. • (IL) • • , d t tilyr, •.,, . , . . . BY W. 11;41,IR VOLUME 25. FIT BWAINPBORO' N . ILL Puniasarm EyERY yit;cumj By W. BL TEEMS—Two Dollars per An - Trrr, paid within the year; Two Dollars and Fifty cents after the expiration of the year. . .4,DVERTISEMENTS—One Square (10 lines) three insertions,sl,so ; for each subsequent insertion, Thin five Cents per Square. A liberal discount made to yearly adverf• Users, LOCAL-13usiriess Locals Ten Cents per line forlhe first insertion, Seven Cents fel subsea uent insertions Pri,ll.gsionai (ards. J. B. AIaBERSON, N. D., fIiK.S'ICIAN AND SURqE,ON, WAYNESBORO', i'A. • Office it the Waynesboro' "Corner Drug ore." pane 29-Ltif. B. _A_ rEZ • - Has resumed the practice of Medicine. OFFICE—In the Walker Building—near e owd - enHuuse: — N - ight - e - alls - should - li• 'lnade at his residence on Main Street, ad:- Joining the Western School House. ' July 20-tf C.. N. S.N.TV_UI_iY, 1Z" p., 1-ati-N-AIIIII.E WAYNESBORO' PA. Office at hi, residence, nearly opposite he Bowden House. Nov 2—tf. WIN A. 111 7 SNONG, ATTORNEY AT LAW, BAVING been admited to Practice Law at the several Courts in Franklin Coun ty, all business entrusted to his care will be --prompt Iv-attended-to. -Post_Office_address Mercersburg, Pa. •• L , 3 W. D,E 7 k LE p ATTORNEY AT LAV, WAYNESBORO', PA, Will give prompt and close attention to all business entrusted to his care. Office next door to the Bowden House, in the Walker 'Building. • JOSEPH DOUGLAS, ATTORNEY• AT LAW, WAYNESBORO', PA. Practices in the several Courts of Franklin and adjacent Counties. N. B.—lteal Estate leased and sold,. and Fire Insurance effected on reasonable terms. December 10, IS7I. IL, it,. Hl, traiIiGHSLER, (FORMERLY OF MERCERSBURG, PA.,) 41IFFERS his Professional services to the 4 1ficitizens of Waynesboro' and vicinity. Da. STRICKLER has relinquished an exten sive practice at Mercersburg, W)l2-c , has peen prominently engaged fors. „ rearsin.the practice of his profession. - He has opened an 011iee in Waynesboro', at the residence of George Besore, Esq., 4 1 is Father-in . -law, where he can be found at I 1 times when not professionally engaged. , July 20, 1871.—tf. DR. J. 31. RIPPLE. DR. A. B.I3ONERRAKE. RIPPLE & BONERAKE, WAYNESBORO', •PA. Having associated themselves in the prac tice of Medicine and Surgery, offer their professional services to the public. - Office in the room on the is orth East Cor. of the Diamond, formerly occupied by br. John J. Oellig; deed. • July 18, 1872—1 y A. K. BRANISHOLTS, RE SIDENT DENTIST WAYNP,SBORO', C . AN be found in his Office at all times, where he is prepared to perform all Dental operations in the best and moat eland manner. We being acquainted with Dr. Branis holtssocially, and professionally recommend him to all desiring the services of a Dentist. Ilr:. E. A. HERING, " ' J. M. RIPPLE, " A. IL STRICKLER, • " J. B. AMBERSON, ' " I. N. SNEVELY, " A. S. I3ONBRAKE, " T. D. FRENCH, Z_ 0- 138.,..A_0KT31...1..T.3, PHOTOGRAPHER, S. E. Corner of the Diamond, WAYNEs,EpRo', HAS at all times a fine assortment of ?lc tures Frames - and MOuldings. Call and pas specimen pictures. June. tf. DEMO EDTEL. Cantor gi Mani CO queen Sts,, CHAMBERSBURG, Penn'a. LA.NTZ . &, UNGER, Proprietors. The UNION has - been entirely refited anti re-furnished in every department, and under the supervision of the present pro prietors, no effort will be spared to deserve a liberal share, of patronage: Their. tables will be spread .with the best the. - Narket affords, and their Bar will always contain the choicest Liquors. The favor of the public solicited. Extensive.Stablingand attentivellostlers. Dec. 11-1-y 33r icar".. rcpt.. Salo. rir HE subscribers Would inform the pub . lic that they have tiow for sale a good . article of brick and will: continue to have A supply on hand during the summer sea son. B. r. FUICK. June 13—tf ',NOTICE TO;BUILDERS. A fine lot Pine Building Lumber. for sale Aland will be famished in rough, or hew ed •in proper eizes to suit purchasers of Bills, Apply at MoNrEarr Sranios. 