guipicancono. From Chamborn' Journal. LADY COURTHOPES TRAP " There is a storm gathering over the Beacon Hill, the air is heavy with thun der. 'Surely, Richard, it were better even now to let your journey rest until to-mor row. The tall, bronzed knight, standing booted and spurred, with his hand upon his horse's inane, turned to look in the fair, anxious face of the lady by his side. "And if the storm should come, do you think, my sweet wife, that Dick Court hope has never ridden through wind and rain before, or that, Jim- fear of a wetting, I could break my pledge to meet Philip Orme this night at Chester ? No, no.— Only let me find you watching for me hero at noon to-morrow, with thus° same pink cheeks and bright eyes, and I reek little whether I ride in sunshine or in shower. So, now, dear one, farewell, and may God bless you ;" and' springing into the saddle, the good knight waved a last adieu, and trotted away down the long avenue. • His young wife's blue eyes followed his retreating figure with a wistful gaze, until he halted at the great iron gate, and passing through, was hidden from her view ; then, slowly turnimt, she remount ed the steps that led to the door of Ash urst; Manorhouse. The gloomy red brick walls scented to Crown upon her as she entered, tire stained glass window in the hall threw a purple tint upon her thee, and made it almost, ghastly, and the oak floor gave back a hollow echo to her tread. Just then, a dour at the further end of the hall was softly opened, and Marston, the old butler, advancA toward her.— Old he was in service, fur he had lived for more than thirty lung years at Ashurst Manor, at first the page and playfellow, the'it the confidential servant and friend of his ouster, Sir Richard ; yet nut old in years, fur he was under fifty r bis black hair_ was still untouched with gray, and there were few wrinkles in his hard, keen thee. He stopped near Lady Courthope, glanced quickly at her, hesitated a moment and then said, in a respectful but constrained tune: "Sure ly, my lady, Sir Richard will not ride to Chester on such a day as this ?" The lady looked up as though surpris ed at his addressing her. '• Yes," she said, "he has just started. He laughs at tire weather, but 1.--" " There will he little - eause to laugh if the storm mimes and the river is swol len," Marston exclaimed abruptly. 'You will see him back yet, toy lady, and that. ere night." " Nay, he roust needs he in Chester this evening," Lady Courthope made:an swer, as, stifling a sigh, she passed on to the drawing-room The butler looked after her. "'Sbe would have us believe that she cares fur him, Ibrsooth. Ile believes it. Ile has only eyes and thoughts fur her; and old frienda and old times are all forguttt n now. Once he would have told me all ■bout this Chester journey, but now that waxen dull hears all his plans, sod hardly Coigns to speak of them to rue. But I bays learned all I care to know—Sir Richard must be in Chester th's night" In the long, low drawing-room, the twi light had already sot in, though it was but four o'clock on a November afternoon ; the-hogsfire -- hrd — burned t heap of glowing faggots sh. d a weird light on the mirrors and pictures on the wall, while the high backed chairs and carved tables cast strange, uncouth shadows all around, as the lady 'nude her way to the cushioned window scat, and gazed upon the stormy sky. " lie' rides fast; his horse is sure-footed ; the distance is not great," murmured she to heraelf. "Why is this dread upon me, this terrible fore boding of some cowing evil ?" She look ed back into the darkening room, and started as a half-burned log fell with a crush upon the hearth. A longing came over her to hear again her husband's blithe voiee, to see his fond glance, to have him there beside her ; and then gradually her thoughts wandered away from this som bre old mansion to another, far away at Kensington, alive with gay, young voices, smiling faces, and where her voice and her face had, only eight months since, been the gayest and the brightest ; for she had been a cherished daughter of that house until Sir Richard Court hope wooed and won her, and brought her here to be mistress of his Cheshire hunt°. Tenderly she recalled to mind the young brothers and sisters, the loving parents of her hap- py maiden days, and wondered if they yet missed her, and might, perhitps be speaking of her even then ; till all at once her fancy took another turn, and she felt as though her fund remembrances were treason to her absent hm-band, who was far dearer to her than any of that merry party. She would shake off this strange sadness which had crept upon her. With a sudden impulse she sprang up, stirred the - glowing embers into a blaze, and sitting down beside her harp 'deltoid, began a low, soft air ; then her mood changed, and the full notes of some martial air tang out into the room. Once she paused when Marston entered, bear ing the tall silver candlesticks, and asl,he music died away, she heard the heating of the rain against the casement, and the howling of the wind among the.trees. A minute she listened, and then her fingers touched the keys again. " The storm has come, my lady." It was Marston who spoke She had thought hint gone, but he was standing close beside her chair. "Sir Richard can never crosB Craven Ford to•night," he went on. .4 What will ho do ?" and ehe looked round with startled eyes " Ile may make for home, but I fear, my lady ; and had I your leave, I would ride out to meet him with a lantern.