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♦, K. RIIIEERI, Editor & Proprietor.
VOL. H.
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ArLerteil NaVtvg.
A PARODY
LET THE LATHES BE ImAnD
Tell me, ye winged winds
That round my pathway roar,
Do ye not know sopa spot
Where batehelors come no more—
Some lone and pleasant dell
Where no moustache Is seen—
Where long-eared dandies never conic.
Ourselves and fun between I
There came a murmur from the distant sea—
A low, Bad tone, which whit:pared " tio sir-oe.
Tell nlti, then misty deep,
Whose billows round me play,
linow'st thou some favored spot,
Sonia island far away,
Where weary girls may find
A Teat from soft dough fares,
And hear themselves called women,
Nor likened to the graces?
Soon did the misty deep the answer give,"
By murmuring, 'Not while brandy smashes live
And thou, oerenest moon,
What language duet thou utter
While gazing on the gentleman '
Whose head to in the gutter?
Say, hoot thou, In thy round,
Gazed on some favored opot,
Where hots know not the weight of bricks
And where Holy are not?
Ilehind a cloud the moon withdrew in woe,
And In- italics answered, "No, no, not"
Tell me my secret soul—
Oh ! tell me, Hope and Faith,
Is there no resting place
From fops and beaux end death -
Is there no happy spot,
Where womankind are blest—
Where man may never rome,
And where the girls may rest?
Faith, Truth and Hope—best boons to mortals given,
Waved their bright wings and answered," Yes In
Heaven I"
pigalanto 11,5
DEATH AT THE ALTAR
A PHYSICIAN'S STORY
(coNcLuDEn.)
" Will you allow we to see my patient,
Mrs. Mansfield ?" I said at last, resolute
ly, "or I must wish you good evening."
" Oh, certainly, certainly, doctor!" she
said with some aspelity, for she could not,
fail to notice the air of • displeasure with
which I listened to her worldly cackling.
I was shown into a small room up
stairs, which the sisters called their own.
I found my poor little pet Clara with her
face buried in the pillows of the sofa, and
sobbing as if her heart would break. I
had little difficulty in eliciting everything
from her. I had attended her from her
childhood upwards, and had been her con
fidant and adviser in many a girlish sor
row. Now she was only too glad in being
able to tell some one her misery and re
pentance?
" And do you really intend to marry
this Sir Richard Burley?" I asked, when
she had concluded.
" How can I help it, doctor? He asked
me before mamma this morning, and
mamma looked at me so ; and then I was
angry because—because—l had written
twice to some one and had no answer—
and then mamma half-answered fur inc
and she took my hand and put it in his,
saying, 'God bless you, Clara, and may
you be happy!' What could I do? what
can I do? See what he has sent me,"
she added. Starting up and taking a
morreeeu case from the table, she drew
forth an emerald bracelet which must
have cost some hundreds. " Seel" she
said, holding it up to me, "is it not pret
ty! But I hate it, I hate him, and I hate
myself !"—and flinging the glitcring jew
elry aside, she again buried her head in
the sofa cushions. and wept.
"The only advice I can offer you r , my
dear Clara, is to wait. They cannot
force you- tä marry this man agaimst your
will."
" But they will," she continued: " 1
cannot help it. Mamma never leaves me
in peace, but is continually dinning in
my ears how proud and grateful I ought
to be to Sir Richard. I know they. will
make me marry him, If I remain here
Oh 1 why does not George come and take
me away, if he really loves me ?"
I started at these words Surely, I
thought to myself,',an elopement. though
objectionable as a rule, would be better
than this hideous sacrifice; and will) this
idea running through my• mind, i took
my leave of her,' telling her to keep her ,
heart up, and promising. to interest my
self in her favor,.and call again on the
ensueing day, -
It was now so-long past my dinner.
-hour-that I:resolved -to-forego. -- the meal
altogether, mid to take a chop with my
tea. I ordered the 'coachman to put ine
down in Clarges...street, and then sent
him on home. I 'found George Selby
much asII left him—stormy.-eynical, and
savage with himself and the world-
It
was in vain that I 'tried to console
him,
and hinted that if he took 'tho'race
in his•own hands the game was his own.
',Whati be' accused by . these. vulgar,
cits of running away with their daughter
for her ten thousand pounds l" exclaimed
George, indignantly. "No ! a hundred
times no l If the baronet likes to soil
his hands with their money bags, he may;
but as an officer and a gentleman, I wash
my hands of tle whole business."
" What even poor Clara ?" I asked.
