A. K. RIIEE3I, Editor Si reoprietor
MI
VOL. Gt.
TERMS OF PUBLIC AT lON
The CARLISLE HERALD Is published weekly on a large
sheet containing twenty igbt colums and furnished
to subscribbreffit $1,50 if paid strictly In advance, $1,75
if paid within the year; or $2 In all cases when pay
anent is delayed until alter the expiration o: the year
No subscriptions received for a luau period than six
months, and none discontinued until all the arrearages
are paid, unless at the option of the publisher. Papers
sent to eubscribers living out of Cumberland county
moat be paid for In advance. or ho payment assumed
by some responsible person living le Cumhe,land
county. These terms wall be rigidly adhered to in all
cases,
ADVERTISERIENTS
Advertisements will be charged 1.00 per square of
twelve lines for three insertions, and 25 cents for
each übsequent insertion. All advertisements of
less than twelve lines considered as a square.
Advertisements in forted before Marriages and
deaths 9 cents per line for first insertion, and 4 cents
per line for subsequent insertions. Communications
on subjects of limited of Individual interest will he
charged 5 cents per lino. The Proprietor will not lie
responsible in damages for errors In advertisements.
Obituary notices or Marriages not exceoding live lines,
will be inserted without charge.
JOB PRINTING
The Carlisle Herald JOB PRINTING OFFICE is the
largest and most complete establlhement In the county.
Four good Presses, and a general variety of materials
suited for plain and Fancy work of every kind enables
us to do Job Printing •.at the shortest notice and on the
most reasonable terms. Persons in want of Bills,
Blanks or anything in the Jobbing line, will find It to
their Interest to give us a call.
BALTIDIORB LOOK HOSPITAL.
ESTABLISHED AS A REFUGE FROM QUACKERY
THE ONLY PLACE WHERE A CURE CAN BE
OBTIIVED
'TAR. JOHNSTON has discovered the
/most certain, speedy and only effertual remedy in
the World for all private diseases, weakness of the hack
or limbs, strictudes, affections of the kidneys and blad•
dor, Involuntary discharges, impotency, eeneral debili•
ty, nervousness dyspepsy. languor, low spirits. confu
sion of ideas, palpitation of th., heart, timidity, trem
blings, dimness of sight or giddiness, disease of the
head, throat, nose or skin, affections nrtbe liver, lungs,
stomach or bowels—those terrible disorders arising tram
the solitary habits of youth—those secret and solitary
practices more fatal to their victims than the song of
Syrons to the Illarinors of Ulys,s, blighting their most
brilliant hopes or anticipations, rendering marriage,
he., Impossible.
YOUNG MEN
itnpecially, who have become the victims of solitary
vice, that dreadful and destructive habit which annu
ally sweeps to au'untimely grave thousands of Young
Men of the roost exalted talents and brilliant Intellect,
who might otherwise have entranced listening Senates
with the thunders of eloquence or waked to ecstasy the
living lyre, may call with full confidence.
IYEA.RIIIILGE
Married persons, or young men contemplating mar
riage, being awes° of physical weakness, organic.debil
ity, deformities, speedily cured.
lie who places himself under the care of Dr. J. may
religiously confide In his honor as u gentleman, and
confidently rely upon his skill as a physician.
ORQANIO IXTZAENESS
Immediately cured, and.full vigor restored. This dis
tressing affection—which renders life miserable and
marriage impossible—is the penalty paid by the victims
of improper indulgences. Young persons are too apt to
commit excesses from not being aware of the dreadful
consequences that may ensue Now, who that under
stands the subject will pretend to deny that the power
of procreation is loot sooner by those falling into im
proper habits than by them udent? Besides being de
prived the pleasures of healthy' ffspring, the most
serious-and destructive-symptoms to both body and
mind arise, The system becomes deranged. the physi
cal and mental functions vteateuen. loss of procreative
power. nervous Irritability, dyspepsia, palpitation oi
the heart, indigestion, constitutional debility, a wast
ing of the frame, cough, consumption, decay and death
40E.10.13 NO BO UT FREDERICE
STEET.
Left hand side going from Baltimore street, a few doors
from the corner. Fail not to observe name and number
Letters must be paid and-contain a stamp. The Doc
tor's Diplomas hang In his-ollice:
A CURE WARRANTED IN TWO
DRYS• - - - •
•No Mercury or NausemnrThillgglir.`Tohnlttini:nfern'
her of the Royal College of Surgeons, London, II rad uate
from one of the most eminent Colleges In the United
States, and the greater part of whose life has been spent
in the hospitals of London, Paris, Philadelphia and
elsewhere, .ints-effeeted_ somool-the-most.astonishing
cures that were over known; many troubled with ring
ing in the heed and ears when asleep. great nervous.
nese, being alarmed at sudden sun tide, bashfulness,
with frequent blushing, attended sometimes with de
rangement of mind, were ciAked immediately.
TAKE PARTICULAR NOTICE.
Dr..T. addresses all those who have injured themselves
by improper indulgence and solitary habits, whicteruin
both body and mind, unfitting them for either bus mess,
study, society or marriage.