1872—tf All RECORD Mnia cr [The following prophetic piece of poetry we publish by request. It was perhaps com posed soon after the Ilevolutionny war.] • Colombia Columbitti to glory arise, The queen of the •wori.d, and the cxid of the skies, y genius corn behold, While ages on ages thy splendors unfold, Thy reign is the last and the noblest of time Most fruitful. thy soil, most inviting thy clime ; Let the crimes of the east ne'er encrimson thy name, 4e freedom,• and science, and virtue thy fame. To conquest and slaughter let Europe as- pare, Tielm nations in blood, or wrap cities in' fire; Thy herqes the_riglifffarailid - shaltd - e= fend, And triumph pursue them and glory attend, A world is thy realm, for a world be thy laws, Enlarged as thy empire, and just as thy cause ; On freedom's broad basis that empire shall rise, Extend with_the _main, and_ skies. Pair science-her gate-to-thy_sons_shall un bar, And the east see thy morn hide the beams of her star ; New bards and new sages unrivaled shall soar, To fame unextinguish'd, when time is no more. To the last refuge of virtue design'd, Shall fly from :611 nations, the best of man kind ; There,'gratefut to heaven, with transport shall bring Their incense,_ mere fragrant than odors of spring. Nor less shall thy fair ones to glory as, • tend, And genius and beauty in harmony blend; Their graces of form shall awake pure desire, And the charms of the soul still enliven the fire : Their sweetness unmingled, their man ners refin'd, nd virtue's bright image enstamp'd on the mind ; With peace and sweet rapture shall teach life to glow, And light up a smile in the aspect of wo. Thy .fleets to all regions thy power shall dis- play, The nations admire, the ocean obey ; Each shore to thy glory its tribute unfold, And the east and south yield their spices and gold; As the day-spring unbounded thy splen dors shall flow, And earth's little kingdoms beforo thee shall bow, While the ensigns of union in triumph unfurl'd, lifush anarchy's sway, and give peace to the world. . Thus down a lone valley with cedars o'er spread, From the noise of the town I pensively stray'd, The bloom from the face of fair heaven retied The wind ceased to murmur, the thunders • expied ; Perfumes, as of Aden, flowed sweetly along,. And a voice, as of angels, enchantingly sung Columbia! Columbia! to glory arise, The queen of the world, and the child of the skies. atlistellautous geadinff. THE WHITE PANT IM. Major Rupert Stanley, a "bol,d dra goon" in the service of his majesty George IH., found himself one dark, blustering night in autumnoiding towards London, on the old York road. He had supped with a friend who lived at a village some distance off the road and be was unfamil, iar with the country. Though not rain ing,' the air was damp and the heavy clouds threatened every moment to pour down their contents. But the major, though a young man, was an old cam.- paigrier : and with a warm cloak wrap-. p9d about him and a good horse under him would have cared little for the storm and darkness, had he felt sure of a good bed for hiinself and comfortable quarters for his horse, when he had ridden far e nough for the strength of his faithful ani mal. So he jogged along; but mile after mile was passed and no twinkling light in the distanc3 gave notice of the appear ance of the wished-for inn. At last a dim light suddenly appeared at the - turn of the road. The horse pricked up his ears, and trotted forward with spirit and soon halted beside a orte•story cottage. The major was disappointed, but he rapped loudly with the butt of his whip. The summons brought a . sleepy cotter- to the door. "My good friend," said, the major,, "can • 11 \ " Z. r, • 9,11 V 9 VIII z *tip; I i's A ant to seq. COI4MBrA. cds - thee;with raptures WAYNESBORO', FRANKLIN COUNTY, PA., THURSDAY, SEPTEMBER 26,1572. you tell me how far it is to the next inn?" • "Eh f it is about zeven mile, zur," was the answer in the broad Yorkshire dia. leerotthe-distriet: "Seven miles 1" exclaimed the major, a tone of disappointment, "and my Mrse is already blown ! My good fellow, can't yon put my horse somewhere, and give me aled? I will •a • .ou liberally for your trouble." "Eh ! Goodness sakes !" said the rustic, "I be nought but a ditcher! There be ma place to put the nag in, and there be on ly one room and one bed in the cot." "What shall I do ?" cried the major, f it his wit's end. "I tell' ee zur," said the rustic, scratch ing-hilead_violently. "There be vone house•about a mile vurther ,on. It's noa inn but,the colmiel zees company vor the vun o' tha thing—`cause he likes to zee company about 'um. You must 'a heard of him—Colonel Rogers—a' used to be a soler once." "Say no more," cried the major, have heard of this hospitable• gentleman. Here's a crown for. your information my -good-friezal Cool. M: Aber I ugh " Touching his-steed with the spur, the major rode off: A sharp trot of a few moments brought him to a mansion which stood unfenced by the roadside. He made, for the front door, and, without dismount ingLiplieslitheiarge-brass—knocker till a servant in livery made his appearance. "Is your master up?" asked the ma- for. "I am the occupant of this house," said a venerable gentleman, making his ap pearance. "I am a benighted traveler, sir," said the major, touching his hat, "and come to _claitn_your_ hospitality_Can4eu4ve me a bed for the night ?