— The night is as black as pitch, and one false stop by the roadside would be his death." lle spoke law, and there was a strange eagerness in his tone and in his face. " Go,- 9 pray ; go !" she exclainied, her voice trembling with anxiety ; " aml'yit =:!-tniaht you hot send Stephen iii your stead 7" She . knew not why she asked that question—she only knew that some vague feelitig prompted it. Marston's brow darkened. lie is a stranger to the country, while I have lived here from my child! ood. He does not even know the road, while I have ridden along it thousands of times by night and day. But he is at your, will : my lady." VOL. 63. A. K. RaEEM, Editor & Proprietor "Go yourself," she once more repeat ed ; lose not a moment! /leaven send you may be there before Sir Richard." The man turned silently to obey her orders, but as he reached the door, he looked round, and for an instant his eye met her's—only for an instant; but there was something in that one glance so pe culiar, so sinister, that she almost shud dered. Ere she could recover her fast shock, ere she could speak or think, be was gone. What did it mean ? She had long known that he bore her no good will, that he regarded her as an intruder in her hushand's house, and that he bitterly resented the stern rebukes, and even threats, with which his waster had visited his occasional disrespect to her. She had known this long, but 'never had his dis- like for her been written so plainly in his face as now.' (,`Mild lie be plotting harm ? Should she follow hint and countermand his going ? For thirty years Marston had served Sir Richard faithfully—surely lie would not now be false to him. That cliff path might indeed be feared. but not the old and trusted servant. So she wait ed, till in less than half an hour she heard his horse's hoofs crashing on the garden walk. She did net hear something else; she did nut hear his muttered war.-s, as he glanced up at the lighted windows of the drawing-room " She Would stopped we had she dared, but she can not step me now. There will be a heavy reekmong this night fur the scorn she has made Sir Richard heap upon toe," and his teeth was ground with somethim_ , like a curse. Lady Courthope, sitting thoughtfully beside the bright fire, lie, eyes fixed upon the leaping flames, her hands lying idle in her lap, was left. undisturbed till nearly two hours later,_when Stephen came tu tell her supper waited She asked him as she rose if the storm still raged. "It has passed, my lady, and the sky is now clear." She ''went •to the window and drew aside the curtain. The dark clouds were gone, and in their stead tlie moon shone bright on wood and hill. Marston's journey would be needless ; Sir Richard would be safe now. She heaved a deep sigh of relief, and with a light step went on her way to the supper•room. The evening wore away; the great clock over the stables had lung since struck nine, and the hands were nearing ten, when Lady Courthope, throwing a cover over the embroidery that occupied her since supper, retired to her own chamber for the night. It was u large lofty room in the left vying of the building, reroute from the staircase, at the further end of a long corridor, which opened by side doors into several unused rooms. But LI y,QAug bade l ielelivac.u„it.rather...tliaL., any other, for she k.iew her husband had lived in it and loved it, and that lung ago it had been his mother's room. The high mantel-piece, with its curious carvings, the ceiling, decorated with strange pic tures of nymphs and Cupids, the antique furniture, and the tall, canopied bedstead, gave a sombre aspect to the chamber, but to night the fire roared and crackled on the hearth, and flashed upon the yel ow damask draperies, and the candles burning upon the dressing-table, lit every corner. As Lady Courthope entered, her maid came forward from a door on the opposite side of the room, which led into a small dressing-room. " Have you been waiting long, Hes ter?" the lady exclaimed, noting the girl's weary eyes. " You look tired." " I have just came in, my lady. Anne and I have been in the work•room all the evening, and it is that makes my head ache so." " Poor girl !" said her mistress, pity ugly; "you have been more used"te milking cows than stooping over needle work. But cheer up, Hester, and it will seem more easy in time. have the oth ers gone to rest ? ' " All but Stephen, my lady; I heard bin cro3s the hall just now." "'Ell him he need not keep watch for Sir Richard. Ile is, 1 trust, ere now, safe in Chester. lie must have forded the river while it was yet passable." " Or if the stream were swollen, toy lady, he had but to ride down to the old stone bridge below father's house," the girl said, quietly. " The bridge heard of no bridge l'! exclaimed Lady Courthope. " "f is by the old Priory—a matter of three miles around maybe; but Sir Rich ard knows it well." " And Marston said nothing about it," said her mistress, musingly. " Ile said nothing of the ford," Hester answered ; " he only said he was going to ride, after Sir Richard." " He has not come back ?" asked Lady Courthupe, abruptly. 