These are sonme• of the sad and melancholy effects
produced by early habits of youth, viz: Niilleakness of
the back and limbs, pains in the hohd, dimness of sight,
loss of muscular power, palpitation of the heart, dyspep
sy, nervous irritability, derangement of the digestive
functions, general debility, symptoms of ^onsumption.
AUNT/am—The foarlul effects on the mind are much
to be dreaded—loss of memory, confusion of ideas, de
pression of spirits, evil forebodings, aversion to society,
self distrust, loVe of solitude, timidity, be., are somif of
the evils produced.
Thousands of persons of all ages can now judge what
is the cause of their declining health, losing their vig
or, becoming weak, pale, nervous and emaciated, having
a singular appearance about the eyes, cough and symp
toms of consumptionr
YOUNG MIEN •
Who have injured themselves by a certain practice
indulged in when alone, a habit frequently learned from
evil companions, or et ...hoe], tile efforts of which are
nightly felt, even when asleep, and if not cured renders
marriage impossible, and destroys both mind and body,
should apply immedlattly.
What a pity that a young man, the hope of his court
try, the darling of his parents, should be snatched from
all prospects arid enjoyments of life, by the consequence
of deviating fmm the path of nature. and Indulging in
a certain secret habit. Such persons must before con
templating
MARRIAGE
reflect that a sound mind and body are the most no
eeasary requisites to promote connubial happiness
Indeed, without these, the journey through life becomes
a weary pilgrimage; the prospect hourly darkens to - the
view; the mind Lenience shadowed with despair and
tilled with the melancholy rehection that the happiness
of another becomes blighted with our own.
•
DISEASE OF xrarnumismE.
When the misguided-and imprudent votary of plea
sure finds that he has imbibed the seeds of this painful
disease, it too often happens that an ill timed settee of
shame, or dread of discolvery, deters him from applying
to.thoae who, from education and respectability, can
alone befilend him, delaying till the constitutional
symptoms of this horrid disease wake their uppearancol
much as ulcerated sore throat, diseased nose, nocturne,
pains In the head and limbs, dimness of sight, deafness,
nodes on the shin bones and arms, blotches , 6ll the
head, fate and extremities, progressing with frightful
rapidity, till at last the palate of the mouth or the
hones of the nose fall In, and the victim of this a wild
disease becomes a horrid object of commiseration, till
death puts a period to his dreadful suffering., by send
ing him to that Undiscovered Country front whence
no traveller returns."
It is a melancholy fart that thousands fall victims to
this terrible disease, owing to the unskillfulness of ig.
norant pretenders, who, by the use of that deadly poi.
eon, Mercury, ruin the constitution and make the m
ulatto of life miserable.
S'PRAN(AERS
Trust not your lives, or health, to the care of the
many unlearned and worthless pretenders, destitute of
knowledge, name or character, who copy Dr. Johnston's
alvertisements, or style themselves. In the newspapers,
regularly educated physicians, incapable of curing, they
keep yeu trilling month after month taking their filthy,
and Poisollollll compounds, or as long as the smallest feu
can be °ht.:titled, and in despair, leave you wills ruined
health to sigh over your galling disappointment.
Dr. Johnston is the only_ Physician advertising. -
Hie credentials or dipldmos always hang in his office.
Ate remedies or tnruttnent are unknown to anthem
prepared from a life spent in the great hospitals of Eu
rope, the first In the country and a more extensive
private practice than any other physician In the world.
iNDORSEM ENT OF THEPRESS
The many thousands cured at this institution year
fun year, and. the numerous important Bhrgical Opo•
intione perforined by Dr. Johnston, witnessed by the
rsportors of the "Bun," "Clipper," and many other
opera, notices of which have appeared again and again
bolero the public, besides 1110 at:totting as a gantlenian
of character and responsibility, isa sufficient guarantee
ea thif afflicted:
SKIN DISEASES SPEEDILY CURItID.
Persons writing sbould bo particular In directing
theft. Jotters to this Institution, In am following man
ner: JOHN M. JOHNSTON, M. D.,
Of the Baltimore Lock Hospital, Baltimore, Md.
May 2, 1802—ly
NEW SPRING GOODS.
• •
T amnow • mewing a large assortment of
Lnew and : elegant Spring goods, to which I respect.
fully call the attention or ,nv old friends• and - gusto.
Mors, and all in want of handsome and eheap.goods.
Particulars In nest wllehs paper. I will sell as cheap
as any store in the Iter4 - gh.
'-, CRAB. OGILI3Y Trustee.
April 4, 1062.
UDI BFLTt Or 1 .
lut Just received a large assortment of all elzes—.
Quin pelting, Gunillose, Gum •Patkingp&e., , and -for
wad oltoa
~p at the Hardware Store of
Juas.' 11. SAXTON'
.•
Wogtq.
THE SOLDIER'S LETTER.
flow Sweet when night her tnysty veil
Around the weary soldier thrown,
And twilight's golden skies grow pale,
And wooing wind. invite repose,
To sit beside tho watchflre's blaze,
Where friendly comrades nightly coma,
To sing the songs of other days,
And talk of things we love at home—
Of those we love, who list and wait,
Beneath the sumo benignant moon,
Thu postman's stop behind the gate,
With tidings from an Absent one;
And beaming smiles their thoughts reveal
And love is mirrored In their eyes,
As eagerly they break the seal,
Elate with joy and glad surprise.