George was silent; and when I went,
on to describe the poor child's grief and
despair, tears stood in his eyes and he
stopped me, saying—
" There, don't say any more, Doctor.
I'd rather go through the last hour at In
kerman, w:th ten thousand Russian rifles
and a dozen batteries sending their whist
ling messengers of death into our thin
line, than hear you talk of that poor girl.
By Jove ! l thouglq I was a roan, but
you will make a child of me if you go on
like this."
I could do no more, so left him and
returned home to solitude and my books.
The next' day I saw my fair patient,
Clara Mansfield. She was still in the
same low, despondent state, and seemed
incapable of making any exertion. IILr
wealthy old lover had been showering in
presents, which, while she loathed, she
had not—sufficient energy to refuse. It,
really seemed aq in legal phraseology,
she would let judgemenl go by "default."
Although she had no more tainting fits,
she informed me she had several times
been very near one. She scented to re
sign herself helplessly and entirely to her
mothef's guidance, and appeared to be
floating down the stream to her fate, what
ever it might be, without a struggle.
During. the following week I saw her
day by day Still the same gentle mel
ancholy, still the same uncomplaining
submission. I observed that on first en
tering the room she looked up anxiously.
almost hopefully, in my face. r well
knew what that look meant It said, as
plainly as words could speak, " Have you
any news from 11101? Will he not save
me from toy fate ?" Alas ! I had not
seen him. lie had disappeared without
leaving even a note behind him. -
It wanted but a fortnight of the ap
pointed day fur the marriage of Sir Rich
:lid Burley, Bart:, of Burley Ilan, &e.,
with Clara Mansfield, when my young
friend Selby again appeared. Ile called
on the 'in the evening abgut half past
eight o'clock.' 'laggard, pare; and thin,
he seemed first relapsing into the state
front which I had icscued him When
I attempted to feel his pulse, he with
drew his hand almost rudely ; neither
would he an , wer any que,tion about his
health.
" Never mind my body, doctor; pain 1
have plenty, !leaven knows, but it is not
that that troubles ore no:r." Then, after
a silence, (luring which he leant his head
on his hands, cn•rcealing his face front
my view, he said :
" Clara Mansfield reill Have ten thous
and pounds in her own right, will she
not r'
" I have reason to believe, SO," 1 said,
surprised at the question.
" And if I married her without a set.,
dement, it would be !nine, would it not?"
.Assuredly," I said, in still greater
astonishment. Could 1 have been mis
taken? Was George Selby really mer
cenary ? It certainly seemed like it.
" Do you think there is any chance of
her being happy with this man ?" he
asked.
" I should be sorry to say there was no
chance," I replied, " but I must conless I
see very little. Setting aside his aL;e arid
all other objections, I fear he is not cal
culated to make a kind or lovin« huband.
They say he ill used his first wife dread.
fully—even struck her ; and he was far,
very far from being a good character."
" Then I'll do it !" lie exclaimed, start
ing to Ins feet; "she shan't be sacrificed
to the old ruffian."
" Do what ?"
" Carry her •off to-morrow if she'll
conic. Do you think she will ?"
Now, although 1 was almost certain she
would go to the end of the world with but
the faintest encouragement from him, I
could not quite say so.
" I think its very likely," I replied.
" Really you must know her better than
I do."
" Do you think she would put up with
moderate means, soldier's fare, and that
sort of thing fur a year or two ?"
" I am sure she would, gladly. But
you have no necessity to inflict poverty
on her. With your income, your pay
and the interest of her fortune, you will
have some seven hundred a year; surely
you can exist on that without quite being
obliged to live in a cottage."
' l Hcr fortune I Don't speak of it. As
soon as it comes into my possession, (with
her previous consent, of course,) I wean
to take it round to &dog Square in a cab
—all in geld—and fling the money bass
into the hall. Then they will see whether
I married my darling Clara for her for.
tune. An original idea, isn't it, doctor ?"
and he laughed with something of his old
spirits.
, "Original, certainly," I, replied. "I
can't very much see the prudence of it,
however."
" And now I'm off to reconnoitre," he
said, shaking my hand. " Bribing
maids, inventing disguises, and all that
sort of thing you see in farces and come
dies. 'None but the brave deserve the
fair.' Adieu, doctor."
was picturing to myself the rage and
chagrin of Mansfield mere,when she should
discover the elopement of Clara with the
one-armed lieutenant, and chuckling• to
myself on the probability of the young
people being made happy, when a double
knock and a violent ring came to the
door, and A in stalkoa George Selby as pale
and-ghastly-ookinp; as - ti corpse.