-I- am afraid that my four-footed companion is hardly able to cary me to the next inn." "I cannot promise you a bed, sir," said the host, "ifsFr but — one spare bed in the house, and it pappens to be in a room that is haunted : that is the only one, un fortunately, that I can place at your dis posal to-night." "My dear sir," said the major, spring ing from his horse, "you enchant me be, yond expression ! A haunted chamber.— The very thing—and I have never seen a ghost. What luck!'.' The host shook his head gravely. "I never knew a man," said he, "to pass a night in that chamber without re orettinT it." ye wit Major Stanley laughed as he took out his pistols. saying, "With these friends I fear 'neither man nor demon.." Col. Rogers showed his guest into a comfortable parlor, where refreshments most welcome to a weary traveler, stood upon a table. "Mine host" was an old campaigner, and had seen much service, and he was full of interesting anecdotes of adventures. But while Major Stanley was apparently listening to the narrative of his entertain er, throwing in the appropriate ejacula tions of surprise and pleasure at the prop er interval* his whole attertion was in reality absorbed by a charming girl of twenty, the daughter of the colonel, who graced the table with her presence. She, in turn, seemed very favorably impressed with the manly beauty and frank manners of their military guest. At length she retired. The colonel who was a three bottle man, was somewhat hi dined to prolong the .ssion, but finding that his guest was fatigued, and begin ning to nod in the midst of his choicest story, he felt compelled to ask him if he would not like to,retire. Major Stanley replied'in the affirmative, and the old gen tleman ceremoniously marshalled his guest to a large old-fashioned room. A com fortable bed invited to repose ; a cheerful fire- was blazing on the hearth, and eve rything was cosy and quiet. The major looked round him with a smile of satisfac tion. am deeply indebted to you, colonel,' said he, "for affording me such comforta ble quarters. I shall sleep like a top." "I am afraid not," answered the Colo nel, shaking his head gravely. "I never knew a 'guest of mine to pass a quiet night in this chamber." "I shall prove an exception," said the major, smiling. "But I must make one remark. It is ill sporting with a soldier, and should any of your servants attempt to play tricks upon me, they will have occasion to' regret it." And he laid his pistols on the stand by his bedside. "My servants, Major Stanley," said the old gentleman, with an air of dignity, 'are too well drilled to dare attempt any trick upon my guests. Good night, Major.' The door closed. Major Stanley lock ed it. Having done so, he took a survey of the apartment. Besides the door open ipg into the entry,there was another lead ing to some other room. There was no lock upon this second door, but a heavy table placed across,completely barricaded it. The major threw himself into an arm chair before the fire, and amused himself with building castles in the air, and mus ing on the attractions of the host's daugh ter. He was far enough from thinking of spectral visions, when a slight noise struck on his ear. Glancing in the direc tion of the inner.door, he thought he saw the heavy table glide backwards. He caught up a pistol, and challenged the in truder. There was no reply, but the door continued to open, and the table to slide back., At last there glided into the room a talk graceful figure, robed in white. At the first glance, the blood curdled in the major's veins ; at the second he recogniz ed the, daughter of his host. Her eyes were vide open, but it was evident she was asleep. The young girl walked to the fireplace and seated herself in the arm chair from which the-soldier !lad riserts:— His first impulse was to vacate the room, - and - go-directly and alarm the , colonel.— Bui,dri the first place he knew not what apartment his host occupied, and in the - • condi-curiosity prompted him to watch the denouement of this singular scene.— Julia raised her left hand, and gazed on a ring that adorned one of her fingers, pressing it repeatedly to her lips. She then sank 'into an attitude of repose, her arms drooping-listlessly-at-her-sides. The major approach& her, and stole the ring from her finger. His action dis turbed, but did not awaken her. She seem ed to miss , the ring, however, and after groping hopelessly for it, rose and glided through the doorway as silently as she entered. She had no sooner retired than the major replaced the table, and draw ing a heavy clothes press against it, effec tually guarded himself against a second. intrusion. This done, he threw himself upon the bed and slept soundly until a late hour of the morning. When he awoke, he sprang, out of bed and, after completing his toilet, descended to breakfast.