But dearoO yet the shout that rings
In exultatlon;loud acid clear,
To hail the messenger who brings.
Letters from home and kindred door;
And 'neath the pale moon's smiling light
The soldier roads his treasure o'er,
And through the hours of silent night,
In dreams he visits home once more,
In dreams he sits beside the hearth,
Afar from camps and traitor's wiles,
And dooms the dearest spot nu earth
Where loving wife and mother smiles ;
And many a face almost forgot,
And many a word so fondly spoken,
Come flitting around the soldiers cot,
'fill the sweet dream, at morn, Is broken
0, ye who love the soldier well—
Bid him be hopeful, brave and goy;
Better he knows than you ran toll,
The perils that :Alen 1 his way.
Borne word of hope in battle's beer.
While striving with h vengeful foe,
lies nerved the soldier's arm with power.
To strike oi:ward the impending blow.
The soldier brave is often prone
'Po doom hilaGOif forgotten guile,
A wand.rer on 6rirth alone,
iiThen Mend.: at home neglect to write,
Then cheer him oft with words l'ke these,
And thus your deep affection prove;
Let every keel that ploughs the gene
Bear him some metaage full of love.
c gilliofrlinatrxwo
, • •
[From Templo Bar.)
MY PHILIP
There was a quick, sharp rap of the
postman at the door: Our village had
but one, and everybody knew him, though,
in the United States of America, "the
letter-taTfier," as he is called, has no
distinctive mark or blidge of office. Our
postman always seemed to sympathize
with his bundle of letters; .and he knew
us all so well, that he knew the contents
or subjects of our letters almost as well
as if he had been a clairvoyant.
I was expecting my brother on that,
day; and, instead of him, there came a
letter.
"Good news from William, I don't
doubt," said the postman, us he gave me
change for. Si XPellee,..talang ii6prinCe 7 f6t;
his fee for deliverinff ' the letter. (We
have not yet Come to the English fashion
of a free delivery of letters )
"Mete generally is good news from
brother," said I, smiling.
"William is a fine fellow," said he,
tightenin". r' the string on his bundle of
letters, and then he went on his way.
I remember thinking, what if he
should lose one or those precious letters?
What if he had lost mine? Why did ho
not carry them in a bag? How could
he risk such precious things? But they
all risk losing letters just the same way,
("or-to letter-carrier in city or village ever
uses any security for his parcel of letters
but a string, while he is distributing
them to their many owners
I went to read my news from brother,
whatever it might be. My mother was
in the large front room that looked to
ward the south; with my invalid father,
and I would not disturb him even with
my treasure. t'o I stopped in the room
which was dining-room, sitting room, and
library, in our cottage. I opened my
letter eagerly. I had not then learnt to
wait patiently, and least of all where let•
ters were concerned. I turned blind and
faint, when 1 saw where the letter was
dated.
"MEDWAY JAIL."
For some moments I in vain essayed
to read. My head swam, and darkness
veiled my eyes. At length l recovered,
and read:
"My DEAR SISTER.—You will be sur
prised when you see where my letter is
dated. Since I last wrote you, I have
had fair success in collecting the debts
due to father; and I began to be en
couraged, and to think I saw daylight for
us Three days ago I called on Mix,
wh'o keeps the tavern by the steamboat
landing. You will remember that his
was the largest debt owing to father
here.
At first he said he could not pay me
anything. Then he said he supposed the
night's receipts would be pretty good, as
the night-train on the railroad would
bring a good many fur the morning bout;
and they must stay with him, t'or the other
house was bad at best, and was being
painted now. Ile said he would_ give
me something on the debt in the morn
ing. I had intended to be at home on
the twenty-first, and it was hard to be
detained; but I stayed. In the morn
ing he gave me one hundred dollars, in
five twenty dollar notes. I made my cal
culations, and found that by giving up
my stoppages at two other place 3, I could
still be at home on the twenty-first. I
was 'so glad of the prospect of so soon
seeing.--you - mother,- and—our-dear
helpless-father, that I trembled with joy.
I trembled so much, when l was shaving
that I out my chin. After I was again
on my way, the blood came oozing, and
I, stopped- at
,tin apothecary's to get a
piece of court-plaster. It was near the
station, where I was to take the cars, and
a mile from Mix's tavern. I had-bought
the court-plaster, when I saw some stir•
gial instruments lying on the )counter.
They pleased me very 'much; , Ind as
father had told ;me I should have teiet
for collecting,. as soon as I -received a
hundred dollars, I bought them."
"I had a sort of misgiving,about the
money I bad got of Mist I did not be-
PaPINE rola isonm i4A,MHILIT GERG&M,
Hove that it was bad, but I wished to be
better satisfied than I was about it. 1
asked the price'of the instruments. They
were sold. There was a turnkey and a
lancet, valued at three dollars, that I
could have. I bought them, and ten
dered one of my twenty dollar notes in
payment. It was taken without ques
tion. I put the change and my instru
ments in my pocket, very glad to be set
at rest about the , money. I then went
over to the station; the cars started in an
hour, I was told, and I sat down to wait
as patiently as I could. Before half an
hour had elapsed, I was arrested for pas
sing counterfeit money. I was searched,
and eighty dollars, of the same kind I
had passed, were found upon me. At
first Fyn's horrified; but I sent immedi
ately for Mix, Scarcely doubting that he
would say he. had paid me tho money.