" Good - Heavens! what,is the matter
with you ? Has the pain come on again
severely ? tet me mix you .a cordial."
I .was proceeding to do so when he mo
tioned me ti.) desist, and said—
It's alrover, thictor. They're gone."
(lone !"
" Yes, gone on the continent far'a fort-
night's trip, and won't be beck till the
da/before the wedding. 'That hoary old
`g , aL)R, FO2 Tmt dek,RaVr amiam.
scoundrel has gone with them. I've a
great mind to follow them and put a bul
let through his head," he said, savagely
I saw it all nuw. Mrs Mansfield had
set her heart on the match ; and knowing,
false mother as she was, Clara's love for
George, she had feared they might meet
and be reconciled. In that case she knew
full well, notwithstanding Clara's gentle
ness and docility, that no rock would he
firmer. Clara seldom said no, but when
she did she meant it.
And so they took the
, poor girl with
'the breaking heart to Paris, and only
brought her back the nightfefore the
.wedding. Determined to leav t o stone
i
unturned, I called on the eve' ing of their
'return to town. I was unable to see
Clara alone, but she gave MC a look which
I shall never forget—a look of earnest
:inquiry—a look which said plainly, " It
is not yet too late ; have you come from
him ?" Alas !he had again disappeared
;as before. Could I have finind him that
ek'enin g all might have been well. I
!could not, would not have allowed
. the
poor girl thus tqdown herself to misery.
At the risk of my pro fe ssional reputation,
1 myself would have enacted the part of
!the stage Abigail and been the medium
lot' communication. But it was not to be
so. Poor Clara saw no hope in toy face
Her look of eager inquiry changed to one
of reproach, and at. lakt faded into such
an expression of hopeless despair that I
could scarcely command my voice as 1
asked the few ordinary professional gm s.
Lions necessary.
My former suspicions received confir
mation, and when I. left I requested to
speak to 'lrs. Man Avid alone.
Madan], I hear your daughter is to
be married to morrow. Allow me stiong
ly to counsel, at least, the postpunment
of the! Ceremony
" Impdoctor !" she said ; alit he
arrange:nents have been made, the deeds
signed —everything is ready Besides,
dear Clara seems rather better to-day than
usual."
" I regret to say that I have observed
unfavorable symptoms. I fear-1 am al
most certain that there is organic disease
Not, I believe, incurable—or, even with
ordinary care, dangerous; but still I should
most strongly counsel a post ponincnt—
its excitement might be fatal. In this
case there is especial danger, too. 1 haste
reason to believe that, your daughter is
exceedingly averse to the marriage
Mrs. iNlansfield colored with anger and
stuitne. " Averse to the Marriage ! Ri
diculous !" she said. " I ant sure our
dear girl feels the highest respect and ad
miration for Sir liiehard."
" I ,have done my duty, Mrs, Mansfield.
I have told you that to marry your daugh
ter to-morrow is injudiciouq, and even
dangerous If you choose to act against
my deliberate advice, I have no power to
Prevent your so acting. On your head be
the con,equences of your emoluct
I could :-ce that the worldly woman was
SifilicWhat staggered by these words.—
I I owever, Mammon prevailed, and, as far
as ,be was concerned, I felt certain that
the marriage would take place as original
ly fixed.
The morning arrived—the morning of
that day which was to make Clara Mans.
field. Lady Burley. Notwithstanding my
loathing and hatted of the mockery about
to he enacted, I resolved to attend, not
from any con , ideration for the vain, world
]) mother, hut to he at hand in case of
the sudden illness of' my meek patient
.\s I walked rdok,ly down Regent street,
intending to turn into Hanover Square, a
hand was laid on my shoulder. I turned
and beheld George Selby, but now worn
and haggard He was enveloped in a
long military cloak, which, hoverer, could
not hide time emaciation of his frame Ile
looked even worse than when he first came
to consult me.
" A relapse ? No, doctor—not 4 re
lapse, I apprehend a relapse means a
return to a previous state. It is not so
with um. I never felt as I feel now.—
Even the nature of' the pain has chan
ged."
" You still feel pain, then, from the
bullet ?" I asked,
"The Russian bullet?" he replied,
with a sickly smile; " I don't believe it's
a single bullet at all. For the last week
I have felt as if I had the contents of an
ammunition wagon in my body. Serious
ly, dtmtor, I don't think I shall ever get
my company, for I am convinced I can't
live through a fortnight of such pain as
this."
