
And then, as she saw the white terror on
her mother's face, she added, speaking in
different and softer accents, " Don't be
afraid ; you know that father always said
I could manage a boat as well as any fish
erman on the coast."
Before Mrs. Moore could answer Lettice
was springing down the cliffs like a deer.
A moment later she saw the little boat un
fastened, and her daughter's practiced hand
steering it out to sea.
And then she fell on her knees,hiding her
face against the rocks, and moaning in an
guish.
" God protect my child ! God's mercy go
with her across the cruel sea !"
Onward toiled the little boat, straining
and cracking in every seam ; but Lettice
cared not for that, as she sat gazing out
toward the rocky point, fringed with silver
birches and funeral spruces,beneath which,
like the yawning mouth of some sea-mon
ster, lurked the Groat Cavern of Mount Des
ert. Drenched with flying sheets of spray
—deafened by the perpetual thunder of the
waves—rocked to and fro by the heaving
tide, as if her tiny craft had been but a
floating leaf, she thought only of Kenneth
W ayne prisoned in that dreadful wall of
stone, and struck her oars into the green
tumbling billows with the frenzied strength
of a madwomen.
" I will save him, or 1 will die !" was the
sentence that seemed burned into her brain
I in characters of fire.
And what was Mr. Kenneth Wayne doing
! all this time ?
Not much sketching, certainly ; he was
! scarcely in a mood for that, as he sat there
j on a projecting ledge of rock,moodily watch
ing the translucent breakers toss their
foamy wreath against the wall of the cave,
| and listening to the resounding crash of
the great deep. He had come down with
some vague intention of sketching the Por
| cupine Rocks, whose stupendous heights
have been familiarized to us by Wiles'
painting ; but he soon gave up that idea,
and abandoned himself, despairing, lover
like, to the contemplation of his own mis
ery.
" I don't care if I never touch another
square inch of canvas," lie muttered to liirn-
RECARDLESS OF DENUNCIATION FROM ANY QUARTER.
self, clenching his hands. "If Lettice could
have loved me, I might have devoted my
self to my art, with a reasonable chance of
one day becoming a distinguished man.—
Now, it don't matter a pin's point whether I
live or die !"
Poor Kenneth ! All this might be very
harrowing to our feelings if Ifalf the civil
ized world hadn't passed through this very
Slough of Despond, and afterwards got
married, and, like the people' in fairy tales,
"lived happy ever after."
AH of a sudden he sprang to his feet.
" Hallo, the tide appears to be rolling iu
at a deuce of a rate !" he exclaims, half a
loud,"aiid the sooner I get out of this place
the better. Who would have supposed it
was so late ? Confound those breakers,
how they bellow ! One might almost fan
cy them possessed demons."
Kenneth Wayne picked his way leisure
ly down the sloping floor of the cave, al
ready becoming wet and slippery with the
advancing tide, to where he had fastened
the little boat.
11 was gone.
A sudden thrill passed across his heart
as if it had been clasped by icy fingers—
the full peril of his situation Hashed on his
mind in appalling distinctness. Alone in
the great Cavern, with his boat gone, and
the tide coming in with the howling fury of
a wild beast !
" It does not matter a pin's point whether
I live or die !"
Those were the idle words that had rest
ed on his lips scarce half an hour ago; but
he had never dreamed when he spake them
that he should so soon stand face to face
with Death Now, as the cold dew broke
out on his forehead, and the pallor of dead
ly horror blanched his very lips, the rashly
spoken sentence came back to him freight
ed with deep and solemn meaning.
Yet Kenneth Wayne was no coward.—
When once the dreadful certainty was im
pressed on liis mind, he leaned with folded
arms against the jagged wall, resolved to
meet his fate as a brave man should.
So the world was passing away from him
—the bright sunshine, the blue outer air,
the song of robins in the gnarled apple-tree
at home. All the bright visions he had form
ed—the aspirations he had built up in the
cloudy vistas of the future—the loves and
hopes that had clustered around his path
way—all, all passing away. And even
through the roar of the raising tide he
could hear the silver ticking of his watch,
and smiled bitterly to think how soon Time
would be but a meaningless name to him.