IHe refused to come, declaring that he
I had paid me no money; hitt saying that I
had paid him a bad twenty dollar note for
my night's lodging, supper and breakfast;
thus cheating him out of eighteen dol
lars good money. He said he would
meet me at the right time • and place;
that I was in good bands now; and that
he was busy.
"I am in prison, sister dear, and I
don't know what will be my fate. All
my money was taken from me by the
officer who arrested me, and I can do
nothing but let you know the facts. If
father were not helpless, he would be
able to help me; as it is, lie can think;
and some kind soul, I trust, will be able
to carry out his suggestions. Keep up
your courage, Clara.dear; and tell father
anli mother that I am cheerful in my
afflietion. Write at once, and tell me
what father says.
"Your loving brother,
"WILLIAm BENTLEY."
I-waited for my father to finish his din
tier, and then I called mother and showed
her the letter. Grieved and alarmed as
she was, she endured all, till my lather
bad slept his usual hour after his dinner.
Before I tell my readers what my
father said to the letter, 1 must say some.
thing of our condition. My father had
been a merchant in :Medway for many
years. lie was ruined by the credit
system that prevailed in our country.
After losing almost everything, ho came
to the village of Rosalba, where we now
lived. He bought the cottage in which
my mother was born. He paid one-half
its value and depended on collecting the
debts due to him in Medway and the vi
cinity to pay the other half. My brother
wished to' study to be a' physician, and
our uncle was considered the best medi
cal man in Rosalba, and in our poverty
he could very greatly assist us, by help
ing my brother in his education. We.
had lived two years in the cottage. The
first year we rented, the second we bought
We had le(the garden belonging to
the cottage for half its produce, and I
had taught school in sumingr;_and_tkus
With a very little money that my father
had collected, we were supported. We
lived in a hard, grudging economy, that
no one knew of, not even my uncle. He
was doing what he could for my brother;
more than we would have been willing
to accept from any ot:set. The spectres
always before us was thO half-payment
for our cottage, which remained to be
made. And we lost all if we did not
pay the remainder at a time specified,
and which was drawing near. We looked
to the success of my brother's efforts in
this collecting tour, to secure us the shel
ter of our cottae,),l9lne: Food we trusted
would come. The ravens are fed; and
we hoped; and looked forward to the
time when my brother should be a suc
cessful physician, as our uncle was now.
What a terrible blow had fallen on our
devoted heads! Our solo hope, our idol
ized William, was in prison, accused of a
crime, that if not disproved, might con
sign him to a penitentiary for years, and
blast his prospects forever.
My mother and I were wild with grief.
My father was quiet, but very sad. His
disease, which was palsy of the lower
limbs, caused by a fall from his horse,
had left his mind clear as when ho was
in health. P
"We must do what we can," said he,
"and be comforted that we know -Wil
liam is innocent. Now, Clara, you must
go to Judge Bixby. I will write a note
to him. lie will come here, and consult
with me, or he will advise me in.some
way. I have notes again 4 Mix for three
hundred dollars, beside the oue William
had with him, which was for two hun
dred and fifty. These notes are so many
probabilities against him. We moot have
some person to go to Medway."
I wanted to say that Philip Melwin
would go, but 1 dared not speak his
name. lie was a student, reading law
with Judge Bixby. He had paid' me
the attentions of a lover till my parents
forbade me to receive them. 11.1 y yarents
were proud of ancestry,--a pride that
Americans disclaim, but which They new
cherish They were proud of
forther position, and prouder than all of
the Puritan principles and practices of
their progenitors.
Now, Philip Melvin was disgramid from
his birth. He was an illegitituate child.
Mis mother was a simple country girl,
who had died of a broken heart soon after
his birth, and she had never revealed the
name of Philip's father. She had
,died
in an alrnshoutae, and there her boy re.,.
mained until he was Eleven- years old. A'
lady visited the house when he had just
reached his t 3 evunth birthday,-and asked
for Philip. -She wept bitterly, it was
said over the beautiful child, and then
she went to Judge Bixby, and from that
time ho became as one of_the 'children of
the good and wise judge: Philip proved
.worthy of all the care and education which
were bestowed on him with liberal ps
well as paternal kindness; but notivith•
standing ally he was regarded as one Who
before his birth had
"Fallon Into a pit of Ink
From which- the wide eea could not wash-him
chum again."
•
I believe I loved Philip all-the.better
CARLISLE, PA., FRIDAY; OCTOBER 17, 1862.
because everybody seemed to keep the
bitter fact of his birth in their 'memory.
He was nearly twentp_one yearS old.. I
was seventeen. I had never disobeyed
my parents, and I regarded my mother
as a superior being. I was retpired to.
treat Philip as a stranger; midi could
give him no explanation without wound
ing him more than I could ever bear to
wound him. Poor fellow! ri did not
doubt that he regarded his birth as the
mark of Cain upon him. Ho* could I
ever allude to the terrible fact? le saved
me from my troubld by a manly frank
ness, which greatly increased my respect
and ove for him. One day I . met him
in a lonely road, in the neighborhood of
the village: He stoppod me:
‘s,Glara,l' said he, "I have a word to
say to you "
The blood rushed to my face iu a burn
ing flood.
