dr lit 'itl)4l) itlegio ter Is published in the Borough of Allentown Lehigh County, Pa., every Wednesday, by BAINES & DIEFENDERFER, At, 01 50 per annum, payable in advance, and 00 if not paid until the end of the year.— No,paPer discontinued until alld,rroarages are paid. ll'OrFics in Hamilton street, two doors west of the german Reformed Church, directly oppo site Aloser's Drug Store. (Letters on business must be POST PAID, othorwiso they will not be attended to. JOB PRINTING. Haring recently added a large assortment o fashionable and most modern styles of type, v are prepared to execute, at short notice, al kinds of - Book, Job, and Fancy Printing. .p or ti The following touching lines were written and set to music by James G. Clark, Tenorc.of Ossian's Bards : THE OLD MOUNTAIN TREE. . . the Koine we loved by the bounding deep, Where the hills in glory stood ; [sleep, And the moss•grown graves where our father's 'Heath the boughs of the waving wood ; 'We remember yet, with fond regret For the rock and the flowery lea, [day, Where we once used to play thro' theiong, long In the shade of the old mountain tree. We dee pil4rims now in a stranger land, And the joys of youth are passed, Kind friends are gone, btzt the old trees stand. Unharmed by the warring blast ; Oh; the lark may sing in the clouds of spring. And the swan on i.:!e silver sea, [made But we mourn for the shade where the wild bird Her nest in the old napentain tree. Oh, the time went by like a tale that's told In a land of song and mirth, And many a form, in the church-yard cold, Finds rest from the cares of earth ; And many a day will wander away, O'er the waves of the Western sea, And the heart will pitie and vainly pray For a grave by the old mountain tree MTIIIIMIEff T 11 11 ADOPTED DAUGHTER CHAPTER I Tuv. SECRET NM= us, dear reader, to usher you into an elegantly furnished clomber in um of the hand somest houses in the city of C—. Before the mirror sits a lovely young lady, and her mother, who has assumed the place of waiting. maid fur the time being, stands over her, tastily arranging softie ornaments in her hair. " You need not be very parlicultir, motheE,' said the former,. " fur Charles is not to accom pany me this evening, and you know I do no care much for dress myself." " I hope the absence of Chai les will not pre vent you from enjoying the company, (laugh ter." "0, no. Not in the feast. I am always happy with you and father, hut when T speak of dressing differently when. Charles is to be present, it is merely to gratify his peculiar taste. T am sorry he cannot be with us this evening : but I prcsume''there is a good reason for his detention, and I shall not let it mar my plea sures in the least." Mrs. Lane answered her daughter's pleasant remarks mercly with a Sigh, foAer cheerful ness on the occasion only added another pang to her already o'erburdened heart. She knew the cause of Charle's abse,nce (the affianced lover of Minnie), but her daughter did not. The parents possessed a secret, too, which they had fondly hoped to keep forever, as they had done for many years, buried in their own bosoms. Circumstances had of late made it expedient that the daughter should be a sharer in the information. It was an affltir which more immediately concerned her, and it was but fair that she should know the truth at once. There was a probability that the disclosure would bo the means of anxiety and trouble to her, and the tenderness of a parent's heart shrank from so unpleasant a task. • Mr. Lane accompanied his wife and daughter to the residence of their friends whel.e they were invited to pass the evening, and left them for a time, saying he had an engagement else where. • The . company was very pleasant, being com posed of the best society in the place, and Minh enjoyed the season finely. Wherever she went she was courted and caressed as the oha t nliter and solo heiress of the rich Mr. Lane, paid her position was envied by many of her associates who seemed to be less fortunate. Her good fortune was not her chief recommendation though, for a more amiable disposition than hers, was seldom known, aneher gentle man ners won all hearts. Mrs. Lane was ill at ease during the absence of -her husband, and it was with much difficulty that she was able to conceal ,her feelings from the company. She strove to unite in the gaye- . ties of the occasion with her usual grace, but it required a severe effort to do so. She loved Minnie as an own child, and as such she had treated her from her infancy. Minnie had yet to learn that those.she looked upon, and loved As her own parents, were not so, and that she was an adopted daughter, only. It would be news to all of her friends and associates, too, for it was universally believed that she was the Idanghter and only heir of one of the wealthiest