Dead ! He could not fancy the strong,
warm, throbbing vitality within his frame
transformed to a cold corpse, with dank,
streaming hair and livid, upturned face,
tossed hither and yon upon the cruel crests
of those leaping billows. Would he be
carried far out to sea, and picked up days
afterward by 6oniG passing ship ? Or would
his body be dashed to pieces against the
hidden breaker of that fatal coast, and noue
know how or where he died ? Or perhaps
some wave might throw him on the beach
at Schooner Head, and Lettice might look
on his dead face with a pitying pang.
Lettice ! Ah, there was the bitterness of
death !
The waves were creeping around his
knees now, and throwing tongues of spray
about him, as a serpent throws his slimy
tongue over its prey before the deadly sting,
and his head began to whirl strangely with
the hollow boom of the waters against the
echoing walls. He closed his eyes in a
sort of dumb agony of despair to await the
fate that was so certain, so relentless.
" Kenneth ! Kenneth Wavne !"
Was it but the sickly phantasy of the i
death hour,or did Lettice Moore's wild voice
sound under these vaulted recesses ?
It was no phantasy—a warm,living hand
was drawing him through the black wa
ters.
" Quick —the boat ! Oh my God ! to
think that you were standing so close to
your death."
He stared blankly at the white,eager face
opposite him—even then he did not fully
realize that he had escaped from the very
jaws of destruction.
" Kenneth, speak to me ! Oh, Kenneth!
you have not lost your reason in that dread
ful place "
He bent forward with a look of deep
gratitude that brought the scarlet blood in
to her check, but neither of them spoke.
" Let nte take the oars, Letty," he said,
after a few minutes. "The waves are very
high, and you are weak and worn out."
She shook her head.
" \Ye shall reach the Head soon, and a
mistroke might cost us our lives. Y'ou have
not been used to the management of a boat
since you were a baby ; /have !"
Slight and slender as that pale girl was,
what a brave dauntless spirit she carried !
Kenneth Wayne looked at her with a feel
ing almost akin to awe, as the salt blast
blew the hair away from her ashen face,and
the clouds, drooping in black ragged mas
ses overhead, east a strange reflection on
her forehead.
Suddenly she leaned o/er and looked at
the shores they were approaching.
"The moorings are under water," she
said, calmly. "We can not land there."
" Can not land there ! Then what are
we to do ?"
" Kenneth, lister. Jo me," she said, in low
distinct tones. " They are waiting for us
on yonder shore, but no boat can put out
now, nor can they aid us to land. A rope
would part like cotton thread in such a sea
as this. Do you see that ragged edge of
rock projecting from the Head beyond ?"
" Yes."
" I shall wait until yonder great breaker
rolls in and let the boat ride in upon its
crest. Then I shall throw the coil of rope
over that rock."
" But, Lettice, the receding billow will
snap it like a hair."
" You must not wait for the receding
wave. Spring to the shore ; they will be
able to help you before the next breaker
sweeps you away."
" And you, Lettice !"
" I shall have saved your life—that will
be enough."
He sat silently watching her, until she
rose up in the boat, poising herself like a
beautiful Diana, as the boat rocked on the
crest of a giant wave.
" Now is the time," she said, turning to
him. " Don't forget me in the years that
are to come!"
As she tossed the rope over the point of
rock, with an accuracy of eye and motion
known only to those whose lives are spent
beside the sea-shore, he clasped the frail
figure in his arms and sprang.
For their lives. A misstep on the slippery
shore would have precipitated both into the
boiling whirlpools of the sea—a moment's
hesitation would have been their doom; but
Kenneth Wayne had carefully husbanded
his strength, and calculated the exact dis
tance with a precision learned through his
artist-life.
He felt a clasp of kindly hands,the bonds
of aiding lingers, as they were dragged up
the wet and yielding sands ; but one terri
ble apprehension filled his mind with strange
dismay.
" Lettice ! is she safe ?"
For if death had taken her from him in
that moment of peril, life would be scarce
worth having, dearly bought though it
were.
And then he heard her mother's voice
whispering softly,
"Thank God ! my child is alive and un
hurt !"