"You have said that you laved me,"
said he.
"I have," I whispered, hardly so as to
be heard.
"Have you changed?" said he.
"NO," said I, aloud, and with energy.
"Do you shun me of youi own free
will?"
"No, Philip."
"Your parents require it of you, and--
your brother also wishes you' to shun
me?"
"Yes," I said, bravely, and yet with
trembling.
"Because—
words
Ile looked at me appealingly. I an
swered his thought. -
"Yes, Philip, but 1 love you better for
your great sorrow. I love yoto better for
all the affliction Providence has -
permit
.,
ted to oorrie upon you."
"I thank you," said he, solemnly;—
"Clara, if we arc faithful to our love, our
,time will come. We shall be:` happy to
gether some day."
I was sileat.
"Do you not believe it?"
"I hope for it," I replied.
"Do not go yet," said he, a s I was
about to pass on; "do not go till you have
protuked me to be faithful to this love."
"I can be faithful only to my parents,"
said I, bursting into tears; "but I will
never love any one but you, Philip, un
less you forgot me. Now let me go.
"Our time will come," Bald be; and I
went on my way. • . _
I never saw him again., to speak to
him, till the day I went to Judge Bixby
with my father's note. I met him on
the way, and I stopped and told him our
great sorrow. 1 could not do otherwise,
for-my heart turned to him with the hope
of help.
"Go to the judge," 4 'l . will
be there by the time he harread and
considexed_your father's note.'
Judge BlibY read - the note, and was
very much d'sturbed-by it.
"This is very bad," said he. We
must.send-some-orre at -once-to-Medway:-
William must be released; Philip will go
to him. There he is now," said he, as
he saw him through the window. Philip
came in presently.
"Melvin, will you go to Medway to
night?"
"Certainly, if you wish it," said
Philip.
Judge Bixby took his pen and, wrote
for sonic minutes; then he folded and ad
dreised his letter without sealing it.
Then he turned to Philip, saying,
-t "You will go to Mr. Bently and get
the notes which he has against Mix.
Show this letter to him,' which I have
written to a- legal friend of mine in Med
way. If Mr. Bentley thinks of anything
mare that he wishes me to write, you
can return to me; otherwise, you had
better go on to Medway to-night. I
think-you will do well to stay at Mix's
tavern, and when you pay your bill'offer
him this note." He took a fifty-dollar
note -from his
.pooket and handed it to
Philip. "Ile lias been so successful of
late, ho may give you one of those twenty
dollar notes in change for this, if you
appear to be a stranger merely passing
over the road. Rascals are very often
fools,"
Philip and I Went out together At
the door ho said, "I wilt bid you goodbye
and hasten to your father. You can come
at your leisure. You may be sure I shall
do my best and you know for whose sake
I do it."
His words comforted me in my great
sorrow. I went home slowly, not wish
ing to arrive till Philip was gone. I
met him at the door. He took my hand,
pressed it in silence and went away. My
parents said little, and did not allude to
the fact that Philip had gone to Med
way.
I retired early, but spent the night in
sleepless agony. I prayed for my poor
brother in prison, and for all other prie
()pers. I felt sure that Philip would do
William good. I was glad to, find in tho
morning that my father hopetPlict much
good would result from hielefforta.
was Tuesday evening when: Philip, left,
He would arrive in Medway at two o'cleck
the next nwrning. ,By Friday we ought
to hear from him. The , day came,: but
no letter. I was indescribably miserable,.
and my father and mother wer& very
anxious. I could not speak freely,to - my
parents. The night previous 1 had passed
through an experience strange tOmiany,
but the like of it had happoned:toJne
several times. I could not::'speak of it
at home, arid my'hefirtiicenietliffellibik
ing that I could not. Fittaiy; deter
mined to go to Judge -1/4y - witOny.
secret. As thero was no pews froa, my
brother, I asked leaveto go.cdthe Judge,
ostensibly to make inquitioK ' • •
Judge Bixby seemed td Tity nie very
much, when I, came into his office.
"Have you _heard anything_ row my
brother?" said I.
‘,'Yes,. dear," ...said, be;: and then le
seemed sorry he bad made the admission
"The fact Miss Clara; we have. been
quite put back in our proceedings, but we
hope to have good news for you by Mon.,
day or Tuesday,—certainly by-Wednes
day." - "
" ho could not utter tho
I wished so much to tell him,my expe
rience, but I feared he would think me
crazed, or untruthful. But the necessity
to unburden my heart to some one con
strained me, and I said, "I want to tell
you Judge, what I saw last night. As
I lap in my bed, looking into the dark
ness, I saw Philip. I shut my eyes and
put my hands over them; but still I saw
Philip Melvin. He was in a large room,
in a kind of hotel; there was no lock on
the door, and he tried to fasten the door
with his knife; but 1 saw he failed to do it
effectually. The knife-blade brolr'b nearly
off, but the handle did not fall away. He
could not see this, but 1 saw it. And I
saw through the door, and saw a man on
the outside of the door, in the hall. It
was half-past two in the morning, as I
saw by Philip's watch. He took off his
coat and hung it beside a chair, and then
lay down in his clothes. Pre.4"ently he
fell into a heavy sleep. I felt perfectly
sure that a cup of coffee he bad taken
when' be camkin had some kind of sleep
ing powder in it. As he slept, I saw a
bad-looking man come into the room; he
had a complexion almost like a mulatto,
and only one eye. It was perfectly dark
in the room, and yet I saw him come in
as plainly as I had seen Philip before he
put out his light. He took Philip's coat
and examined the pockets; he took out
the pocket book, laid the coat again across
the chair, and then went out. 'Ali!'
thought I, 'my poor brother is ruined now;
for I anew that your letter was in that
pocket book, and I - supposed the notes
given to my father by Mix were there also.