men in • c ' It was from no sinister motive on tho part of Mr. and Mrs. Lane that this fact was kept . a secret; but merely to gratify their own feelings —without ever supposing that the truth would be made public, or considering the consequences 21211111 R .1:81{0q2R Ihuottb ta „torn! u I annul Vawri, Agriculture, (Omni - inn, 3113rafittj, AutuaTint, 31 4 ,arketg, SzT., VOLUME. IX. if it was. But the secret had by some means escaped, and had been seized upon by some of that class of busy-bodies whose scrupulous con scientiousness compels them to give an impetus to the circulation of all reports that may be in teresting to the general news-seekers. Cense- 1 quently their only course was to forestall the gossip, and make their own explanation to their innocently injured daughter. The facts in the case were these. Mr. and Mrs. Lane had the misfortune to lose their only child when at the age of six months. They had occasion to visit a sick friend who resided in a distant port, to which they were obliged to take passage by water.. On their return home- - wdril the barque was wrecked, and they escaped barely with their own lives. The babe shared the fate of most of the other passengers who found a grave in the mighty deep. It was a terrible stroke to the parents, and i; the lcsz of the child proved so great a trial to Mrs. Lane that her health was evi tly suffer ing &mil innocent grief. It was the recom mended by her physician that she should adopt a child ; as that would have the effect to divert her mind from her troubles, and supply at the same time what her.nature demanded,—an ob ject to share her afflictions, and occupy her leisure in the absence of her husband. The little girl whom we have introduced as the young lady—Minnie—was some two or three years of age when she was taken into the funny, and she soon forgot lie former associa tions, and was pleased to own her kind benefac. tors as father and mother. She was takezi from a very poor family, MI6, in their indigent cir cumstances, acknowledged it a relief to be rid ded of the child, and sympathy for the-unfortu nate little stranger strengthened their attach ments to her, which increased daily from the hour that she was received to her new home, Little Minnie--for so she was called, in honor of the dear lost one who bore that name—was a Very pretty child, and quite interesting for one born in obscurity, and having lived as it we•e unloved : and her gentle and quiet dispo sition accorded well with tho pleasing appear- ance of her person. It required no urging ore such a little picture of innocence, and the doting fondne.i3 with which Mr. and Mrs. Lane regarded their little charge induced them o give her their own name, and conceal from 'the world the fact of her adoption. - This they felt they had a perfect right to tl as it was a matter which concerned none b themselves and for the purpose of making sure of their safety in the secrecy of the business, they removed from their former place of resi dence to the city of C—. As Minnie grew in cars she also improved in intellect, and her ovablo disposition, united to a person of bi ant and increasing charms, made her the hl of the household ; and never for a moment had 'le fond parents cause for other than feelings of Ie purest joy, that their early hopes which rem so soon blasted, had been in such a man ner, partially restored. CHAPTER II TUE LOVER ?gr. Lane, after accompanying his wife and daughter to the house of their friend, left, as we have before stated, to fulfil a previous en gagement. He returned home, and seated himself alone in his library. Presently the door bell mpg, and Charles Ellyton was shown in. Dlr. Lane invited him coolly to a scat, knowing his'busi ness, and not exactly relishing his present predicament. " Well, Mr. Ellyton," said lie, " what is your particular business this evening ? We must be brief:" You are aware that I act in your place as gallant this evening, and my ab• sence• from the party will be noticed. This is rather an unmanly way of doing business, in my opinion." You am right, sir. I have not come. here _ - to find fault with any one. lam well aware of my position, and I assure you, sir, that it is in no way a comfortable one." " It appears to me that the choice of happi ness; or the reverse, lies with yourself alone ; but let us proceed to business. You have had the audacity to tell .me that I have deceived you, and the object of your present visit is, I presume, to seek redress. I can tell you in advance what my reply will be. I have deceiv ed you in nothing that would ever have in any wise affected,your•interests, or happiness ; and as I have had no intent to wrong you, and have not wronged you, I have no restitution to make." " I understand you, sir, and am satisfied that you have meant no evil