Not all the pictured gloom of cathedrals,
nor the chant of white-robed priests, could
give more passionate fervency to the pray
er that went up from the desolate rocks of
the storm-girdled island—the prayer of
thanks too deep for words, that burst from
Kenneth Wayne's inmost soul !
And so the tempestuous night closed
around the cliff's of Mount Desert.
The next morning rose bright and cloud
less, as if no murky vapors had ever ob
scured the liquid dome of heaven ; and
when Kenneth Wayne come down stairs
Lettice was standing by the window in a
pink morning dress—a little pale, but very
lovely—in a mood unusually
quiet. She looked up with a faint smile
and a few murmured words of greeting as
he entered, but he had made up his mind
not to be put oft' by any such maidenly sub
terfuge. He went straight up to her, and
looked fully into the blue eyes with a ten
der searching glance.
" Letty," he said gently, " I have come
to plead my cause with you yet again. We
are nearer to each other than we were this
time yesterday. You are my preserver,
Lettice. Y r ou would have given your life
for me yesterday ; I ant here te ask you to
give that life into my keeping now. I will
cherish it,dearest, with an everlasting love !
Lettice, will you be my wife ?"
She put her hand shyly in his.
" Oh, Kenneth, I never knew how much
I loved you until I thought you were lost
to me forever."
BRIDESMAIDS,
Next to being a bride herself, every good
looking young woman likes to be a bride's
maid. Wedlock is thought by a large propor
tion of the blooming sex to be contagious,
and much to the credit of their courage,
fair spinsters are not ut all afraid of catch
ing it. Perhaps the theory that the affec
tion is communicated by the contact is cor
rect. Certainly we have known one mar
riage to lead to another, and sometimes to
such a series of " happy events " as to fa
vor the belief that matrimony, as John Van
Buren might say, " runs like the cholera."
Is there any book entitled " Rules for
Bridesmaids" in secret circulation among
young ladies ? It seems as if -there must
be, for all the pretty bench-women act pre
cisely alike. So far as official conduct is
concerned, when you have seen one brides
maid you have seen the whole fascinating
tribe. Their leading duty seems to be to
treat the bride as a "victim led with gar
lands to the sacrifice." They consider it
necessary to exhort her to " cheer up and
stand by." It is assumed, by a poetic fic
tion, that she goes in a state of fearful tre
pidation to the altar, and upon the whole
would rather not. Her fair aids provide
themselves with pungent essences, lest she
should laint at the " trying moment," which,
between you and us, reader, she has no
more idea of doing than she lias of flying.
It is true that she sometimes tells them that
she " feels as if she would sink into the
earth," and that they respond, " pooi, dear
soul," and apply the smelling bottle ; but
she goes through her nuptial martyrdom
with fortitude, nevertheless.
In nine cases out of ten the bridegroom
is more "flustered" than the fragile and
loved creature at his side ; but nobody
thinks of pitying him, poor fellow. All
sympathy, compassion, interest, is concen
centrated upon the bride, and if one of the
groomsmen does recommend him to take a
glass of wine before the ceremony, to
steady his nerves, the advice is given su
perciliously—as we should say, " what a
spooney you are, old fellow."
Bridesmaids may be considered as brides
in what lawyers call the "inchoate" or in
cipient state. They are looking forward to
that day of triumphant weakness when it
shall be their turn to be " poor, dear orea
tured," and Preston salted, and otherwise
sustained and supported, as the law of nup
tial pretences directs. Let us hope they
may not be disappointed.
DIVORCES.—A Philadelphia paper says
application for divorce have, it is said,
greatly increasad within the last few years
in our city. It does seem astonishing what
a hurry some people are in to sunder the
sacred bond, who a few months ago were
in just as great a huiry to take upon them
selves the obligations and responsibilities
of married life.
They kiss and twitter like mated birds j
for a brief fortnight, and the third week j
are brought up before the courts for throw- J
ing smoothing irons at each other, and
indulging in other little endearments pecul
iar to double-blessedness. In some late
cases husbands and wives have been off
the hooks before the taste of the bridal
cake and ale had been washed from their
mouths. There must be a screw loose some
where. The fact is the whole preliminary
business of courtship is one grand system
atic course of mutual deception ; both par
ties persistently shut their eyes to each
other's true character, and insist upon in
vesting each other with attributes which
neither possesses, and which none but an
gels ever do.