I questioned him more particularly as
to his feelings—the site and nature of the
pain,'&c. When he had answered all my
questions, I was of much the same opin•
iou as hi: - self, for 1 felt almost certain
that the ball had induced aneurism of the
aorta—a hopelessly inourablo disease—
Should my fears be well founded, the
aneurism might burst at any moment,
and death would ensue almost instantly.
" Aro you going, to see the show, doc
tor ?" he asked, still with the same ghast
ly attempt at pleasantry.
" W hub show ?"
" Over there," he said, pointing with
his finger—" over there, at St. George's,
Hanover Square Come along, I see you
arc going. They can't push me out of
the church as they would out of their
house in Eaton Square.
In vain I attempted to dissuade him.
He would go, and we entered the church
together.
When we arrived the ceremony was
just about to commend!©.
My podr little Clara, 4v ,, lted out in all
'her costly wedding finery,'.and surround.
ed by groups of gay bridesmaids, was
there.• To icy surprise shoves composed
and quiet—never speaking unless ad
dressed: - and evetrthen the palelips would
'only murmur a monosyllable or two.—
Once .1 observed the color conic) rushing
to her face ; it wus when she recognized
my unhappy companion.
Their eyes met for one moment; then
the color faded slowly from her check.
and with an expression of sorrowful re
signation she raised them slowly to Rea..
yen._ Surely poor little Clara preached a
more teninc) sermon to George Selby in
CARLISLE, PA., FRIDAY, DECEMBER 12, 1862.
that exquisite bit of dumb show than was
ever thundered from a pulpit by any mor
tal preacher.
And now the service commenced. I
to o k my place by the side of Gerge Selby
until its conclusion. Clara performed her
part unfalteringly Though she spoke in
a low voice, she pronounced the response
firm:y. Before it was concluded, Selby
pressed his hand to his side and asked my
permission to go to Cavendish Square and
rest in my study until I came. He felt
faint from the pain he endured, he said,
and could not see the play out; he would
call a cab and leave at once. He did so,
and I now fixed my whole attention on
the bride. In order to observe her more
closely, I moved from my place to one
nearer to the altar. Though I could dis
cover but: little trace of emotion, I saw
with alarm that she became paler and pa
ler. Even her lips assumed an ashen hue
dreadful to behold. Still she continued,
unfalteringly, to play her part. Surely,
I thought, this cannot last. Something
'must go when everything—nerves, feel.
inns, the whole system—is strung up to
such a pitch ; she must—either weep,
scream, faint, or— My thoughts were in
terrupted by the bustle consequent on the
conelm,ion of the ceremony. Ail hasten,
ed around to congratulate the young wife,
and to salute her as Lady Burley. I, too,
approached her, and alarmed by her con
tinned deadly pallor, took her hand and
endeavored to find her pulse. Not the
faintest sign of pulsation could I detect.
I looked up in her face. Her large soft
blue eyes met mine. I saw in them that
which confirmed my worst fears. The
pupils were dilated till the whole iris
iceined occupied ; the effect was beautiful,
but to me it was a terrible symptom.
" Come with me into the vestry-room,"
I whispered, hastily taking her arm ; "you
feel faint?" .
As we passed across the channel the
bright inornim , sun streamed full on her
face; but though I child scarcely bear
the glare, it seemed to have no effect on
those soft blue eyes. As I looked in her
face I observed that the pupils were wide
ly dilated ; the same soft languishing ex,
pression might be seen in their blue
depths.
"Bun and call Mrs. Mansfield!" I said
to one of the bridesmaids, who, alarmed
by the deadly pallor of Clara, had accom
panied us into the vestry. " Quiek,.she
is fainting l"
I felt the increasing weight of,her arm
on mine, and caught her as she tell to
wards "1 . 6. Producing a small! case of
powerful medicines which I always car
ried with me, I hastened to 'do ull in my
power to restore her from her swoon. In
vain. I then endeavored to bleed her,
but no blood would flow. The large blue
eyes still gazed calmly upwards to heaven,
but saw not. The lips were parted as if
she was about to speak, but neither sound
nor breath came from them.
At this moment Mrs. Mansfield, with
several other ladies, hurried in.
Good gracious !" exclaimed the affec
tionate tYlainina, " Clara has fainted; one
of those dreadful 'nervous attailks' she is
so liable to. Is she coming round, doc
tor ? The carriage is at the: door, and
Sir Richard is impatient."
She did not seem at all alarmed—theee
"nervous attacks ' were so common,
1 looked once wore into the soft blue
eyes befOre me. A slight, a very slight
film had begun to gather over them.