by your course, yet the disclosures which have been made of late re garding Miss Lane, have affected my happiness, and aro likely 'to form a barrier against our union." " How so, sir? What disclosures do you allude to ?" " The same that I named to you. Nothing, except that she is only an adopted daughter." " What of that I Is she any the less virtuous and worthy, because she is not one of my own a ( Lvaatall 111 allii7111---Vtl32llial 11q132311 , 3. • ALLENTOWN, PA., FEBRUARY 14, 1855. flesh and blood ? Have I not-brought her up, and educated her for a lady ? In what is she deficient ?" "Nothing. Nothing, sir, She is'a lady in every sense of the term. The only objection which any one could raise, is that she is not your legal heir." "Alt ! Then it is my fortune that you would wed. Rest assured, Mr. Ellyton , you will not be forced into a union that is not in accordance with your own wishes. My daughter is not a laggar, that she should of necessity accept the offer of a vagabond—" " Stop, stop, sir !" interrupted Charles, warmly. " I deserve no such name. it is not your wealth that I covet. If Minnie were a beggar, I should be proud to own her as a wife. You know something of my father. His views on some subjects are peculiar. I censure him for nothing but his over-indulgence, in allowing me to grow up to manhood without obtaining any knowledge of business. lie is amply able and willing to support me for life, but the stipu lation plhces me entirely under his control, and my unavoidable helplessness compels me to sub mit. He objects to my union with your daugh ter, on the ground that deception has been practised, for the purpose of making a brilliant match for her ; and he declares that he will not submit to be made the dupe of such a scheme. I have no such feeling, I assure you ; but he says lie will diSown me if I marry contrary to his wishes,—and as much as I love Minnie, I will not be the means of depriving her of the luxuries and comforts of life to which she has been accustomed." " Very well ; then the matter settles itself.— I can do nothing, surely." " Indeed, you can, sir, do a great deal." " What more, pray ? You asked for permis sion to pay your addres.ces to my daughter.— You got it. Now you ask leave to withdraw your suit. You have that. What more can you ask ?" " This only. If you will settle a portion of your property upon Minnie : that will satisfy my father, and I may still enjoy his favor, which is my only hope of support." " Never ! never, sir, will I barter the hand of my daughter away thus. She shall be my heir if I choose to make her so but,she is not to be sold ! Let this end our interview." "Du not be hasty, Mr. Lane. Remember the happiness of your daughter, as well as my own, is at stake." " My (laughter, sir, has ali/ler who iS able, in purse and person. to protect her from the world. I forbid you from this hour to enter my house, or to continue any intercourse with her whatever." " But you do not seem to understand—" " I understand all I wish to," interrupted Mr. Lane, as he arose and seized his hat, and left the house—adding, as he hastily departed, " and I have no more time to devote to you this evening." Charles quickly retired, feeling much grieved at the result of his interview; for he hail hoped to interest Mr. Lane, in his behalf. With a . heavy heart he returned home, and sought with as little success the sympathy of his hard-heart ed parent. It seemed cruel that he must thus suffer for the sins of his ancestors, for such was really thdease, and his faulty education was the means of placing him in a dependent position, and subjecting him to all the caprices of a mis guided parent. But for the deprivation of all those privileges which he Should and might have enjoyed—his father being a merchant of exten sive trade—he might have been master of his own fortune, and ranked with characters of the . - highest standing; for he s was truly a generous hearted fellow, and his natural intellect was of no inferior cast. It was not on account of Minnie's prospective fortgno that ho won her affections.. He loved ;her ; and he enjoyed the proud satisfaction of knowing that his affection was returned. It was a heart-rending thought that he must abandon his fair scheme, and witness the wrack of all his bright prospects ; but the risk of sub jecting. her to the disgrace which the world attaches to poverty, seemed to him an act of. unpardonable presumption. Sooner than be. come the perpetrator of such a crime, he would choose to sacrifice his only earthly hope, and submit to the fate that overruled his unhappy destiny. CHAPTER 111 THE CONFESSION Mrs. Lane's worst fears were realized when she learned from her husband that the engage ment of marriage between their daughter and Charles Ellyton was severed. This new trial to