.i. was in despair, but I followed the man
from the room; Ile had left his light out
side the door. Ile took up the light and
went to a distant room, and locked himself
in; I saw him take that fifty dollar note
from the pocket book; I read ',Merrimac
Bank' on it with perfect ease; then ho
,
tott your letter to that lawyer in Med
way, and read it, and then, holding it in
the candle, he burned it; he took out sev
eral other papers, but I did not clearly see
what they were. All this may seem false
and foolish to you, Judge, but I am sure
it all really happened. Something with
in me assures we that it is all true; that
it has happened to Philip Melvin, and if
you ever see him, -I believe he will tell
you so."
The Judge was reputed a sceptic in re-
Jigion, - and I feared very much I should
,get only his contempt for my relation.
When I had finished he said very kindly,
"All this is very strange and curious.
Mix has but one eye, and he has had the
fever and ague till he looks like a mulat
to. Young Melvin was here yesterday;
he had lost his pocket book containing my
letter to-my legal friend, also he had lost
the fifty-dollar bank note, which was on
the Merrimac Bank. Fortunately ho
.bad..ROf Mix!o-notes,.and some memoran—
da, in the lining of his hat. He came
back for another letter and farther in
structions. .He did not see any one in
Medway but ---- thre — citieTereir faVe rn' 'keeper
and a servant. He took the morning train
back, and I expect to hear from him:*
Tuesday. I had marked the bank note,
so it is probable the miserable man has
stolen a rope to hang himself, in taking it.
"Now, my little girl," said the Judge,
pleasantly, "if you see any more wonders
to-night, I hope they Wi I be pleasant ones,
I have had abundant evidence of the truth
of the facts claimed for clairvoyance, even
to the breaking of Philip's knife, which I
happen to know was broken as you said.
Tell your father that I have heard from
Melvin; that there is some unavoidable
delay; but that I shall expect to hear good
news by Tuesday."
It WaS not again clairoyaut ; but on
Wednesday evening my brother and Phil
ip Melvin came. We were all overjoyed;
but my joy was greatest, I am sure, for
Philip had brought him. Brother asked
Philip to stay to supper and my father
and mother begged him to do so, but ho
said cherfully, that he must go directly
to the judge, and give an account of him
self; and he left William to tell his 'own
story.
My brother said, " Mix would have
given us much trouble; for he gave out
_that the notes against him were forged.
But the rascal had stolen Philip's pocket
book. It had a marked bank-note , in it
for fifty dollars. Our lawyer set on© of
Mix's creditors to dun him very sharply,
and at last ho told him that he would
take fifty dollars for a debt of a hundred.
This drew forth the marked note, and
Mix is now shut up in my place. Search
has been made in his house, and in a
false back to his writing desk some thou
sands, in bills of the same kind that he
gave me, have been found."
Our great trouble was past; my broth
er had been honorably restored to i. 1 4-
But poverty was upon us like an speed
man. The little money that William had
been able to collect would do very little
toward paying for our home ; and besides
we were obliged to take it for our pres
ent. support. It seemed sure that we
mitSt loss our cottage, which we had,
named " Sunny Home." My parents and
William were greatly afflicted, but I had
ki_presentituent of coming help. Only
the day , before our home must be paid
for, or lost, Judge Bixby came to see my
father. '
g/ I have been,very sorry, Mr.-Bently,"
said he, " that no one has been, able to
loan you thst money. to_save your place.—
It is hard to be poor, and have all one's
friends poor:- I ton happy to tell - you[
now, at the eleventh hour, that one has
come forward to advance you the mon9y."
.My father uttered an exclamation of
surprise; my mothersaid, " Thank Ciod I"
fervently.
"But who will do this, judge f" asked
-my father.
." Onr young friend Philip Melvin,
who has just come ,into possession of his
father's property.- When Philip was tiev":.,,
len years old, his father died; On his
deathbed he told his mother of Philip,
and willed his.large property, to hire ;. I
was appointed the boy's- guardian; and,
as Philip was.twenty-one yesterday, .I deg
livered •up my trust. Philip will be ad. 4
mitted to the . bar soon. He has fine abili
ty, an irreproachable character, and a
larger property than any one in Rosalba.
If I had a daughter'to give in marriage,"
said the judge, regardless of my blushes,
"I would sooner give her to Philip Mel
vin than any man I know."
A spasm of mental pain passed over
my father's countenance. " Thank Heav
en, we are saved !" he said, " and only at
the expense of a false and wicked pride.
