s,arrtgil gothltj.
Pray What do they Do at the
Springs.
I=
Pray what do they do at the springs,
Thu question is easy to ask,
But to answer It fully my dear
Were rather a serious task. •
And yet in a bantering way,
As the magpie or mocking bird sings;
I'll venture a bit of a song,
To tell what they do at the springs.
Imprimis, my darling they drink
Thu waters so sparkling and clearl
Though the flavor le none of the best,
Thu odor exceedingly queer,
But the field Is mingiod you now
With wholesome medicinal things,
Bo they drink, and they drink, and they drink,
And that's what they do at the springs.
Then with appetites keen as a knife,
They hasten to breakfast or dine,
The latter precisely at three—
Thu former from seven till`nine.
Ye gods what n rustle and rush,
When the eloquent dinner bell rings,
So they eat, and they eat, and they eat,
And that's what they do at the springs.
Thou they stroll In the beautiful walks
Or 101 l In the shade of the trees,
When many a whisper ia,,heard
That never Is heard by the breeze,
And hands commingled with hands
Bev rdless of conjugal kings
o they Mit, and they tl rt, and they flirt,
And that's what they du at the tieing',
The drawing rooms now tire ablaze
And music is shrink I' g away,
Terpsichore governs the hour,
And fashion was seder so gay.
An arm ran nd a tapering wa'st
lloW closely and fondly It clings,
So they waltz. and they will to, and they waltz,
And Chars what they do at the springs.
In short as It goes in the world
They eat, they drink, and they sleep,
They talk, they walk. :Ind they woo,
t They sigh, they la ngh, and they weep,
They read, they ride. and they dance, .
With other unspeal,:ilde things,
AO" they pray. and they idly, and they ply,
And that's what they do at the springQ.
~a,r cltn.~.~~i.
THE YOUNG BARON OF LIE
BERACH.
A great many years ago—some hun
dreds, for aught 1 know—there lived a
proud and puissant baron, named Ho
dolph von Liel,erach, in whom a great
many of the virtues, and all the vices, of
his race seemed combined. His lifi! was
passed in his castle, in a sort of semi-bar
barous retirement, except when foreign
wars called gun abroad ; and the sudden
change from the' bustle of the field then
made him sombre and gloomy fur many
weeks at ti time. In his youth he had
spent much time abroad, and had for two
years served in the armies of the Greek
emperor, at. Constantinople, in whose ser
vice he haii'won muds honor, but little
reward. While in the capital of the
Eastern empire he had seen and loved the
fair daughter of a certain Greek noble at
tached to the court, and when he proffer
ed her his hand, her father and the em
peror compelled her to accept it, because
they feared to offend the rude Frank war
rior, thoteds she loved him not. But,
alas, what a change for her !
About a mile from the city, a luxurious
villa stood on a rising ground overlooking
the Bosphorus. Spacious gardens stretch
ed from the house to the shore, perfumed
by We surrounding orange groves, and
shaded by the citron and olive trees which
overhung the calm water, as if longing to
kiss it. A fountain played in the centre,
and arbors at every' corner invited to ease
and retirement, while the nightingale sang
all day Icing in the branches overhead
The rarest plants and flowers of Europe
and of Asia grew side by side, and in
every sight and sound there were music:
and beauty. The interior of the house
Was in keeping with the garden. Gorge
ous tapestry—couches radiant with gild
ing, and covered with the richest silks
which Venetian enterprise brought front
the mysterious East,—busts of the an
cient philosophers of Greece, and of the
early martyrs of Christianity—piles of
manuscripts richly illuminated, and writ
ten by cunning hands—small marble foun
tains to cool the but winds front the desert
—verandahs in which the inmates might
sit at eventide to inhale the refreshing
breezes from the wAtee; and hear the
barking of the dogs, the laughter of chit
drenband the song of lovers from the far
ther shore , —met the eye on every side.
Here the youth of Agatha Kale was pass
ed. Site was the only child of her fath
er, and he was a widower. She had been
carefully educated by an old priest, who
had retained a large leaven of the ancient
philosophy mingled with the doctrines of
the Christian religion. Plato and Pyth
agoras had shared his attention with Paul
and the early fathers. He had not fallen
into any of the extravagancies or corrup
tions which time and foreign infloeuce
had mixed up in the bosom of the church.