her, after so many years of undisturbed en joyment, was even harder to bear than the sad misfortane which was the means of placing the dearly-loved child under her , protection. The next forbidding task was to communicate the fact and its causes to Minnie. Mrs. Lane had been agitated with the subject so long that her nerves had become too much irritated to en dure the scone which must ensue ; consequently the painful duty devolved upon her husband, who loved his daughter quite is fondly, and would quite as readily have declined the busi ness had there been any alternative. The following evening was appointed for the dreaded disclosure. Minnie was summoned to her father's private sitting-room on business of importance. She wondered much what it could be, and without hesitation quickly made her appearance. " Well, father," said she, gaily, " what have you to say to me-? Here I am." Mr.,Lane could 'not raise his eyes from the table, where he pretended to be looking over Some papers. Minnie noticed that his counte nance became pale, and her smiling face soon assumed an expression of anxiety at his silence. "Speak quickly,• dear father," said she; " what has happened to you ?" " Sit down, my daughter," he began, nifect-: ing a calmness which was evidently, with dif ficulty, forced. " I have a secret to reveal to you, and I may as well say it at once. But let me tell you in advance that you have no cause for regret on account of it, for no harm shall come to you while I live, and you shall be the mistress of all my property when I die." " Do not speak of property, father ; let me know the secret," urged Minnie, with muc' anxiety, " YOU have been brought up with the idea (and we have wished you might retain it to your grave), that you were our own child ; and his voice faltered to a whisper at the close of the sentence. r " Your own child ! and am 1 nol ?" exclaim ed Minnie springing to her feet. "Do not get excited, my dear ; - be calm. It is my painful duty to inform you that you are our adopted daughter, but—" " And you not my father ? And my dear mother not mother ? I never; never will be lieve it ! Where is she ? let me go to her !" and she would have rushed from the room had not Mr. Lane detained her by force. "Be calm, I entreat you, my dear," con tinued ho, " fur your mother is suffering all she can lumr nn yCiir account. already." " But, why have I not known this before ?" " Because we loved you like our own, and meant you should never know us in any other relation.. But the tongue of scandal has cruel ly invaded our fortress, and we are compelled to defend ourselves in the premises. The mere fact of your being an adopted child will not af fect your position in the least. You are just as much our own child, to all intents and pur poses, ns if you were born of our own flesh and blood, and all the powers of earth can never rob you of your rights, which T shall guarantee to you. But there is one point in which it may affect you, still I hope your good sense of honor will never allow you to act differently than if I you were our own child. " I have received a hint that INIr. Ellyton, senior, objects to the union between his son and yourself, on account of the recent disclosure respecting your parentage ; and if Charles is so weak minded—which I fear he will be—as to be controlled by his proud and selfish parent, I wish you to act with perfect independence, and let them understand that you are not to be the dupe of any such base motives. I tell you that you are to inherit all my property, but this fact must not be named to any ono :out of_ the family. If he marries you, it shall be for your self alone." Minnie had sat in a musing attitude during her father's kemarkS, and had become quite calm. " Ah! I see, it all now," said she, with a sigh. " That accounts for Charles's absenting himself so entirely from me of late. It is all over with him, I fear. I know his father. He is proud, and 'very sensitive where honor is concerned." . " But what is Charles ? A Loy, that he should play a childish trick ?" " Do not censure Charles without cause, dear father. I think I know him. Ido not know the precise . position in which he is placed with his father, but I will never believe that he is false without convincing proof." At this moment Mrs, Lane entered thiiroom, and another scene ensued. In an instant the mother and daughter rushed to each other's arms. "My dear daughter !" was all that Mrs. Lane could utter. " I am your daughter, and you are my mother, and I never will own any other parents !" ex claimed Minnie, with a spirit of pride, and an earnestness of manner well portraying her true woman's heart. The conversation was protracted to a late hour, and the unfortunate position in which. Minnie was placed, was as keenly felt by her parents as herself ; and it was not till she had promised them that, come what would, she would not allow any unfavorable circumstance to overcome her better judgment, and disturb her usual happy state of mind—that she was permitted to retire. It was easy to make the promise, but harder to keep it. For the first time in her life Minnie's sweet slumbers were disturbed by thoughts that were ever the farth- est from her mind. She had read of false friends, she had heard of the deceitful world, but until now all such thingS seemed to be of foreign ex istence. Her innocent heart had conceived of no such intruders within her own bower of peace. Visions of terror arose before her eyes, and chased away the soothing powers of sleep and ere the day dawned. her imagination was wrought up to a perfect fever of excitement, which so greatly reduced her strength that it was many days before she was again able to leave her room. This was Minnie's first trial, and it took deep hold upon her feelings. Every hope and en couragement were holdout by her parents, but to no avail. It seemed to her that her fortune had changed, und everything conspired to sink her the deeper in the pool of adversity. Three days after the disclosure of the secret, she re ceived a letter from Charles, relinquishing all claim to her hand, and stating that he was soon to embark for a foreign land. He also express= ecl, in the warmest terms, his unchanging love, and referred her to her father for further expla nation ; adding in conclusion, that he hoped at some future day to make himself worthy of her favor. CIIAPTER IV TETE DISCLOSURE A single week had passed since Minnie Lane encountered the first storm in her " voyage of life," and she was scarce the image of her former 'self. A livid paleness overspread her features, and a dull melancholy hung on every fibre of her frame. Mr. Lane slowly paced his room, deliberating upon the probable result of the fierce conflict between pride and conscience, which greatly disturbed his peace. He was some time in de• ciding which should have the preference; but at length his noble heart gained the ascendency over his carnal nature, and he had about made up his mind to sit down and write to Charles, and propose a compromise in regard to his union with Minnie which would be satisfactory to all concerned. At first the thought of such a thing seemed altogether too humiliating for one in his high position, but Minnie was his idol, and ho felt that on her happiness alone depended his own enjoyment of life. Mrs. Lane sat alone in her own chamber quite as deeply absorbed in the same subject, when a servant entered the room, and announc ed that a stranger at the door requested her at tendance on a poor woman who was very sick. " Tell him I cannot go," she replied. "I am not well enough to go out this evening, but I will try to call on her to•morrow." The messenger departed, and in a few mo ments returned again, saying that the woman could not live till morning, and she was very anxious to see her. From the urgency of the request. Mr . s. Lane as inclined to believe that her assistance was really needed, and she was not the person who ever turned a deaf ear to the call of charity.— It was then quite dark, and following her guide through several dark .and filthy streets, she at last found herself—after ascending a rickety stairway—in the back chamber of a dilapidated old building, where, without:farther ceremony, he left her. Casting a glance around the room, which bore the appearance of the most abject poverty, she discovered its only occupant on a low bed in the farther corner, apparently asleep. The sound of footsteps, however, aroused her, and she faintly asked, " who's here ?" • " It is Mrs. Lane," answered the visitor.--. " You sent for me, did you not ?" "0, yes, my good lady. lam dying, and I cannot go in peace until I confess my sins. Do you know me, ma'am ?" " I do not ; but think I may have seen yoi before." , "You have, ma'am. I never have lost sight of you. I have followed you wherever you went, and always meant to tell you the secret before I died." " What secret have you to disclose ? Pray tell it at once, while you have strength."l The poor woman seemed almost exhausted, and Mrs. Lane feared she would die before she had said all she wished to. " I gave you a little girl some fourteen years ago— " Indeed," said Mrs. Lane, " I did not re cognize you. Well, go on. Whit have you to say about the little girl ?" " You thought she was my child, ma'am—" " Certainly. You told me so. Was sho not ?" " No, ma'am. I don't know whose she was." " But, where did you obtain her 1" . " I came from ll sixteen years ago in the " barque Fortune," which was wrecked. I supposed all were lost, myself with the rest, but I found myself safe on the land the next morning, having been