Judge Bixby, will you ask Philip to call
here ?"
" I will," said our friend.
That evening Philip came, and sat
alone with my father for awhile. Then
my mother was admitted to the confer
ence. " They both asked me to forgive
them for their pride," said Philip to me.
" I have always regarded them more in
pity than in anger. I have borne my
lot as patiently as I could and Providence
has been kind to me at last. Our time
has come, darling Clara "
"Thank Heaven !" said I.
," You have loved me for myself, Clara ;
and we shall be happy. Your brother
has treated me like his own brother since
the day we met in Medway Jail ; but he
has often said to me, ' Only mich afflic
tion can ever conquer my parents' pride
of family, and prejudices about birth.'—
And then William said, ' As if an infant
were to be cursed for the sin of those who
gave it life.' I repligd, 'to far as such a
prejudice can be made a preventive of
crime, it is just, and I bow to it for the
sake'of the intiocent.'—Now, Clara, since
we can leave your parents comfortable,
and in William's care, I wish to go where
no man will ever ask who were my pa
rents."
I respected his sorrow.; and I.said,
" I will go to the end of the world with
you, my Philip." And thus it is that
our graves will be far from those of our
kindred.
MUSIC AT Host E.--7-What shall the amuse
ments of the home be? When there is the
ability and taste, I regard music, combin
ing in happiest proportions instruction
and pleasure, as strnding at the head of
the home evening enjoyments. What a
nevez.failing resource have those homes
which God has blessed with this gift !
How many pleasant family circles gathet
nightly about the piano! how many dhome
is vocal with the'voice of song! The piano
is a great and universal boon and comfort - : -
One' pauses and blesses it, as he hears it
through the open farm-house window, or
detects its sweetness stealing out amid
•the noise of the town—an angel's benison
upon a Nyilderness of discord, soothing the
weary brain, lifting the• troubled spirit,
pouring fresh strength into the tired body,
waking to worship, lulling to rest.
Touched by the hand we love h mother;
sister,. wife.-.say,-is it not a-winisttatit•of
love to child, to man—a househould deity,
now meeting our moods, answering to
our needs, sinking to depths we cannot
failcOm, rising to heights we cannot reach,
leading, guiding, great and grand and
good, and now stooping to our lower wants,
our souls reverberating from its keys?
The home that has a piano, what capacity
for evening pleasure and profit has it!
Alas ! that so many wives and mothers
should speak of their ability to play as a
mere accomplishment of tho past and that
children should grow up looking on the
piano as a thing unwisely kept for com
pany and show!—J. F. 11'• Ware.
CAN A MAN MARRY HIMSELF?—The Dublin
courts have lately been presented with a sin
gular question for adjudication, via :
" Can a minister marry himself t" Their
decision was in the. negative. The allirma•
five contestant should emigrate to New York,
where not only a minister, but any man who
can bring two witnesses to the ceremony, pos
sesses that privilege as thoroughly as Adam
and Eve. England also seems to have been
agitated by the same query. A, short time
ago a young parson, who had become strangely
enamored of a Dulcineajust twice his age, and
so far from prepossessing that none of his
clerical friends would consent to do him the
unkindness of tying the knot, went to his
bishop, in Bangor (Great Britain), and asked
if it were lawful for him to marry himself.
" Discribe the lady," said the prelate, who
is somewhat famous for an Abernethy curtness
in his manner. The youth confessed who his
inamorata was, and repeated, " Can r marry
myself?" Sir:" said the bishop, in a sepul
chral tone—" can you burry yourself?" The
inamorata departed and let the matter drop.
Use AND CHOOSING OF SPECTACLES. —The
Scientific American gives the following rules
to know when spectacles are needed, and how
they should be selected:
1. They are needed when we are obliged to
remove small objects to , distance to see them
distinctly. ,
2. If we find it necessary to get more light
than usual.
3. If objects become confused, or there is a
kind .of mist. .
4. When the letters of a book run together
or appear double.
5. If the eyes are easily fatigued. o.
Injudicious use of glasses will prove inju
rious.
In Woofing glasses let a small, clear print,
be used, and choose those that will allow you
to road with ease, as in the natural state. No
parson can well select glasses for soother.
Select those in preference that are too young,
rather than those too old. In testing glasses,
observe wehther the eyes are mites ; some
times they require a different force glass. See
that the glasses be free from veins or watches,
the frames or bows light and elastic, 'and' that
they are set straight, before the eyes, not down,
on the noise. '
WH LEAIIN that George N. Saunders was en
abled to convince the Marshal at, Suspension
Bridge that ho was a " Cornish miner," when
he attempted to pass into Canada, by allow-_
ing - that official to his breath. The
Marshal had no difficulty in believing that he
was Corn-ish in fact, that he was habitually
corned.
SPICAKING•pf the exploits of a - celebrated
danoer at, a recent managerial testimonial,
Quitaboh, who has just returned from his
summer- wandering in setate of insanity, says,
regardless of grammar'and propriety,
that " the. fdatc she ---- dlipliiYid - were — not onljs
extraordinaiy; but the legs ditto." .