Be had too much of t!qt fine sentiment of
the beautiful to let one gross thought pass
between him and the objects of his love
and adoration ; but he had in hint too
much of the pride of philosophy to be
come d missionary or a martyr He was
a priest because it gave him opportunities
of indulging his love of literary research,'
without coating in contact with any of
the common cares and passions of life;
but he had little of the ardor of devotion
which reigned_ amongst the common pers.
pie. fie was its-fact born out of his time,
and spent'many an hour in bitter regrets
that it had not Men to his lot to mingle
in the •solemn groups who a thousand
years befbre had sauntered in abstraction
amidst the groves of the Academy. Ile
undertook the task of Agatha's education
with joy; it pile him an opportunity- of
moulding. .a human being after his own
metal image—to rcprodnee his own
thoughts, and aspirations, and regrets in
almind.to-which everything was new.-
Teaching was not to him the weary drud
gery which so many now regard it, but
an art .Which Socrates had ennobled.—
Under_lis tuition Agatha grew up - all he
could, wish her, refined, speculative, fond
of reading, and prone to doubt, but hold,
ing all that she-embraced with tenacity,
and defending irWith Subtlety. She grew
up a model' of Greek beauty—that beauty
which had lent inspiration to the .chisel
of Ptiziteles i . and the pencil of Apelles,
a thou Sand years before, when Greece
was lir its prime, and which' then,,ind
eyer singe, has been continually reprodu
ced; as if it clutrg tolho ' "SOU; when "Hi
mg Greece" is no more. The high arch-
VOL. 63.
A. K. RFIEEM, Editor & Proprietor
ed head, the lofty forehead, the straight
nose,•the thin delicate lips, the energy.in
the lines of the mouth, the smouldering
fire in the soft light of the dark eye,
bridged over by brows black as ebony,
the swan-like throat intersected by veins
" like streams through fields of snow,"
the graceful, wavy outline of the figure,
which 114 d never known an hour of con
straint, and the soft, white roundness of
the, arms, were ail Greek. The priest
Demetrius took care the intellect should
be Greek too. Every evening, from the
time when she reached her fifteenth year
until her marriage, the old man tottered
into the garden two or three hours before
sunset; and, sitting in the arbor, with a
volume of the Republic, or the Phrcdo
open before them, they talked over the
anticipated Christianity of Socrates, the
sweet souled piety of Cimon, the patriot
ism of Epaminondas, and examined the
fabrics of speculation which had in later
years been built upon the Gospel, until
the sun 'sank into the blue waves of the
.Egean, and with his last rays turned the
waters of the llellesPont into gold. Da
ring the last year they were together,
their conversations assumed unconscious
ly a tone of• sadness. Hire calatnitie's
were han g ing over them. The Turks had
conic down from their mountains, fiery
and fanatical, and threatened to beleaguer
the imperial city, and extirpate the Chris
tian faith. Strange Illinois were abroad.
The emperor held councils by night, and
from these Agatha's father returned mix
ions and thoughtful. What if their
dreams and happiness should end under
the scimitar of the barbarian, their faith
in their own doctrines be rudely tested
by torture and violence, and their names
added to the long list of martyrs ;111(1 eon
fe‘sDrs ! From this time their conversa
tions,, as well as their thom(hts, turned
more nrion themselves—upon the disci•
Pline of their own In arts—more upon
their feelings and less upon opinions and
doctrines. They were often sad and
tr;irful, but oftener far, hopeful and cour
ageous. .flie old prie-t had not lived so
long a life, with great thoughts and great
examples constantly before him, without i
being able to rise to the level•of the heav
iest misfortune or calamity ; and his pre
cepts availed so well, that at length, amidst
the wars, rumors of wars, rears, ;ind tnis
givings which agitated all hearts in the
great city, the only spot where calmness
reigned was the summer-house of the
senator's garden.
Thus matters stood, when the sorrow
ful morning arrived on which she was
arrayed in bridal dress, and stood before
the altar to he united for life to the Latin
knight. Demetrius married them. His
strowy -- beard — se me to - quiver air Iris
chest, and his voice faltered as he pro
nounced the church's blessing on their
heads. II is farewell was calm and solemn
On that evehing the bride and 'bride.
groom were rowed on board the galley in
the harbor, and Agatha, standing on the
deck, saw the palaces and spires of Con-
ALoitinople, and the vine-clad hills above
it, slowly fade from her view forever.
When the honeymoon was over, her
life in her husband'strastle baiatne weary
enough. lie was not a man after her
heart; their tastes were not congenial.—
The summer brought pleasant walks in
the woods, and rambles along the banks
of the neighboring stream, but neither
summer ncr winter brought bark the
sunny skies and loved friends amongst
whom her youth had been passed. They
had one son, born the second year after
their marriage ; and when he was but
three years old his {tither died suddenly.