0 no, my lady ; he told us that if he did not meet Sir Richard, he would stay at' the ..Golden Ilorn till morning." "I gave him no such leave;" and there was surprise and resentment in the lady's tone. A long sileime followed, While the maid moved sBftly to and fro, assisting her mistress to undress, till, as she, bro't the taffeta dressing-goWn and velvet slip• pers,.Lady Courthope said kindly : " that Will do, I can brush my own hair for this Right Now go, and sleep off your head ache." The maid lingered awhile, hut at a sec ond bidding she withdrew, thankful to be released The lady fejlowed to secure the door; then returning, she drew an armchair close to the fire. and leaning back in it, began to unfastco,her shining braids of hair. With her fingers moving dreamily among. the golden tresses; as they fell around her lovely face, She sat thinking of many things. She thought of her husband, who seemed closer Co . her heart for that very-difference of age which had made many marvel at the marriage; ahe t4ou,ght of hie totyloi.l4ilulgetioo to- • ~~ wards her faults, of his almost fatherly care of his sympathy in all her pains and pleasures, and yet of the manly care and respect with which ho treated her—of the perfect confidence with which he, the man of forty-five, showed to the wife more than twenty yeaes younger than himself. And then she pictured the coming years, and the time when his hair should be Trhite, and his now upright figure bent, and when she in turn should show her lore and gratitude by her unwearied care —when she should forestall his every wish, and make his declining age so hap py, that he should never regret his youth: and when, too—and her cheek flushed at the thought— that young children, bear ing in their faces a n' , Bled 1— Akentss to them both, might perchance be about them, malting the house, so — quiet now, ring with laughter from morn till night; and as that picture rose before her, she yearned to lay her head upon her hus band's breast, and whisper it to him. it Wad strange to be here far from him If she could but leave this lonely, silent room, and mount her horse, and gallop through the darkness to that lone inn at Chester. The vague dread was coming back to her again The fire was dyin:r, down, the room seemed darker, and a cold chill crept over her frame. The dread grew. The ivy brash upon her knee slid down, and fell with a dull, heavy sound upon the floor; she stooped hastily to reach it, but as she raised her head, all veiled by her long, drooping hair, she saw, away by the window in the furthest corner of the room, a bony hand grasping the fringed edge of the damask curtain, and a white, eager face peering from be hind it, intently watching her. One in stant—and the curtain !A again, softly, silently, and that facc was gone, --lout-she had seen it, and she knew it. Not six. hours ago, that same look of hatred and revenge had been turned upon her, and with a sickening heart ti he recognized the tierce eyes, the lowering brow, and knew at last what that look meant. She did not start or cry. Her pulses throbbed wildly, her very blood v.eis chilled ; but she sat on, calmb quiet] - She had y, ce y. trembled at the very thought of peril to her husband, but now in her own feat ful danger, she was brave and steadfast. tier icy hand still toiled with her bright hair, her eyes were bent vacantly upon the dy ing embers, and there was no outward sign of the tumult within ; and yet she knew and unde.rstood all. Ma, stun .:as there close by her. Ills night journey had been Lut a feint to hide his loudly purpose and screen himself. He had stn len back in the darkness, and hidden there to wait for her, and—murder her. Anal—he- might-in her:---Here .a lone in this locked room, how could she es cape him ? If she fled, if she could even gain the gallery outside, it would avail her little. Long, long before she could pass those deserted rooms, before her voice could sumi»on any one to her aid he would be upon her, hiti fingers at her throat. And there came across her a strange memory of how one Summer day she had seen him standing on the garden terrace twisting in his hand a piece of rope—how he wound it round and round until the strained fibres were stiff and rigid, and how then his iron fingers were bent for one more effort, and when the last turn was given, the rope was left hanging idly on his arm. A strange thing to recall at such a time as this, stranger still that she should almost shud der in recalling it. What, if rising from her chair, she were to go straight to that window, and drawing back the curtain, confront him there, and in her husband's, in his master's name, and appeal to him fur pity ? Ah, no ; that name from her lips would but inflame his jealously and hate. She raised her eyes, and they rest ed on something bright and glittering, something which just then seemed almost a friend , for there above the chimney piece, within reads of her hand, hung her husband's rapier She might seize it, and with one wild dash, stab her ene my crc he could free himself from those concealing folds ; but her woman's soul shrank from that deed even in