- Here he met the colonel and his blooming daughter.. "Well major—and how did you _pass the night ?," -asked the host, anxiously. "Famously," replied Stanley. "I slept like a top." "Then, thank Heaven, the White Phan tom has ceased to haunt that chamber, at last !" "By .no means," said the Major, smiling, "the White Phantom paid me a visit last night, and left me a token of the honor." "A token 1" exclaimed father and daugh ter, in a breath. "Yes, my friends. and here it is !" And the major handed the ring to the old gen tleman. " What's the meanin [aimed the colonel. you last week." Julia Uttered a faint cry and turned deadly pale. • 6.- - "The mystery is easily explained, 1, saul the major. "The young lady is a sleep walker. She came into my room before I had retired, utterley unconcious of her aetions. I took the ring from her that I might be able to convince you and her of the reality of what I had witnessed." The major's business did not press and he was easily induced to spend a few days with the old colonel. The mutual liking of the young folks increased upon better acquaintance, and in a few weeks the White Phantom's ring, inscribed with the names of Rupert Stanley and Julia Rogers, served as the sacred symbol of their union for life. A Text for Boys. A man of very pleasing address,but very dishonest in his practices, once said to au honorable merchant, "whose word was as good as his bond," "I would give fifty thousand dollars for your good name." "Why so ?" asked the other in some surprise. "Because I could make a hundred thou sand dollars out of it." • The honorable character which was at the bottom of the good name he cared nothing for ; it was only the reputation, which he could turn to account in a mon ey point of view, which he coveted. But a good name cannot be bought with silver ; it, of all other possessions, must be fairly earned. -When it is possessed, it is better business capital than a great sum of money. It is a capital any boy or‘girl may secure. Honesty must be its foundation, even in the smallest particu lars.. When an employer says, "That is a boy I can trust," he will always find himself in demand, provided he joins with it industry.' "The hand of the dilligent maketh rich." It seems hard at the time, maybe,— this ceaseless round of work, while other boys are lounging about store-steps, or playing on the green. But the reward will come if you are faithful. While loun gers are dragging out a miserable lifetime in privation and poverty, the hard-work ing boy lives at his ease, respected and honored. Remember this, boys, if you desire to make your way in the world. There is nothing that can serve your purpose like a name for honesty and industry ; and you will never acquire either if you area lounger about the streets and a shirk at your business. Everybody suspects a lad who is often seen about saloon-doors or tavern-steps. It undermines a boy's char acter for honesty very rapidly to mizwith the. society he finds there ; and such hab its tend to hnything but industrious ways. "A good , name is rather to be chosen than great riches, and loving favor rather than silver and gold." Print that test on your heart, and carry it with you in all your walks and ways. It is worth far more than silver and gold to you.---Pies byterian. A GLIMPSE OF TRE OTHER WORLD. •-Mrs. Gardiner, wife of a Michigan far mer recently died under circumstances the most extraordinary. Two of her sisters were dead, one but lately, one a few weeks ago. The cause of Mrs. Gardiner's death was a congestive chill, and she had been considered dead for six hours, and was being prepared for the grave, she re turned to consciousness and talked freely with her attendants. She stated to those around her that she had been to the bet ter land and had seen both of her depart ed sisters, with other friends ; that it was a most beautiful land—beyond all• de scription ! She said that she had per mission to return to-tell living friends of what she had seen but that she was anx ious to return again, She passed away soon after making her statement, and seemed overflowing with joy and hanpi ns.,,Thc Detroit Tribune says that there can be no questiop as t9.the circumstances above • stated., of thip, Julia r "The ring 'I ascended once to such a level plain,' says Dr. Mayes, "reaching eighty miles from the ,coast at an altitude of five thou sand feet. I was set upon by a tempest. The temperature sank to thirth-four de grees below zero. Nothing could be more terrible than a wind under such circum stances, except, perhaps, a furnace blast. Mercury hardened almost to the consis tency of lead. The moisture of the breath froze on the beard in solid lumps of ice.