..OISE 148 r " ehami l e - orbase," whieh some
people are stupidenough (9,e - wielder s 7 defeat,
is eoneiderect by °fliers io`. he s, great_ a d va i,,,..
tags gaped by the Protestanteosk though it
4emoostrates.bettee than ever that the Pope
sang make blimders as well as' bulls; it, also
proves that hs is not *Oblate.
81 50 per annum In advance
$2 00 If not paid In advance
—__ •
Sir Isaac Newton and his Cata.
A human being, weighing a general
principle, must call up before his mind
all that is to ho said for and against it, as
well as say whether the weightiest rea
sons make for or against. And he may
quite overlook some important reason, on
one side or other. He may quite forget
something so obvious and familiar, that a
child might have remembered it. Or he
may fail to discern that some considera
tion which mainly decides his judgement,
is open to a fatal objection, which every
one can see is fatal the instant it is sta
ted. Was it not sir Isaac, Newton who
had a pet cat and kitten ? And did not
these animals annoy him while busy in
his study, by frequently expressing their
desire to be let out land in ? The happy
thought struck him that he might save
hiniselfthe trouble of often rising to open
his study door for their passage by provi
ding a way that should always be practi
cable for their exit or entrance. And
accordingly the great man cut . in his door
a large hole for the cat to go out and in,
and a small hole for the kitten. He
failed to remember what the stupidest
bumpkin would have remembered, that
the large hole through which the cat
passed might be made use of by the kit
ten too. And the illustrious philosopher
discerned the error into which he had
fallen, and the fatal objection to the prin
ciple on which he bad acted, only when
taught it by the logic of facts. Having
provided_ the holes already mentioned, he
waited with pride to see the creatures
pass through them for the first. time.
And as they arose from the rug befOre the
fire where they had been lying, and evin
ced a disposition to roam to other scenes,
the great mind stopped in some sublime
calculation; the pen was laid down ; and
all but the greatest man watched them
intently. They approached the door and
discerned the provision made" for their
comfort. The cat went through the door
by. the large hole provided for her; and in
stantly the kitten followed her through
the s'ime hole: How the great man must
have felt, his error ! There was no resis
ting the objection to the course he had
pursued, that was brought forward by the
act of the kitten. And it appears almost
certain that if Newton, before committing
himself by action, had argued the case;
if he had stated the arguments in favor
of the two holes, and if he, had heard_the
rhousemaid on - the other side, the error
would have been averted.—Good Words.
Its_The Ellsworth (Maine) American
tells of a recruit from an adjacent town,
who was importuned by hie friends to give
up the idea of going into the service, and
offered money to leave and get a substi
tute. He replied, "that he wouldn't take
a hundred—dollars for his,e,hange,,,'!„aud_.
wer lie Would: VMS . is the kind of soldiers
that will be invincible. One such man
is worth a regiment of the cowardly sneaks
who skedaddled- to -the- British Provinces -
to avoid being drafted.
A lad who lately went to service, hav
ing had salad served up every day for a
week, ran away because, said" 4,"They
made me eat grass in the summer, and I
was afraid they'd . make me eat hay in
winter, so 1 was off."
A portly young friend of ours the other
day contemplated for some minutes the
ponderous dimensions of a bystander's
feet, and then, in a tone of utter wonder,
said as he surveyed the man 's,upper works:
"You'd have been a mighty tall man if
they hadn't bent you offs() far up."
A lady refused her lover's request that
she would give him her portait. "AM it
matters not," he replied—"when blessed
with the original, who cares for the copy?"
The lady, both ignorant and indignant—
"l don't think myself more original than
anybody else."
nei..A man who owned a farm in ,Sao
ramento, California, during the late floods,
went to see if his fenoe was washed away.
He found that he had lost his fence, but
bad caught a fine two story house, which
made him a good deal better off than he
was before.
*Digby is of the opinion that the time
will shortly come when the rebels won't
bo so short of salt as they are at present.
They'll find plenty at the head of "Salt
River," where they are bound to fetch
up to a dead certainty.
A drunken Scotchman returning from
a fair sleep by the roadside, when a pig
found him and began licking his mouth.
Sawney roared, "Wha'S kissing me two?
Ye see what it is to be weal likot amang
the lasses!"
If any of our States or cities or coun
ties raise more than their quota of vol
unteers for this war, the surplus will be
credited to them by the Lord for the
eternal war against the devil, says the
Louisville Journal.
tus.Our custom and habits are, like the
ruts in - roads. The wheels of life settle
into them; and we jog along through the
mire, because it is too much trouble to
get out_of them.
.The wild boar is one of the most
dreadful animals in nature—except the
tame one, whose name is differently spell
ed and whose tongue does more damage
than the tusks of the other: ,
Many men endure misfortune without
daring to look it in the faco—like cowards
Who - Suffei; - themselves to te murdered
without resistance, by stabs fr'om behind. „
The man who is always buying merely
because be can bay at low rates, had bet.
ter commit suicide if ho happens to bid
poiion cheap.
• Always boquhath to your wife as much
money as you can, her second, husband;
coorfellow, - znay - not have a - cent in his
pocket.
. ,
M.Douglas Jerrold said—giTreason ie
like ,diamonds —there is nothing to be
made in it by small trade." • , . ,
09)..The young lady who took tho.gon
knnan'a fanoy hasreturned;-it with
Lanka. _
NO 42,