this her dire extremity. In that upward glance, another thought had conic into her mind. —her dressing-room I The door stood Open, not ten paces from her. Once lock ed in there—but alas I there was neither bolt nor bar, and the key turned on the outside. Iler heart almost sank within her. Already she seemed to hear stealthy steps on the floor behind, around her, to feel his hot breath upon her cheek, and still she sat on quietly. Was there no escape. for her ? Once ae - ,ain her eyes fell upon the open door of the dressing room. There are moments of life when every come, aad she had no power to move or power of the mind is unnaturally strain- cry. One moment more and she would ed, and when ideas and plans which, at twat peace. But the moment bad passed another time, might be the work of weary at id she still lived. Another moment, hours, are formed in one short instant. and that cold pressure was gone. His Such a moment had come to Lady Court. breath was no longer on her face, yet he hope now. As she looked Ma the dress- was still there ; she felt him stirring; ing-room. door and the key on the out- she knew that he was watching her.— side, a sonic flashed across her niind, Long he watched, then, muttering, low bringing back the life-blood to her cheek, "illy hand shakes ; I'll wait a while," sending fresh _hope to her heart. if she he turned away. She heard him turn, could but decoy him into that room—do• she heard his footsteps sloWly receding coy him as she bad seen birds and dogs from the bed, but the sound brought no decoyed by seine tempting bait. :ms relief ;_shc was past that; she had felt come for his revenge, but, she 4,nows there the death pangs, and •she almost longed is another passion strong in him, and that that the knife had done its Wnrk, and passion is avarice. Often has she seen his' brought her release from that long tor eyes brighten at the touch of gold; often ture; but the end had not come yet. He has Sir Richard laughingly said that the was going to the dressing-room. Once, one fault of - his old and faithful servant twice he stopped, as though listening, was the love of money ; and now if through and then ho went on again ; and now he that love sie can beguile him firs! to thewas moving something on the dressing. dressing-room, she may yet besaved.-- The I table. There was a faint rattle, a dead part before her was hard. and perilous. but pease, then again (hat stealthy tread. She she ,could tru=t herself to play it. She strove to open her eyes, but they seemed knew , that if her nerve once failed, her sealed,,and it needed a contiurstve' e ff ort doom Was 'sealed, but; the brave young to uneloSe th,,m. She click .uncleso ; them heart - did . not quail. - Slowly and &gib- and she saw lihn. CARLISLE, PA., FRIDAY, NOVEMBER 17, 1863. spoken for thone listening cars; and now she must constrain her limbs to calm, slow movements to bear out the deception. She unlocked the cabinet, and from one corner drew out a small satin-wood be: —her jewel-box ; laying it on the floor beside her, she stooped to arrange two other boxes which she had displaced, then fastening the cabinet, returned to the dressing-table, and lined one of the li g hted candlesticks. With the box in one hond, and the candl,stick and keys in the other, she advanced toward the dressing•-room door. .Iti4t . As she reached it, a board behind - - her creaked sharply and suddenly, and her heart stood still Was he following hei!", tempted too soon by the costly prize Waa the t treat mo ment come? all was again still and quiet a: the ;gave. She. went on, on to the further end of the long, narrow dreSS ingroom, leaving the door still set wide open. She put the jewel box and can dlostiek upon the- table ; she stood where her every movement might be seen from the dark corner where he was hiding, 11 - fattier) mini:it:ming - tlfe - lids; title out the various trays, and spread the glittering trinkets all around her. One by one she lifted them, holding them close to the light, moving to and f'ro, :to that rho precious stones would sparkle in the blaze, and then carefully polishing them put them back. For nearly half an hour sh e s tood now trifling with -one, and hen another, her fingers busied iu rubbing and arranging, her ear strained for any sound, her heart leaping as the candle threw sudden shadows on the walls; and still there was no miwcinent in the dun 'chamber beyond,. She must return there new, for ;he could stand no longer; her knees would scarcely support her -, her strength :. earned ebbing, mid that forced coan•nosum was t..(t) to,Tinle to lest. For one halt' i....i5t0,n4_44;411tn,ed brea,h,, then with it weary sigh, she laid aside the bracelet she was holding, and raising the candle moved toward the bed-room. On thy' t~iicsln~ttt a — stopTiedy - Te tretrt step or two, and then sueo.ed to hesitate. If she hail seen how at that moment the hand behind the curtin was tightening its grasp upon tire knife it held, and the crouching loran was making: ready for a spring—lf she had seen this, even her courage might have tailed, but she dui not see it, and she played out the play. Murmuring in a low, steady tone : " Vu matter for to-tlight,r she came on into her chamber, leaving the jewels scattered about on the table, arid the door standing open. And now the trap was set, and she might rest and watch. Hastily extinguishing the lights, she drew aside the bed curtains, and lay down. There was a strange rep Use after that long and fearful self-restraint in ly ing motionless, iu the fitful firelight, her aching limbs stretched out, her weary head resting on the pillow—a strange re pose, even though he was so near her.