Time wore on. Agatha was becoming
an old woman, and Hugo her son a young
Marl. Ile had reached his nineteenth
year; was skilled in martial exercises of
the Germans, and well taught in all the
lore of the Greeks, generous to a fault,
ardent in his love as in his hate, fiery
and proud. She died before he had at
tained his majority. When she was on
her death-bed she called him to her side,
and gave him a box, containing a small
phial, informing him that it was the gifi.
of a certain Jewish rabbi, whom she had
once succoured when pursued by a mob,
and who, 611 giving it, had told her that
if the liquid it contained were drunk by
her, or those nearest and dearest to her,
when in their greatest earthly need or
peril, a way of deliverande would ' be
speedily pointed out to them. With a
romantic trust in the marvellous which
was quite in unison with the enthusiam
of her character, she had preserved it
carefully, and never having been placed
in such a position herself as in her opin
ion to call for its use, she bequeathed it
as a legacy to him whom she most loved,
and in whose path most snares and dan
gers were likely to lie. In some petty
wars which followed he was driven from
his ancestral domains, and placed under
the ban of the empire for taking part
with the burghers of an adjacent town
- arr dust the nobles. For several days lie
hound shelter in the cottage of one of his
vassals; but at last, fearing to involve his
faithful follower in-,danger, ho left his
retreat, and sallied forth to find aid and
refuge where lie could the wide world
over.
After undergoing various toils and 114 X•
ieties and passing through sundry' hair.
breadth escapes," ho arrived in Paris; and
fur awhile, with characteristic thought
lessness, abandoned-himself to all the dis
sipations of that metropolis, which was
then, as now, the gayest and most frivo
lous on earth But his funds were--soon
exhausted. Those who at first smiled
upon' him, in deference to his birth and
his romantic career, began to look on him
coldly, or avoid him, and he' was at last
driven to cast about for sonic couese, of
life that would'aticird him the means .of
subsistence. -ll was ono evening mus
ing mournfully in his lodgings upon' his
~~~
position and prospects, when he bethought
e hirn of the phial, and coining to the con
clasion that he could never be in greater
straits than he was then, he drank of its
contents. Ile instantly fell into a deep
sleep—a sleep as deep as death—and saw
a vision. Ile was walking, or dreamed
ho was walking, alon , b a broad avenue
bounded on each side by lawns of iirpass
ing verdure. The gntirled oaks, green
with the mess.of eenturrie, threw their
broad braaches across the path, and streak
ed it with shadow. A refreshing breeze
sighed .gently through the leaves, and
played amongst his hair, and at a little
distance a brook ran parallel with his
course, and, though bidden from his view,
murmured gently and musically in his
ear. In the trees overhead birds of the
rarest plumage sang in strains of more
than earthly melody, without a single
pause, and it seemed - to his enraptured
senses as if there was hope and courage
in every note. A greateful perfume seem
ed to prevade the atmosphere.—And far
away in the long vista a bright lake ap
peared 'dancing in the sunshine, with
water-fowl of snowy whiteness gliding
gently and graceful aver itszurface. Ile
was enchanted. His blood coursed swift
ly through his veins; his heart throbbed
with rapturous excitement. It seemed
as if he could never grow tired of wan
dering here.
Ile walked on thus the greater part of
a day, but to his astonisnment he at last
began to perceive that he was making no
progress. The lake seeneted still as tar
away as ever, the same trees grew by his
side, the same brook murmured in his ear,
and the same birds sang ()vet:head. Little
by little he found all those features of the
scenery which had at first given him so
much pleasure begin to pall upon his
senses. The perfunie• seemed to sicken
and enervate him ; the voice of the birds
sounded heavy and dull. Ile longed,
wearily for a mountain side, with a clear
prospect, a refreshing. breeze, and where
at least he would Lind the fruits of his
Libor in making colon progress uu his
way, and weetinig some eliluge or scene.
Pondering over th'e time he had lost, an d
the strange position in. which he found
himself, lie sat down upon a nos-y stone
by the way-side. Absorbed in reverie, a
vuire whispered in his oar, clear as a
trumpet, but he knew not from whence it
came. The lone seemed to be his own
but he had nut opened his lips. In en
ergetic accents but mournfully, reprov
ingly, and persmolingly, it seemed to
say :
Thou art, treading, in a perilow4 path.
Delights arc on either side r C thee, Ina
d:in A et; and destruction are ever in frnt.
-Turn boldly •to the rig,ht, , ,--paNs through
the wood, follow the road that leads up
yon hill, and at the tup thou shalt find
rest and peace."
Rising in obedience to a sudden im
pulse, he pushed boldly fm ward in the
oirection which had been indicated to
him. lie soon found himself in the
highway. Great numbers of men were
travelling along the same road. Some
were strong, vigorou4, and hardy—a Bush
of hope, courage. and ardor in their cheeks
and their eyes ever looking upwards
Others seemed faint and weary, as if they
were unused to the work, and tottering
feebly seemed ever prone to lie dawn and
rest, and think 110 more of aseendin: , .—
And, alas ! at, every step were the pro,-,
trate ftirins of those who had fallen and
perished with the smile of expectation
on their lips, and manly vigor in every
nob. Some appeared to have sunk only
after a long struggle and had left heavy
footprints in the dust ; and their features
- had scarcely yet lost the scowl of the
combat, and settled into the dread com
posure of everlasting "rest. But others
seemed to have fallen almost without an
effort,—terrible wracks, like
These last'formed by fir the greater
number. Hugo prayed inwardly to be
preserved from such a fate, and now that
lie travelled in company, and that the
oyes of ninny were upon •liitn, he deter
mined to strike them by the fiery impet
uosity of,his onward march. But the as
cent was steep and rouged, the sun shone
fiercely upon his head, and upon turning
round to look 14 sympathy lie saw no
look of pity for his faltering steps, and
received no offer of aid. All were intent
upon themselves. Wearied and disheart
ened, he at last sat dAn by the wayside,
and, leaning his head upon his hand,
wept bitterly.