rescued from death by some kind hand, I suppose, That little child was saved, too, but its parents were lost ; and I claimed it for the sake of a valuable necklace it had on. It was a string of pearls. • I had seen NUMBER 19 "My Minnie ! My own Minnie ! Why did I never see it before ? Yuu have every (pature of my precious babe !" It was all Greek to Minnie, though. She un—. derstood not a word, but stood in utter amaze. ment. "What is the that ter, dear mother?" said she. " You are over-excited. Pray compose your self, and tell us what has happened." " But what is this ?" interrupted Mr. Lane, whq had just discovered the necklace lying on, the floor. " Speak quickly !" said ho, growing excited as the truth flashed upon his mind.— " That was my baby's necklace ! I bought it and had it marked myself! Where did it come• from ?" The peu of an angel could scarcely describ • the feelings of that trio when the plain and sim ple tale was told as Mrs. Lane had received it from the dying woman. The evidence was con clusive and satisfactory. They had adoptock their own child ! and it may be safe to conclude. that the care and affection which they had bo stowed upon her, was to them a cause of no ro gre t ! It is needless to add that Charles's journey was postponed to an indefinite period ; and. without any compromise, sacrifice of dignity - on the part of Mr. Lane, was most happy to. renew his claim to the hand of his daughter. The bloom soon returned to Minnie's cheek, and joy beamed from• every countenance, as Charles Ellyton led to Hymen's altar the lost and restored l the adopted and real daughter of the wealthy Mr. Lane. CLASS IN GEOGRAPHY STAND UP.--"Jamos, what is Geography I" . " Jography is a scription of the •firth." " Good, where is the State of Massachu settsj" " All right, two to ono on the Know-Noth ings—claddy jived 'ern last week." " Silence—nestßobert, how is the State of Mass. bounded ?" " Bounded by the Maine Liquor Law and' Atlantic Ocean on the east and norf, on the south and west by wooden nutmegs, abolition ists, railroads, Nebraska matins and so forth& " What are its productions ?" " Snow-storms, hard-up authors, nab oil;. clambakes, Know-Nothings, yaller dogs, news— papers, and Bunker Hill monument." " What are its animal productions ?" " Mince pies, sassageS, doughnuts, dandies• and swaller•tailed coats." Sit doWn—Class in Geography take recess.- , Robert you go home and tell your father 111 take some animal productions fo dinner." . " Yes sir—We've got somo bunkum sass's ges—our brindle terrier died last week." NOT so VERY GREEN.—A young and appa rently verdant Slip, who gave his hailing place. as " old Varmount," found himself surrounded, upon a certain occasion, by a crowd of quizzing upstarts, who seemed bent upon displaying. their own smartness, at the expense of the Yankee. Hello, Jonathan !" says ono, "where are: you bound ?" " Dcoun to Bosting, on a little tramp," was the reply. " What's your business in , Boston 1" contin— u ed the inquisitive gentleman. " Oh, I'm deoun arter my pension money,'" responded greeny. " Pension money !" ejaculated whiskeree— " how much do you get, and what are you drawing pension money for ?" " Oh !" answered the countryman, "I get four cents every year—t?.w to m'nd my owls business, and tcw to let other, folks' businesS alone !" The crowd had no more remarks to offer.-- The answer. was entirely satisfactory. cab The waters of the Upper Sacramento,'" California, aro teeming with the finest salmon, which aro caught and carried to San Francisco, where they are sold at three cents . per pound. So plenty are they that many spoil and are thrown away before being sold. (C7 - 31r. George W. Curtis, in tt., lecture at Now York, spoke of those pious people who , clasp their hands so tight in prayer that they could not open them when tho contribution boxr • came round: (I:7A tree weighipg 700 pounds will ibiorb 15 pounds of wider in six hours. such things before, and I knew they wereworth a great deal. Loffered them for sale, and they threatened me with imprisonment. I never• dared to O'er them afterward. I can say no, more." Here the poor woman's voice failed, and she gasped for breath. Mrs: Lane had listened to the story with breathless anxiety, and at the mention of the ornaments she was so much overcome that she scarcely had power to speak. The thought, too; that the" woman was dying, and leaving her in. such distressing doubt, rendered her almost frantic ! The most important part of the story remained untold. Seizing a cup of water that stood beside her bed, she applied it to her lips, amikegged her to try to speak once more; but t a-er was not granted her. She seemed however, to communicate something: • •wl raising her hand she pointed:
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