" Is she coming round, doctor ?" asked
Mrs 3lansfield; impatiently,
I rov from my knees, and dropped the
cold hand I held.
" nA m," I said, slowly and distinct
ly, " yowl. rmun !ITER IS DEAD"
• * * -*
And what of my poor friend—the one
armed lieutenant
My fears were but, too well founded.—l
of mind. the constant irritation I
and pain caused by. the Russian bullet,
bud caused aneurism of the aorta. I
knew that, death [night occur at any mo
ment—any excitement or cxertion might
burst the sac—and all would be over; but'
I did not imagine for a moment that the
catastrophe wou ld be so terribly sudden-1
so dreadfully coincident with the death
scene I had just witnessed.
I returned home immediately after I
had ascertained that my unhappy patient
was beyond human joys and sorrows.-1
When I entered my study a dreadful sight
met my eyes. Gorge Selby was seated in
an easy chair facing the door. His head ‘
had fallen back, and his eyes, fixed and
wide open, seemed to glare at me. A
perfect torrent of blood had escaped from
his mouth and completely saturated his
drug and shirt-front. I ',knew at once
that all was over—the aneurism had burst,
and death must have been instantaneous.
I was powerfully impressed by these
two awfully sudden deaths. For aught I
knew, George Selby might have expired
at the self-same moment as Clara—cer
tainly during the same half hour. I had
been pretty well familiarised with death
during my thirty years experience, but
this was very terrible—both so young—
both so lovable—both so unhappy—and
now both dead—one from a
." Russian
bullet," the other froma "broken heart."
Commonplace Women.
Heaven knows how many-simple let
ters, from simple minded women, have
been kissed, cherished, and wept over by
men of far loftier intellect. So it will
always be to the end of time. It is a
lesson worth learning by those young
creatures who seek to allure by their ac
wmplishments,-- or to dazzle by their
genius; that though he may admire, no
loan ever loves a woman for, these things
Ile hives War for whet-is essentiallydis
tinct from, though not incompatible with
'heal—her woman's nature and her heart..
This is why we so often see a man of high
genius and intellectual power pass bpi the
Ito taels and the Corinnes, to take unto
his bosom same wayside flower, who has
nothing on earth to make her worthy, of
him, except that she is. what so few of
your " female celebrities" are—a true
woman.
EFEEME
FOR THE LITTLE FOLKS
The Hold Soldier
There were once twenty-five little pew.
ter soldiers—all brothers. They had all
been melted out of an old pewter spoon.
They stood straight up, had their eyes
looking straight before them, and held
their guns in their bands all ready to
make an attack on the enemy. Their
uniform was beautiful, of yellow, red, blue,
and green.
The first word they ever beard in their
lives, when little boy lifted up the lid of
the box in which they had been sold and
were now lying, was " Soldiers !" lie
took them all out carefully and stood them
up on the table. Every one linked like
all the rest. But lam too fast, for there
was one exceptiob. lie had but one leg,
and looked as if lie had lost one of his
legs in battle But this is not the way
he came without it. Ile was the last
soldier made, and there was not enough
pewter in the old spoon .to finish him --
If the spoon had been a little larger he
would have had two, like his twenty-four
brethren. But his one foot was hi
enough for two, so that he could stand up
as well as anybody else.
On thi same table where — they were
standing there were many other things
which children love to play with, One
which struck my attention very much
was a little paper castle. One could look
through. its windows into the little rooms.
Before the castle was laid a piece of look
ing glass to represent a beautiful fish
pond, and around it were little trees that
were painted green. On the pond, you
could see quite a number of swans; they
were made of wax.
" All this was very pretty to look upon ;
but the prettiest of all was a little girl
that stood in-the castle door. She was
cut out of a piece of paper. She wore a
pink dress, and wore a very nice ribbon
over her shoulder, then came down and
doubled around her waist. ller dress
came very low down to her feet, and then
the little lame soldier hinted to his Ci)
rades that as he could only see one of her
feet. he did not believe she had more
than one leg like himself.
She would be a good wife for me,"
he said to himself. " But she is a little
aristocrat, perhaps. She lives in a castle,
and the onlj house I have in this big
world,ln this box, which, in truth, be
longs to my twenty-four brothers as much
as it does to me. It would not, be a
home to suit her, I know. Still, I will
endeavor to make her acquaintance."-=-•
Then he tell over, and crept behind a
snutf-box that lay on the table. This was
a t.t.ood position for him to take a tine
view of the young lady in the castle door.