— The snow which came whirling along the ice plane was like the sand-clouds of the desert, which oftentimes overwhelm travelers. There was no chance for life except in flight. It would be difficult to inflict greater torture upon a man than to expose him to such a storm. First comes alarm, then pain, then lack of perception. One of my comrades said : "I cannot go any further.. I do not want to ; I am slee py ; I cannot walk." Another said : lam no longer cold; lam quite warm again, shall we not camp ?" There was great need of.haste and exertion, or we should all have perished. The whole continent of Greenland is, say, twelve hundred miles long, by six hundred broad. This gives seven hundred and twenty thousand square miles of superficial area ; and assuming the ice, which covers the greater part of it, to have the very moderate average depth of five hundred feet, we have a grand total of seventy thousand cubic miles of ice. All this vast accumulation is the property of Denmark. In evidence of the change in climate since then, we observe that in the old chronicles of those ancient Northmen, there is very little mention made of ice as a disturbing element in navigation.— From the glaciers come the icebergs, and a fiord which receives a glacier is not hab itable. The colony was destroyed by the Skraellinge, savages now represented by the Esquimaux, who have held undisturb ed possession .of the country until now, when they aro dwindling away. These is no story of ruin and decay more sad than this ; the ruthless hand of nature •has nowhere pressed so heavily upon the children of men. The little town in the wilderness is a quaint, happy place, where everybody is and smells more or less fishy, where the women wear fur boots and trous ers, do not know that petticoats exist, but are as fond of jewelry as their Southern sisters, and perfect adepts in dancing and flirtation. The little company on board: the Panther had a pleasant time of it in the "fiord of the deserted homes" before they steamed away southward to that of Sermitlialik, which means "the place of ice," there to witness phenomena such as are not to be seen elsewhere in the whole known world. In Greenland the ,snow.falls dry. The mountain's are loftly ; it never rains upon thorn, and a'fresh layer of snow is laid upon them every year. Enormous quan tities break loose and roll down the moun tain sides in avalanches ;- but the amount is small in comparison with the deposit. The glaciers are the means of drainage of these great snow fields, which are turned to ice by. a very simple process, and the ice flows , to the sea. In many places in this awful country the valley are so filled that they have become level with the summit of the mountains, and there is a desert waste of whiteness,, smooth wt. the sea and void of life as Sahara. floirdoesthislinelookwithoutspacee— WHO Will CARL Who will care? When we lie beneath the daisies, _ Underneath the churchyard 'mold, And the 'long grais o'er our faces Lays its fingers damp and cold ; When we sleep from care and sorrow, And the ills of earthly Sleep, to know no sad to-morrow, . With its bitterness and strife— Who will care ? Who will care ? • Who will come to weep above us? Lying,- oh! so white and still, tnierneath, the skies of summer, When all nature's pnlses thrill, To a new life gay and tender, Full of beauty rich and sweet, And the world is clad in splendor That the years shalt ever repeat— Who will care? Who will care? When Queen Autumns flowers blossom, And she stoops in pity down, With a white flower for our bosom • • ro al crown? Who - will come to Icael-in pity - By • our long and narrow bed, When the wild winds sing their ditty In the grasses o'er cur head— Who will care? Who will care ? When the spring -time's glad smile lin gers, And the meadows far and wide, . And the drops, from rosy fingers, Bloom and leaf on every side ; Who will come with tender yearning To the graves of those they miss? Who_Wrillsif, , YroT. our returning Totheir presence and their kiss— Who will care ? Who will care ? Who will think of white handslying On a stilLand silent breast, Never more to know of sighing, Ever more to know of rest ? Who will care? • No one can tell us, But if rest and peace befall, What it matters if they miss us, Or