While in this predicament; those with
whom he started upon his journey passed
on, leaving him behind -alone Ile aban
doned himself to despair ; a black curtain
seemed to hang betweert him Lindthe fu•
tore, shutting out all hope of rest and
peace. He raised his head, half-mechan
ically, and glanced vacantly along. the
road he had traversed. A figure ap
peared in the distance approaching rap
idly ; a little nearer, and 'Hugo's atten
tion was rivotted upon it. It was a man
in the prime or life, tall and athletic in
appearance, and bearing in his face every
niatk of great internal strength. A
broad and open — fOrehead, on which
thought had ploughed some furrows, was
`half covered by• luxuriant hair, which
waved carelessly in the fitful breeze that
now anti then blew up the valley; There_
was fire in his dark eyes, subdued by
many a year of meditation and watchingl
in "the thin nostrils and firmljr•set mouth
there were traces 'of energy which had
gathered fresh strength with every relkof
time, and now seemed to hurl defianetriit
the world and .at fortune. llis figure
was such 'as the
,sculptor would love to
copy. TherM were united. all that collec
tion of exceildneies in each part
~whieh
are said never, to have been seen together
'save in the statues of ,the anciont artist
"Ships that have gone down at Fen,
When heaven OILS all trannollity."
*(1i$111r:
CARLISLE, PA., FRIDAY, JULY 17, 1863.
—the sinewy limbs, the broad shoulders
and expansive chest, that seemed able to
fling off the heaviest load of grief that
ever fell on mortal man, with one impet,
uous heave. There was no sign of
tering in that rapid stride and firm tread
which seemed to claim the ground they
measured for their own, and nu backward
shrinking in the lofty glances that was
ever fixed on the bill top, save when he
looked hastily and half carelessly aside,
as if to measure his progress. Onward
and upward he came, and at last stood
for a moment silent and thoughtful be
fore Hugo. At length he passed over,
and. laid his hand on his shoulder:
"Young tnan, thou art wearied and worn,"
said he; '•but knowest thou not that delay is
death ? He who lingers here, goes backward."
"Leave me, I pray thee," said lingo, "and
continue thy wa), friend. I can go no fur
ther."
"Nay, I will not leave thee; I have been
as thou art, and have overcome toy weak
ness; I have gained all my present strength
'from striving, and now find it holy and joy
o is to be strong; by persevering here, I have.
gained the power to pe.severe farther; by
daring I have found my hopes fulfilled.
Come on with me ; I will teach thee to dons
1 have -done, and then thou-shah become
such as I am. (in the swum tof yonder
hill, all the brave, and wise , and g ood, who
have, since the work' began', battle d for truth
and justice and humanity, and died for them,
await our coming. It needs no brilliant ex
ploit to qualify thee for admission to com
mune wnh them. 'rimy heed not thine a
lolities, but thy courage, dune aspirations,
and thine acts. All that thou doest r do well:
march right onward, ittol let not this: dread
weariness any longer detain thee. Shed no
more tears on the barren wayside: keep them
for the sorrows and weaknesses of others,
and they shall make the ground beneath thy
lee( blossom as the rose. A rb.e, and let us
go; ir hen thou are weary let thy i out-age a
vail thee. ll' thou bast none, thou art not
worthy of' the goal to which Own_ altirest.'
Anus lingo awoke, anti beltuld it was a
dreamt.
Fifty years afterwards all Ohl malt died in
Paris, a priest of great reputation. The
poor wept in croivds out-Cele the door way,
and followed him sorrownig. to his grave.
The learned said a star was gone Iroin the
constellation 'of genius and intellect, and
even the lelormers, alio declaimed against
the It nraiii.t clergy, extolled his virtues,
his piety, faith, hope, and charity, and said,
"Would that all wme like him!" •,
Newspaper Patronage
This thing called newspaper patronage is a
embus thing. It id cutop,tso.d ul as many
colors as Ow rainbow, and 18 as changoble
as a clounolPllll.
(,)iii2 man subscribes for a newspaper and
Fats itir it in advance, he, gnes home and
reads it Guth Ilie pimp! sa,t i kt,tiffii that .t k
lie 11,11(1A In lan adv,riis,ment.
asks the price anti pays, furit. This is news
paper pattunage.
Another man says please put toy name on
your list ol subscribers ; and he goes La with
out as much as having said pay once. Tittle
passes your patience is exhausted, and per
haps he papa, and perhaps not.