When the evening came on, all the
other soldiers returned to their box to go
to bed, and all the people iii the city put
out their lights and went to bed. Now
the playthings commenced to play. They
played hide and seek, and ball, and t',x
and geese, and many other such games
as all youne. b people love. The soldiers
marched about in their box and tried to
get out. The nut-cracker struck a g lass,
and the top Jumped down on the box
where the pewter soldiers were. ho
much noise was there, that the canary
bird could not sleep, and so he woke up.
beganlie to sing, to drown the noise
around him
The only two thirkgs that - did not make
a great noise were the little lame, soldier
and the little girl in the castle-door.
The clock struck. twelve. Suddenly a
sharp rap was heard on the top of the
snuff-box. It flew open, and out jumped
a great black beetle. Ile walked boldly
up to the lame soldier and said :
" L wish you would keep your ey:s to
yourself." But the soldier looked as if
he did not hear anything, and kept on
gazing at the little girl in the castle-door.
Then the beetle said
" Never: mind, wait till to-morrow
morning."
The beetle wanted to impose on the
lame soldier because he was lame, so ti'e
little warrior said to himself. "If lam
lame, I can take care - of myself. I am
just as nature made me, and it' I am not
as handsome as other people, that is no
body's business but my own"
The nest morning came. The chil
dren were all out of bed, and were be
ginning to think about their games and
playthings again. For some reason or
other, thti lame soldier was seen standing
in the window. L suspect that the bee
tle had something to do with getting him
there. All at once the window went up,.
and the poor soldier fell on his bead,
down on the hard stone pavement, three
stories below. if was a dreadful jour
ney ; and he found himself standing on
his head, with his bayonet sticking in the
plaster where two stones were joined.
The servant-girl and a little boy ran
down at once to hunt for him. Although
they were almost treading on him, they
could not see him. Had he cried out,
" Here I am !" they would have been able
tcrpiek him right pp. But ho did not
find it convenient to spetill loud, and so
they did not find him.
Now it began to rain. One drop came
down quick after another, until the street
was almost swimming., When it was over
two street-boys came trudging along.
" Soo there !" said one; " a pewter
soldier, who is going to take a sail, if we
can make him a good boat."
And they made a little boat out of a,
piece of newspaper, and put the poor de
formed soldier. in it, and then launched
the ship into the gutter. What waves !
What a heavy tide there was ! The boat
rose Up and went doWn with the sea.—
When the gutter turned, it turned with
it. By and by grew. the sailor gre. seti-sick _;
Witt yet_
- lie persevered, kept his eyes
straight before him, and . held his musket
in his arm. Ho *Mild not be discouraged.
Ho was treated badly by his enemies, he
was unfortunate in his profession, he was
turned loose in only a paper boat in a gut
ter, and might be . shipwrecked at any
time. But he kept up his spirits and
would not be discouraged.
,
The gutter gni! dark, and .went right
under ono of the , streets.
," I wonder
wh it is going to become of me now," he
said to htwst lf. " All this in owing to
my enemies. But I am a soldier. I
have enlisted Ihr the war, and will not be
discouraged."
At that moment there came out a great
water-rat, that lived in a house beside the
dark gutter.
" Have you a passport ?" he gruffly
asked, " Out with your passport, or I
will put you in prison."
But the lame soluier kept quiet, and
held his musket in arm ready fur good
service. The boat shot forwards again,
arid knocked the rat off his duck into the
water.
" Catch him catch hint ! Ile has not
paid toll; he has cheated the government;
he has got no passport. Catch hint !"
So shouted the rat when he trot on his
dock again. But he was too late.
The stream grew more violent all the
time. Far off ahead the soldier could see
daylight agai,n. tie would soon be'• out
in the fresh air once more. But he heard
a rustling sound that was well calculated
to [mike the stoutest heart tremble in fear
He was approaching a waterfall. Ile
held On to the boat as fast' as he could ;
and down it went—now under the water,
then up again, and then grating against
the rough' stone shore. But the boat was
sinking. The paper was wet through
and through, and would have sunk long
ago if th.t two boys had not lined it very
well with orange peel. Just as the boat
was going down to bottom, and the sol
dier was going down with it, a great fish
came along and swallowed him up. Now
it was dark; enough with him—far worse
than it had ever been before, Hut still
he kept bold and earnest, not desponding
and giving up, as many others would
have dune under similar circumstances.