they miss us not at all ? Not at all. Greenland and lts Ice. The Old Homestead. There are but few places so. dear to us as the scenes of our childhood. Around the associations of our early years our Iffart's best-affections have—twined-them-- selves, and though we roam over the dark sea foam. or wander in far distant lands, yet we will often fly back on memory's swift pinions to the golden moments of life's morning, and fondly linger around the sights and scenes of our juvenile ram bles. Emotions swell the heart and tears fill the eyes as we think of the old house at home. That olg„ house may not have been a palatial structure, with its magnificent dome and gorgeous surroundings ; it may have been a humble cot in which poverty had left its footprints, and where grim want stared out from wall and floor and bed of straw. No matter how' humble, still how dear to us is that old house at home. We love that old building, and our at tachment to it increases as years roll on. We may dwell M a palace of golden - brightness-the-steeples-of--which rnut. y penetrate the very clouds, and millions of eartlf_s_richest treasures may lie in our coffers—still our heart never changes for the old house at home. Did you ever visit the : home of your childhood after years of absence? 'What a_ gush of recollection come throbbing through - thh - earti - Every place and al most every object that meets our gale has some associations with our childhood days. The brook flows on just as it did in days of yore. The very gurgling of the cur rent seems familiar. Here, in this brook, we had our dock yard, and here we sailed our mimic fleet. There stands the "old oak tree" under which we conned our boy ish task._ From here we had rolled stones down the steep hillside and watched them disappear in the clear—waters below ; on that grassy knoll we had stood at sunset, and had gazed upon the golden clouds which so gracefully slumbered on the bo som of the western sky. The fields and lanes and trees are fa miliar, recalling old memories and scenes.' Over the hills we had wandered forth with brothers and sisters in merry snood to to gather wild flowers. Under this tree we had gathered nuts ; there have we plucked blackberries from the branches; through yonder meadow we have saunter ed in childish glee in search of the fresh sprung mush-room.. Little did we know of the cares and perplexities of life. The old log school house is gone—a new one has taken its place. The cluster of trees is still there. Here is our old play ground, upon which we have sported in those halcyon days of old. We almost fancy that we can hear the shrill voices of schoolmates, subdued by the distance, bor upon the breeze, but, no these voice can never reach us again. Where are our school fellows ? Ask time and change! Ask sickness and sword and boundless o cean Ask accident and death 1 For all these have been at work. What a dream is the past 1 But what emotions rise in the heart as we stand and gaze upon the old house "where my father dwelt, and where a child at the feet of my mother I knelt."-- What hallowed memories cluster around that sacred Spot. What endeared associa tions still linger there ! It was in that old time-honored dwell ing that I knelt by my mother and lisped my evening prayer ; receiving her warm kiss, felt the hot tear fall on my cheek, and heard her in her broken accents say, "God bless my child..' When far away from that dear home, made radient by her smiles, we feel that her prayers still bless us as we roam ; her words we never forgot. Those were sacred seasons. How sweet their memory, when in childish in nocence we communed with heaven and felt the angels near ! The old house stands as a monument to departed days. ' There have been changes there. The foot-prints of time are seen. The moss covered roof, the i vy-bound pillars, the decayed columns and the crumbling walls seem in keeping with scenes and memories. The inmates of long ago are gone—some sleep in the grave, over which the weeping willow droops and the winds ' , owl a mournful requiem—the rest are acting their part in the great drama of life, far away from that sacred old domicile. But still there are hallowed associations and reminiscences which crowd and clus ter around that old house, long silenced voices which still linger and echo there. There are affections centered there that will.make that place 'ever dear to us. An although our heads may grow white with age, our eyes grow dim, and our frames may totter beneath the weight of years, yet still dear to our hearts will be the scenes of cur childhood, when fond recol lection presents all of them to view. ONEOF DE