Another man has b•am a subscriber along
time. Ile becomes tired - oh you and %Valli
eliange. Thinks he wants a city paper.
Tlll5 the postmaster to discontinue, and one
I his papers is returned marked "refused."
Pcying up for it is among the lust of
thoughts ; besides he wants his money to
to sencLto a city publisher.
Alter a time you look over his account and
see a bill "balance-due," But does he pay
for it cheerful and freely? We leave him to
answer. too, is new:paper patronage.
Another imiri Nees [mar you—never took
your paper —II is too, small—don't like the
editor—don't like the polities—too \\*biggish,
or too teimetlibig else—yet goes regularly to
his neighbor and reads his by it good li re—
finds built with its contents, disputes its pcsi-
Lions, mid ipiarr_tls with its Vito,: Occasion
ally sees nii article lie likes—gives halt dime
or begs a number. This 100, is newspaper•
int truflae.
A no' lier I.ports a fine horse or perhaps a
pair u: always seen with whip in
hand or spur on foot—single inanno use
Igor him to take a newspaper—knows enough
Finally he concludes to get married—does
so—Sends a itotice of the fact wi.h a ''please
send me hall dozedlMpies.' This done does
he ever pay for notice or papers 7 No,
But surely you don't charge for such
things." 'lhit4, to-, is newspaper patronage.
Another man (bless you, it dues us good
to see such a wan) conies and says the year
for which I paid is about to expire, and I
want to pay- for another. Ile does, and re
tires.
Reader I isn't newspaper patronage a cu
rious thing? Aud in that v:reat day when hon
est men get the reward due to their honesty,
which, say you, of tilos- enumerated above,
will olua n that reward ? Now it will be seen
that, while certain kinds of patronage are the
very lile and 'exist-nee' of rt-nswsp per, there
are certain other kinds that will kill a paper
stone dead.
'FROM GAY TO GRAVE, FROM LIVELY TO
SEVERE:I—Some malicious wretch thus paro
dies one of Shakspere's grandest efforts—
" All the world's a stage," etc.: -
A ll ahe world's a lie—
A mighty, jolly, and enormous bouncer ;
And all the-int:it and womon-merely liars.
They have their "rbite lies," and their nig
ger whoppers,"
And one man in a day tells many crams.
According to his notion. There's the school
boy,
Who s iys he's sick when ho has played old
hookey,
Then there's the lover, sighing.like tke 'bob
lows. • •
Then comes the soldier, who kills men and
eata 'em
As he would larks.. And then the fashiCilna
_
hie lady, _ ' •
Reading the, papers in her rocking chitir.
Then comes the broker, shaving nowt; and
charging
Like a mad trooper. Then the grocery-man,
Who lives by selling roasted corn colli4,
Sand for sugar, slafesTor coril, and can4heno
For cognac brandy'. Then the brigadier,
Who; . knowing nothing of thwart' orwar,
Leads men to slaughter, just Co give,bim prito-
• ties.
To these succeeds the oyster.cellai; critic,
Who swears Miss bin - Thins sings like 15Ia-
dame Grisi, .
All?oni, Jenny Lind, and .(inerabella-- 7
The whole four nightingales rolled up in one;
Rut aeon thi lie'S found out, and he is left'
*Sans • wines sans oysters kids and opera
tickets.
1
TERMS :--$1,50 in Advance, or $2 within the year
BATTLE CRY OP FREEDOI+4I.
Yes, we'll rally round the nag, boys, we'll roily once
again,
Shouting the brittle cry of freedom,
Woin - 11 Tally from the hill side we'll gather from Ihe
plain,
Shouting the battle cry of freedom
CHORUR.
The Union forever, hurrah boys, hurrah I
Down with the traitor, up with the star;
Whiff! we rally round the flag. boys, rally once again
Shou Aug the battle cry of freedom.
We are springing to the call of One Hundred Thous
and more,
Shouting the battle cry of freedom,
And we'll fill the vacant ranks of our brothers gone
befort,
Shouting the battle cry of freedom.
CHORCS. —The Union forever, etc.
We will welcome to our numbers the loyal, true and
brave,.
Shouting the battle cry of freedom,
And al the' he may be poor he shall never be a slave,
Shouting the battle cry of freedom.
Cuonua.—The Union forever, etc. •
So we're springing to the call from the East and
from the West,
Shouting the battle cry of freedom,
And we'll hurl the rebel crew from the laud we love
the best,
Shouting the battle cry of freedom.
Oloat7a.=ThOlitdon forever.
A Most Graphic Account of the
Great Battle
[Correspondence of the New York World]
HEADQUARTERS ARMY OF POTOMAC,
July 3-71 I'. M.