The ti:ih swam here and there in every
direction. Finally, it was still and quiet
as a robin's egg the 'nest. Little sol
dier could not tell what, would happen
next. Suddenly a stream of light came
down upon him. Now he knew every
thing that had taken pltee The fish had
been caught, and ihe cook was dressing
it. " A pewter soldier!" the cried out ;
and holding it in her hand, ran with it
into the parlor and showed it to the peo
ple. A little girl begged it, and alter
'straightening it out, stood it up on the
table. What strange things happen in
this world ! The little one-legged pewter
soldier was standing on the same table
that it had stood on when a young soldier
just going to the wars ! But it had been
bold and stout-hearted ever since.
There was the same little girl standing
in the castle•door.. 'The little soldier
emked at her, but they said nothing
A little naughty boy took him up, and
cast him into the fire. This was the
hardest trial yet. llis colors faded away,
and his one leg began to melt. But he
was bold to the last, and he held.his mus
ket in his hand until his body was melt
ed, too.
A wealthy lady saw it all, how bold he
was to the !ast. So she took the little
piece or shapeless pewter out of the tire
and carried it to a jeweller, who was or
dered to cover it with gold, and change
it into a beautirul breastpin, and set it
with diamonds.
And fur many, many years the little
soldier, because he had always been bold
was covered with gold and diamonds—the
admired of all eyes.
A Modern Castle of Udolpho
This is the age of discoveries, and one
of such a startling nature has just been
made in an English county that it seems
out of place in the region of sober tact,
and to belong to the atmosphere of the
three-volume novel. Here are the cir
cumstances; the names for the moment
lam not at liberty to indicate. The
Earl of married not long ago, and
brought his bride home to one of the old
tinnily mansions which members of the
English aristocracy regard with an affec
tion amounting to veneration.
The lady, however, being more contin
ental in her tastes, after a short residence
in the apartments appropriated to her up,
expressed a wish to have a boudoir in ,tlte
vicinity of her bed room. The noble
earl would gladly have complied with her
request, but, upon examination, it was
found that the rooms, as sometimes hap
pens in antique buildings, were so awk
wardly distributed that by no conceivable
plan' of rearrangement could the desired
boudoir be fitted in. Thereupon it be
came necessary to invoke professional as
sistance, and an eminent architect was
summoned from London. Ile examined
the house narrowly, and said there seemed
to be nothing for it but to build one, though
at the same time he could not resist the
impression that there must be another un
discovered room somewhere in that wing
of the mansion. The noble earl laughed
at the idea; the oldest servants and retain
ers of the family were questioned, and
declared that they had never heard a ru
mor of its existence. The ordinary meth
ods of tapping, &0., were'resorted to. but
without effect. Still the architect retain
ed his conviction, and declared himself
ready to stake his professional reputation
on the result. The earl at last consented
to let the walls be bored, and, when an
opening had been made, not only was the
room found, but a sight presented itself
which almost defeats attempts at descrip•
Lion. The apartment was fitted up in the
richest and most luxurious style of a hun
dred and fifty years ago. A quantity of
lady's apparel lay about the room, jewels
were scattered on the dressing-table, and,
but for the,faded aspect which everything
were;llie chamber might have been ten
anted half an hour
. previousis, .0n ap
proach:lr, - the bed, ) most. curious sight - of
all was seen, and this it is. which affords
the only clue to the mystery. The coach
held the skeleton of a woman, and on the
floor, underneath the bed, half
out,--lai—iinother -skeleton; that of a - man
firesenting evident-traces of violence, and
proving that, before he expired in that
position, he must have received some
dreadful injury. .
The secret - connected with this tale of
$1 50 per annum In advance
t $2 00 If not paid in advance
blood has been well kept, for not merely
had ali tradition of the scene faded away,
but even the existence of the room itself
was forgotten. The survivors probably
walled up the apartment at the time, and
its contents remained hermetically sealed
up till the present day, when according
to the best calculations; after the lapse
or a century and a half, daylight has acci
dentally penetrated this chamber of hor
rors.
A short Catechism for Deniodrattis
Quention. Who was the General to receive
negroes within his lines, and to refuse to re
mund to their rebel owners'.
Arivrer. Gen. Butler, a Democrat.
Question Who was among the first men
to take ground in favor of confiscating rebel
property, and using the negroes for military
purposes?
Answer. John Cochrane, a Domooratid
Congressman from New York, now in service
of Ins Country.
Q Who was the first military Comman
der, under trio war power, to issue a proola
tion for the unconditional freedom of the
,hives?
A. Gen. Hunter, in South Carolina, ad
old Democrat.
Q Who first gave orders to shoot on the
spot the fir.t man who would attempt to tea'
down the American Hag?