They picture to themselves for the future
an earthly heaven of music, dancing, bill
ing and cooing, gas-light soirees, and pic
nics. This is the poetic side of the question.
The prose reality comes " the morning af
ter the revel, " and then —look out for cof
fee, but toilless shirts, neglected hair dye,
pallid cheeks, abandoned ringlets, and all
the other accompaniments of domestic
torture.
j)i>i' Annum, in Advance.
TATTOO.
The sun had sunk behind the hills.
The moon sails high and wintry clear :
Her pale light falls on twinkling camps
That lie around me, far aud near.
Near, like a village lit they seem,
For, like the fire-fly's fitful gleam.
Ah! many a thousand weary men
Are welcoming the restful night.
Glad that a day of toil or watch
Withdraws its labor with its light.
They but await the evening call
That shall release them from tlu-ir thrall.
Hark! far away the sound begins—
One only lonely simple strain ;
Then fife and drum and bugle-call
In tumult answer back again ;
An d when one bird at morn awakes
A chorus in the woods and brakes,
.And all is still again. The ranks
Have answered to the evening call-
Come, O fair goddess Rest! and smooth
The rough beds of the soldiers all,
Aud Sleep, with softest fingers, close
The eyes that wake to watch our foes.
DRESS IN JAPAN.
The Japanese women are, in general, j
much better looking than the Chinese —the 1
eyes less elongated, and the whole expres- j
sion of the face more open and free from j
cunning. There are many, however, whose !
faces proclaim their Chinese origin, the off
spring, probably, of some of those inter- j
marriages which occasionally take place. '
Their head dresses and hair, which are ob
jects of.especial attention, are generally !
arranged after a very elaborate fashion, j
and when disposed to their entire satisfac
tion, are not disturbed again for a day or
two. The pillow of which they make use
is admirably adapted for keeping the well
greased and pasted tresses in order. It is
made of wood, and reminded us, at first
sight, of a good sized telescope. The head
rests on a small roll of linen or paper, like j
a sausage in size, which they place at the j
top, and one would imagine that a stiff i
neck next morning must be the result of
such au unrefreshing pillow. As we are :
all, however, creatures of habit, they most !
probably prefer that to which they have al
ways been accustomed. The men, like- j
wise, have their head dressed only once in
twenty-four hours, and sometimes at longer :
intervals. A regular hairdresser arranges
their head in the morning, invariably selec
ting the front part of the house, probably
in order that the individual under his hands
may be able to amuse himself by gazing at I
the passers by during an operation so te- j
dious and elaborate. The entire top of the !
head, from the forehead, is always kept
shaved as clean as the face of a beardless
boy. The rest of the hair, allowed to grow
long, is saturated with grease, to which is ;
added a kind of gum or paste, to make it \
stiff. The locks, thus bedaubed, are then ;
combed up all around, and tied at the crown I
of the head, the ends sticking together !
forming a tail piece, which is again doubled |
back and tied, plenty of gum being applied i
all the time to make it pliable. When it is 1
finished, it rests on the centre of the head, j
a short, neat little tail or knob. The wo-!
men dress very much like the men, with a j
loose, flowing robe, confined at the waist by j
a scarf. At the back they war a bundle
of cloth silk, the most costly article of their i
whole attire. Every woman, whether of
low or high degree, poor or wealtly, always !
turns round on passing another woman,and
fixes her eyes on this singular appendage, '
a scrutiny which enables her to judge of
the wearer's station and wealth. They
redden their lips with a preparation the
name of which is Blen-tsu-ba. By means
of another mixture, which many avail them
selves of, they give a golden tinge, the ap
pearance of which strikes one, at first, as
very singular.
A QUAKER DECREES JUSTICE. —Gen.
Schenck's resolution, introduced to-day,
making runaways from the draft, who have
gone to Canada, aliens, and requiring-them
to be naturalized before they can again ex
ercise the rights of citizenship, is good but
old. Congress will undoubtedly enact the
law, but a decision in advance has already 1
been given by competent authority.
" Thee has no right to vote," said a good i
old Quaker Judge of Election in Warren
county, Ohio, to a would-be voter at the
late election. " What do you mean ?" j
stormed the astounded devotee of the!