The sun of Austerlitz is flat more
memorable than that which is just fling
ing its dying rays Lver the field o f this
the third day of successful battle. The
victory won by General Meade is now s o
decisive that no one in this army pretends
to question the rout and demoralization
of th 6 Rebel army under General Lee.—
he battles on Wednesday and yesterday
were sufficiently terrible, but in that which
has raged to-dhy the lighting .Thne, not
only by our troops, but by those of Lee's
army, will rank ii) heroism, in persever
ance, and in savage energy with that of
W a t
Tlin position of lice at the close of last,
evening was such that he was forced to=
day to reduce all his energies into one
grand desperate and centralized attempt
to break through our army.
iA divisions were so much cut up as
to render a pitched battle from wing to
wing one of awful hazard. The dilemma
was a terrible one, and that the Rebel
commander fully appreciated all its risks
is evinced by the desperation of his on
set to-day. Friday mourning found our
army reinforced The reserves or the
Siktlf Corps General Sedgwick, and the
Twelfth, Gen. Slocum, had arrived and
taken up strong positions. At the last
hour our troops were ranged in line along
the Eintneasburg turnpike and the Taney!:
town road. The engagement began by
an assault of our troops upon some rifle
pits on the extreme right, which were
left in the possession of the enemy last
'1 heir fire was returned by the
Rebels, and the fighting immediately be
came general.
Until nearly noon the battle raged
without intermission, but with no fuss to
us, when we finally obtained possession
of the rifle-pits—the Rebel force which .
had previously held them retreating
The firing then slackened, but at one o'-
clock was renewed at different points
along the line with a fierceness premoni
tory of the terrific engagement that en
sued. Several charges were made by the
Rebels and feints, their troops falling
back after the first rush in every part of
the field, except•that held by their forces
under Gen. Ewell, who was seen to con
centrate the infantry and artillery togeth
er, and who soon opened a murderous fire
of cannon on our left centre.
Then the engagement began in earnest.
The firing became a continuous roar;'
battery after battery was discharged with
a swiftness amazing; yell on yell from the
Rebels succeeded each gust of shot and
shell, untill the valley—overhung with
smoke, from whence those horrible sounds
issued seemed alive with demons. It ap
peared at times as though not a foot of
air was free•from the hail of missiles that
tore over and through our ranks, thinned
but not shaken. Our men stood the shock
with a courage sublime—an endurance
so wonderful! as to ' dim even the heroic
record of the baud that fell upon the
acre of Tourney. 'l'hec rpsag .inst which
this deadly lire was mainly directed was
the Second, the position being command
ed by Gen. Hayes.
The .artillery fire continued without
intermission for three hors, when sud
denly having been formed under cover of
their own guns, the helm! troops were
hurled against our lines by their officers
in masses the very tread of whose feet
shook the declivity up which ,'
,they came
with cries that might have caused less
dauntless troops than those who awaited
the onsent to break with terror. Not a
'man in, the Federal ranks flinched from
his position. Not an eye turned to the
right or left in search of security. Not
a hand trembled as the long array of our
hei'oes grasped their muske4 at a charge,
and waited the order to fire. On and up
came the enemy, hooting, crowding,
showing-their-very—teeth in the venom-
Of their rage until within thirty yar - da - Of
our cannon. , - -
As the turbulent mass of gray uniform,
of flashing bayonets and gleamino• b eyes,-
lifted itself in alust leap barWardahnost
to the very mouths of our guns, a volley
of sbut r -sliell„shrapnel and bulletit went
crashing:, tfirough . it, it as a
_scythe.
Its overwhelming'onward, rush was' In
the next instant turned to the hesitating
leap forward 'of a few soldiers more: dare
devil' than the rest, the Wild bounding
upijards of more than a ..few mortally
wounded:hobroes, and thn succeeding
haeltward surge of the disjointed remain.
Ider, whiiih culminated in a scamper down
the slope that was in some instances ro
tarded by the pursuing bullets of our
men.
The carnage of this assault among the
Rebels was so fearful that even Federal'
soldiers who rested on their arms triumph
ant, after the foe had retreated beyond
their fire, as they cast their eyes down
ward upon the panorama of deaths and
wounds illuminated by the sun that
shown upon the slope before them, were
seen to shudder and turn sickening a
way.r-
-l rv,
Then the Third and Fifth Corps joined
in the fight. As the Rebels rallied for
an instant and attempted to make a stand,
they were met by such combined volleys
as threatened to reduce their columns to
fragments. The panic, which ensued is
unparalelled in any battle in which the
Army of the Potomac has ever been en
gaged.
.The enemy quailed like ewes before a
tempest. Their main line again receded,
but numbers palsied by the homir and
tumult, fell upon their knees, upon their
breasts, upon their faces, shrieking and
lifting up clasped hands in token of sur
render and appeal for mercy. General
Dick Garnett's brigade surrendered al
most entire, but Garnett himself, by the
aid of two of his men succeeded, though
wounded, in making his escape. Long
street, who led the reinforcements which
enattled the Rebels to make their second
bri?f stand, was wounded. Tho musket
ry' firing slowly ceased, and the discharge
orartillery continued fur a brief period, but
even these reverberations filially died
away.