A. Uen. John A. Dix, a Democrat.
Who hung the first offender for thud
tearing down the fag?
A. Gen. Benj P. Butler. a Democrat.—
fie hung Mumford in New Orleans, for tear
ing down the flag on the U. S. Mint.
Q. Who hung the rebelsin Arkansas foV
treachery towards his troop ?
A. Gen. G. N. Fitch, recently a Demo
cratic Senator.
(2. Who were among the most zealous ad
vocates in the Senate of using the negroes for
military , I .turposes ?
A. Senator Rice, of Minnesota, and Wright
of Indiana, both Democrats. The former
quoted English precedent for raising colored
regi anent s.
(,) %Viten a Cumberland Senator last win
ter at Augusta, in the Senate Chamber, ex
ultingly asked, Where is the officer who will
lead a regiment of colored troops, who WWI
the man to respond by rising?
A Cal Frank S. Nickerson, of the Maino
Fourteenth—a Democrat.
Q. Who are among the foremost men in
the Empire State, to urge the use of slaves ag
ce would use other property, in putting
down the rebellion—by putting them to any
u-c that can be made available ?
A Daniel S. Dickinson, and Richard Bus
teed, Iwo of the most prominent Democrats
of the State.
Q Who was the first actually to raise
colored regiment ?
A. Geoerol hunter, a Southerner by birth,
and a Democrat.
"Q. Who was the first who proposed to lead
a colored regiment to the field, and sharo
with them:the trials and dangers of bottle?
A. Gen Sprague, the richest young man
in New England, and the Democratic Govern•
or of Rhode - Island.
A MATRIMONIAL LEGEND.—One night,
a maid in the parsonage of Wreckholm,
before covering the fire, made as was her
custom, the sign of the cross Somebody
laughed beside her. She turned round
to see who it was, but her companions
were all asleep. The noise came from a
stone in the chimney which the sexton
had dug up when making a new grave.
The parson, wanting a hub, appropriated
it. Next day, they made inquiries about
the flagstone, and old people in the vil
lage related the following story
Three hundred years ago, a pious mail
named Melchoir was parish priest of
Wreckholnt. Every night before going
to rest, he retired to the church to pray,
caring neither for bad weather nor cold.
But his wife was not of the same opinion.
" Coining in at two o'clock in the morn
ing, and getting into bed like an icicle
on a winter's night—l've no patience
with him ! Good Father Petrus never
indulged in such vagries." But here
her conscience struck her. Father Pe
trus was the last Roman Catholic priest,
and a celibate, while Melchoir had done
womankind a good service—was the
father of eighteen -children—she was his
third wife, and if he• hadn't married her,
she might have remained an old maid for
ever. So, repenting her severity, she
called the servant, Lars, saying, "Dis
guise yourself as a ghost to frighten your
master when he goes out tonight, and
I'll give you a jug of beer." Lars dress
ed himself in a white sheet, and placed
himself in Melehoir's path.
On seeing the ghost, the pious man be•
gan to pray, and while he prayed, Lars
sank slowly into the ground, " Who are
you ii" asked the parson. Receiving no
answer ho prayed once more, when, sink
ing to the waist, the man cried out,
" 6 Master, it is 1, Lars," " Too late,"
exclaimed Melehoir; " your heart, from
which proceeds yoUr sin, is already under
ground." Then, giving the wretched
serving-man a crack on the head with his
prayer-book, he sank beneath the earth
—turned into a flagstone. The peasants
erected a cross,on the spot, and there it
still stands. The parson's wife was of
the noble family of,lkoriie (squirrel )
She was buried
_in thei church-yard of
liatuna, yet her corpse cannot turn -to
dust, though her coffin and winding 7 sheet
have long since mouldered away. Not
only she herself will not decay, but the
arm of her brother ) which lay next to her
coffin, became hard as a stone, while the
rest of his body fell to powder. You may
be sure that when the family (not my
friend's, but a former priest's) heard this
tale, the sepulchral flagstone was sent to
its own place that very day before night
lall.—One Year in Sweden. -
ttigt... With four metallic qualneations,p,
man may be pretty sure of worldly success
—they are gold' in his pocket, silver in
his tongue, brass in his face, iron in his
heart.
0€9... The difference between a fish and
the husliand of a vixen, in that one
always in gold - water and the other in hot.
Re' In reading pull's oirgravestones,we
can only hope that the dead are not spoiled
by flattery.
rm,..He Who despairs- without having
reason for it, will very soon have•a r9a•
son for it.
it Those ladies whb are all, sunshine
take us in storm.
El
NO 56.