" Great Unready." "Imean thee is not a I
voter ; thee is not a citizen of this State." j
" Why, you old fool, I was born in this 1
county, and have lived here all my life, and
there's nobody knows it better than you !" !
" Thee is mistaken, my friend. Thee was j
born here, it is true ; I know thy father be- j
fore thee, and a good man he was ; 1 little I
thought his son would be such a thing ;'
but thee hasn't lived here all thy life. Thee
slipped away about the time of the draft ; j
thee went to Canada, and neither paid thy
three hundred dollars, if thee was opposed 1
to fighting, nor took thy musket, if thee i
wasn't ; but thee became a citizen of a for-'
eigu country ; and thee can't vote here."
The McClellanite raved, but the Quaker i
Judge was inflexible. The McClellanite de
clared there was no law for such a deci- i
sion, and he would prosecute him ; but the
Quaker was calm. " Thee may be right
about the technical language of the law ; I
do not pretend to say ; but thee went to
| Canada, and / am clear in my convictions.
J THEE CAN'T VOTE !" And he didn't. That :
j Quaker was born for a law-maker.— Wash,
cor. Cin. Gazette.
" HEAVEN bless the Wives ! they fill our |
hives with little bees and honey. They
ease life's shocks, they mend our socks,
but don't they spend the money ? When ,
we are sick they heal us quick—that is if \
they do love us ; if not we die, and yet!
they cry, and raise tombstones above us. "
A young lady was heard to declare that
she couldn't go to fight for her country,but
she was willing to allow the young men to
go, and die. au old maid, which she thought
was as great a sacrifice as anybody could
be called upon to make.
How to stuff a goose : Cut a piece of
hair from a Sky terrier, and send it in a
letter to a coxcomb, telling him it's thoJock
of a young lady who has fallen in love with
him,
JQBE*BILLINGB, REAL ESTATE AGENT
I kan sell for eighteen hundred and thir
ty-nine dollars, a pallas, a sweet and pen
sive retirement, lokated on the virgin hanks
ov the Hudson, kontaiuing 85 acres. The
land is luxuriously divided by the hand of
natur and art, into pastor and tillage, into
plain and deklivity, into stern abruptness,
and the dalliansc ov moss-turftod medder ;
streams of sparkling gladness, (thick with
trout), danse through this wilderness of
buty, tew the low musik ov the kricketand
grassnopper. The evergreen sighs az the
the evening zephir flirts through its shad
owy buzzuni, and the; aspen trembles like
the lov-smitten harte of a damsell Fruits
ov the tropicks, in golden buty,melt on the
bows, and the bees go heavy and sweet
from the fields to their garnering hives.—
The manshun iz ov Parian marble, the
porch iz a single diamond, set with rubiz
and the mother ov pearl ; the floors are ov
rosewood, and the ceilius are more butiful
than the starry vault ov heavin. tlot and
cold water bubbles and squirts in every
apartment, and nothing iz wanting that a
poet could pra for, or art could portray.
The stables are worthy of the steeds of
Ximrod or the studs ov Akilles, audits hen
cry was bilt expresly for the birds of para
dice ; while somber inthe distance, like tin
cave ova hermit, glimpses are caught ov
the dorg-house. Here poets have cum and
warbled their laze--here skulptorshav cut,
here painters hav robbed the scene ov drea
my land-shapes, and here the philosopher
diskovcred the stun, which made him the
alkimist ov natur. Xex northward ov this
thing ov buty, sleeps the residence and do
main ov the Duke John Smith; while south
ward, and nearer the spice-breathing trop
icks, may be seen the barrouial villy ov
Earl Brown, and the Duchess, \\ idder Bet
sy Stevens. Walls ov primitiff rock, laid
in Roman cement, bound the estate, while
upward and downward, the eye catches far
away, the magesta and slow grander of the
Hudson. As the young morn hangs like a
cutting of silver from the bin breast ov the
ski, an angel may be seen each night dan
sing with golden tiptoes on the green. ( V
B. This angel goes with the place.)
Diagrams kan be seen at the ofliss ov tin
broker. Terms flattering. None but prin
cipals delt with. Title as pure as the breth
, ova white male infant, and possession giv
len with the lark. For more full diskrip
slius, read Ovid's art ov Luv, or kail in
yure carriage) on Josh Billings, Real Es
stae Agent.