• General Meade was not deceived in
anticipating another onslaught. Lee's
columns were collected and reformed with
magical haste. Within an hour what
seemed to be his whole force was again
amassed directly in our front, where the
contest once wore opened. The assault
this titne was made with a fury even
surpassing that of the first. it would
seem as if the entire Reberariny bad re
solved itself into a gigantic Forlorn hope,
and bore in its collective bosom the etin
sciousness that the effort now made was
the last and the only,one that could be
made toward retrieving the fortunes of
that army, "or preventing the inevitable
disgrace which hovered over it.
It. is said by Rebel prisoners taken in
the latter part of the engagement that
this charge was led by Zee in person.—
The prestige of his name and presence
could certainly not have added to its
power or enthusia.un. Yet the cool and
gallant phalanx which, secure in its
position and vonfident in its loader, wait
ed with a silence only bini - en by the oc
casional roar of artillery the approach of
the foe, and viewed it as calmly and met
it as unfalteringly as before. Back, as
easily as a girl hurls the shuttlecoc::, did
the soldiers of our gallant army hurl into
chaotic retreat the hosts that came on
and on, over the stones and ditohes, over
the bodies of fallen comrades, piling its
deal in heaps and nicking the soil o ver
w hieh it trod ghastly and alive with strug
gling wounded.
The lirin array of Union soldiers which,
previously remaining stationary, - now bent
furward'to a charge, and became a pursu
ing Nemesis to the hordes that in great
numbers went reeling westward through
the streets of Gettysburg, and beyond, as
the brave troops of Reynolds' corps went
through the eastward on the previous day
bur. one.
The victory was secure.
It was a victory won not without sad
dening losses -sadder in their compara
tive extent, perhaps, than those which
have chilled the nation's heart so often
before to day. Of our actual disasters in
killed and wounded it is now impossible
to make a just estimate. The same is
true orthe-Rebels, though it is positively
known from the appearance of the field,
from the, acknowledgment of Rebel pris
oners themselves, that it is far greater
than our own.
The number of prisoners taken by us
was between 10,000, and 12,000. The
Rebel Gen. Arnold was killed. Among
our wounded were Generals Gibbon and
Webb, slightly, Generals Cauldwell, Han
cock, Doubleday, seriously, and many
minor officers. The enemy's list of dis
abled is known to include an equal num
ber of officers of high rank. As 1 write
our cavalry are out on the flanks of the
retreating foe, harassing him with great
success A reconnoissance has this in
stant returned from the front to ascer
tain the position of Lee's army which is
believed to have begun preparations for
its final retreat.
•
NOT A TRUE FRIEND
Mr. Haley moved into a small village
not long ago. lie is a gentleman of pre
possessing appearance / ofraro intelligence
as the slight intercourse ho has already
had with the people of the village has
shown. Ho was, on his arrival a stran
ger to all in the village except one—Mr.
Petkio. This ghtleinan and Mr. Haley
had been schoolmates, as, he said, and a
firm friendship had existed between them
since-their school .days. -.Though
had boon separated; acorespondenoo - lied .
been kept up - betweenthen ' anti the?'
had occasionally met. Mr. Haley hat
decided now to settle in anus
it was Mr. Pei kin's• place of residence', for
the pleasure ho thought_ a renewal of
their former,frondship Wthild'affard.
. Some weeks . after. -Mr. Haley had .be
come settled„Nr. Petkin happened in
one.ovening,- Where several of the village
people were colleeted -at a . Aacighlior's/
the emirs° of conversation; some
,one
mentioned Mr. Haley, - :the new '.comer.;
for, in a little village , -everybody knows
everybody and sail about iierybodrii bug
ness, and—soriletimeivtt little litoie;—
.
Some One expressed warm commendation
of him as to his pleasing manner's and in
telligence, and thought they were very
fortunate in hating 'gained such a neigh
bor. Some of the young ladies praised
his fine looks, and thought he would be
such and acquisition to picnics and sleigh
rides.
Mr. Petkin assented to all these praises;
said he was a man of remarkable intelli
gence, a man of pleasing manners—whets
he chose to be !
" He is a friend of yours—an intimate
one, I believe," some one said addressing
Mr. Pitkin.
NO. 2S.
" Oh yes," he assented, "we have been
like brothers from boyhood. I know him
well. lie is a fine man, an estimable
man, an agreeable man, bt;t for one thing
—though I have no trouble with him my. ,
self on thatescore—l know how to man
age him. You can never feel any free.
dom in conversation with him on account
of one infirmity."
" What is it ?" from two or three young
ladies, in surprise and curiosity.
".no tell I" from one or two older ones, '
which expression was not so much an
entreaty to relate as it might seem, taken
literally, but an exclamation of astonish. ,
ment.