THE GREAT MYSTERY. —The body is to die ;
so much is certain. What lies beyond ?
No one who passed the charmed boundary
comes back to tell. The imagination visits
the realms of shadows, sent out from tin
windows in the soul over life's restless
waters, but wins its way wearily back,
with an olive leaf in its beak as a token of
emerging life beyond the closely bending
horizon. The great sun comes and goes in
the Heaven, yet breathes no secret-etheival
wilderness ; the crescent moon cleaves her
mighty passage across the upper deep, bill
tosses overboard no message, and displays
110 signals. The sentimental stars chal
lenge each other as they walk their night
ly rounds, but we catch no syllable of their
countersign which gives passage to the
Heavenly camp. Between this and t br
other life is a great gulf fixed, across which
neither eye nor foot can travel. The gentle
friend* whose eyes we close in their last
sleep long years, died with rapture in her
wonder-stricken eyes, a smile of ineffable
joy upon her lips, and hands folded over a
triumphant heart, but her lips were past
speech, and intimated nothing of the vision
that enthralled her.
A VERY GREAT RASCAL. —Two young law
yers, Archy Brown and Thomas Jones,
were fond of dropping into Mr. Smith's par
lor, and spending an hour or two with bis
only daughter, Mary. One evening, when
Brown and Mary had discussed nearly
every topic, Brown suddenly in his sweet
est tones, struck out as follows :
" Do you think Mary, you could leave fa
ther and mother, this pleasant home with all
its ease ami comforts, and emigrate to the
Far West with a young lawyer who had
but little besides bis profession to depend
upon, and with hint search out a new home
which it should be your joint duty to beau
tify and make delightful and happy like
this ?"
Drooping her head softly on his shoulder,
she whispered : " I think I could, Archy."
" Well," said he, " there's Tom Jones,
who's going to emigrate, and wants to get
a wife ; I'll mention it to him."
A young New England mamma, on
the important occasion of making her little
boy his first pair of colored trousers, con
ceived the idea that it would be more eco
nomical to make them of the same dimen
sions behind and before, so that they might
be changed about and wear evenly —and
so she fashioned them. Their effect, when
donned by the little victim, was ludicrous
in the extreme. Tapa, at first sight at
the baggy garmyit, "so fearfully and won
derfully made," burst into a roar of laugh
ter, and exclaimed, " Oh, my dear, how
could you have the heart to do it ? Why,
the poor little fellow won't know whether
he's going to school or coming home."—Lit
tle rile/rim.
He that waits to do a great deal of
good at once will never do anything. Life
is made up of little things. It is very
rarely that an occasi >n is offered for doing
a great deal at once. True greatness con
sists in being great in little things. Drops
make the ocean, and the greatest works
are done by littles. If we would do much
good in the world, we must be willing- to
do good in little things.
QriLr reports that a party of ladies were
discussing the question of the draft, when
a young lady somewhat ignorant of what
a cartridge is, inquired the reason why men
were exempt who had lost two or three
teeth. "Because they could not bite the
end of the cartridge." "Then," replied the
questioner, "why don't they soak it in their
coffee ?"
llow TO BE CHEERFUL. —A cheerful life must
be a busy one. And a busy life cannot well
I be otherwise than cheerful. Frogs do not
I croak in running water. Active minds are
I seldom troubled with gloomy foreboding.--
j They come up only from the stagnant depths
of a spirit unstirred by generous impulses
! or the blessed necessities ol honest toil
To be a woman of fashion is one of the
' easiest things in tlm world. A late writer
1 thus describes it: Buy everything you don't
want, and pay for nothing you get; smile
j on all mankind but your husband ; be hap
py everywhere but at home ; neglect your
1 children and nurse lap-dogs ; go to church
every time you get a new dress."
WHY does the new moon remind me ol a
giddy girl? Because she's too young to show
i much reflection.
| WHY is a washer womau'likc griet ? Be
cause she wriug's men's bosoms.
NUMBER 34.