" Well," said Mr. Pitkin, with appar ,
ent reluctance, "the infirmity to which I
allude is one of temper. He is so irasci•
ble, so much under the influence of his
temper, that intercourse with him
rather a risky piece of business; at least )
with those with whom he is familiar.—•
You have to handle him as carefully as
you would loaded fire-arms—be as eau.
tious of causes of offence as you would of
sparks in a powder magazine, for he will
some times fire up unexpectedly, upon
the slightest opposition.
"Du fell the old ladies ejaculated
again ; sonic of the younger.ones—"What
a pity wouldn't have thought it." .
"fis true, 'tis pity—pity 'tis true,"
sighed Mr. Pctkin—"Anger is madness
with my friend, for under its influence he
will say and do things which he would
not in a sober state of mind, and for
which he is sorry when the fit is off, no
ble and generous man that he is at heart;
but he has estrangedlis best friends by
this infirmity, which groW.4 out of a strong
love of approbation. He cannot bear the
slightest shade of disapproval; in a word,.
vanity is at the bottom of the matter—a
very harmless thing, generally, except
when it becomes so inordinate, as in his
ease."
" Mr. Petkin gays he is a true friend of
flaky," said Jane Ashly, after he had
gone : —".l must say, his ideas of friend
ship lid! far helow my standard."
" Yours," said her cousin, James Allece y
"is no doubt drawn from sonic die-away
novel, where a friend wants to run into
all sous of unnecessary scrapes, and per
haps strangle himself to prove the undy
ing fervor of his friendship."
'No, my notions of friendship aro.
founded upon common principles of jus
tice and the golden rule—' do to others,'
&c."
Let us try them by these. Yitu
admit that a friend should hall , e some care .
for the happiness, success in life, and
reputation of hint for whom he professes
friendship. If he does not further them
in these, he should at least throw no ob
stacles in the way of his attaining them.
This best friend let his neighbors into the
Becrut that Mr. Haley is a-very passion
ate man ; that he had, by not being able
to rest rain his passions, estranged his best
friends. This was news to them, and
lowered him in their estimation. Why
not have waited and let them find it out?
It would have seemed much more like
true friendship.
lle also gave them a hint where to look
for foibles and weaknesses, that might
possibly have escaped observation for a
lung time; perhaps the✓ might never
have been discovered.
A friend should conceal the weakness
of a friend, or at least not expose them.
What would you think of a friend who
should tell a burglar where to find an
guarded door or window in a friend's
house which he might enter, and take
his purse? (I wont repeat the quotation
Who steals my purse steals trash") yet
probably had Mr. Haley been consulted
in the matter, and could he have had his
choice, he would much have preferred
- that this very questionable friend of his
should have told a thief' where to find his
purse, rather than that he should instruct
strangers where to look for his foibles.
having it blazoned abroad that he is
a passionate man, will make people treat
him with less forbearance, instead of mpre,
as might seem likely. There is some
thing irritating, too, to a passionate per
son, in the consciousness people betray
of knowing it. It makes it more difficult
for him to preserve his equanimity. Who
knows, but, coining here among strangers,
where no one know his weaknesses and
this particular infirmity, he might have
eradicated them ? It would have been
much easier to do so, than in a place
where be had always manifested them.
It is not only true, that if people could
sometimes hear what their best friends
say of them behind their backs, they
would regard them as their worst ene
mies, but that they often in reality be
come so by want of thought with regard
to this matter. They, do not intend in
jury, but do not look upon this matter in
its true light, and calculate rightly the
amount of injury they may inflict.
AN ENEMY'S COIIIITESY.—When the Cruse•.
ders under King Richard, of England, de•
feated the Saracens, the Sultan seeing his
troops fly, asked what was the number of the
Christians who were making all this'slaugh
ter ? He was; told that it was only king
and and his men, and that they , weren't afoot.',
" laid the Sultan, "God forbid that
such a noble fellow as King Richard should
march on foot, "and sent him a noble char
ger....'_
~
Te mrssender took it, — and — said , •
the Saltan sends you thts - Chargeri
that you may not-be on foot."- ,
'INC king was as .cunning as, his enemy,:
and ordered one of his squires to mount the..
'horse in order to try - him. The squire Ober.'
ed i but -the:animal was -fiery, - and he , -could
not hold him" in ; be set off at fed speed4o
the Sultan's payilion., The Sultan exported, ,
lie had got King-Riehard ;• end was not a
:little mortified to diSeeiierhia
. •
-11Ar"John,"i3aid a father •to bis sonison.
the day he wao twepty-ouo, "you, h4v,e'zget
fool for your, ulaat,er noty . .","Yeg,", oald r dahr ;
"tind have had these ten
.wtyleare."-. ' •
• • • •,
"ambition tq wtity ionietin# 4. 1 6 :
°vervain es even a - youth's filinl•affectiiiiii:l:l
M