- 7 The minutes passed away, the deep tones of the clock struck twelve, and still all was quiet., save fur the click of the em bers on the earth, and the distant bay ing of dogs in the courtyard. With closed eyes, drawing deep breath as though asleep she lay listening. It seemed as if, sine bed lain there many hours, %flied) at last there was a faint stir in that corner. lie was coming out now. She dared not look or move, but she heard—she heard the (lull fall of the curtain, the stealthy, cautious fLetstel , s on the fluor. Was he going to the dressing-room ? No—Heav en help her—he was coming to the bed. The steps cam.) on, nearer, nearer; some-, thing brushed against the bed clothes, then stopped close behind her. tier eyes were closed, her breath still Caine through her parted lips, but within that statue like form there was a human soul pray ing in mortal anguish fur pardon for her- 4 aelf, and comfort for her widowed hus band. A pause—then another slight movement. lie was bending over her; he was leaning over the bed, then some. thing cold and sharp was lightly laid across her throat. The last pang had Tils)Jr erately she fastened up her hair, then rising from her seat, threw fresh lo7s upon the fire, and erozsing the room laid her brush upon the dressing-table. Some books were lyins , there; she took one of them up, turned the leaves carelessly, and throwing it down exclaimed in a low tone: "Too tired to read, and yet not tired e nough tu go to sleep ; I wish night were over." She yawned wearily, waited a moment, as though in doubt„ then mut tered : "By the by, these emeralds," tGok a bunch of keys from the table, and went towards a small ebony cabinet-inlaid with silver which stood near the fire-place Her voice not fhltered. No tone could have betrayed that she had seen the crouching figure, , ind. that her words were The room was very dark now, but by the faint glimmer of the fire, she could just discern the door-way of the dressing room, and the figure standing within it. The trap had taken—the jewels had lured him. lie turned his head, and her lids fell instantly, though she lay hidden in the deep shadow of the heavy bedstead.— When she looked ag.iin he was standing where she stood an hour a!ro There was a light in ,the dressing room, for he held a bhizing match in his hand, and a candle burned upon the table by his side She could see him plainly now, his tall ritiar, - • form, his long arms, but not his face, for his back was turned toward her. (lasting away the burned match, he bent over the table and softly swept the jewels toward him. This was her time. It would be but the Mork of two minutes for him do gather, all to , ather, and return to her. She knew that in those two minutes lay her only chance for which she had so longed. But she seem ad spell hound That. frightful moment when the steel had tonohed her neck had paralyzed her powers, and an unspeakable horror w a g upon her. She struggled with that horror ; she thonOlt, of her husband, of all to whom her life was precious, and - with one in ward prayer of strength, for courage, ;hipped noiselessly on to the floor. lie had not heard - her; his' head was - still V:ut; his lingers were still busy:with the 1 jewels. Barefooted, her eyes still fixed upon his figure, she stubs on, softly groping her way to the , lttor,•passed the end of the bed by the dry-mint:dab e ; she was close upon it now, her hand was Stn•tehed out to grasp it-- teere were but two more steps to take, when her loot struck with a dull sound ag..inst an unnoticed stool, and she stumbled; she I.:- covered herself instantly ; but, faint as the.- noise. Wa•, his ear had caught the sound, and he Furnird afid saw her. -- Por one nrrieWbt" they stood face to f .ce gazing upon each other, and then they both 'made for the door. She was the nearer of the two, and she was there first; she had hold of it; she pushed it to, but we eke could turn the key, lus fin gers were upon the other handle. It was a struggle fur life and death, between a strong man and a desper.tte woman. It could nut last long. loch by inch the door was yield ing to his pressure, when, gathering all her strength for one last effort. with a power be yond her own, she forced tt home. It-closed ; the key rattled in the lock, and with a wild hearse scream, she fell back upon the floor. She was still conscious; she heard him beat ing the strong oak panels in his Yalu fury; Ai,. heard his passionate imirecations ; ni ter awhile, other zombie toe, reached her ear —hurrying feet in the gallery, wally voices outside her door. That piercing cry had ruusA every ideeper in the house, and they were all gathered there, now, cid - treating ad mittance ; she rose, she totter, d arrass the room, and let them in ; and as they came around her, gazing, horror-stricken, at her w eves ; ber-b Imre-lied-1i pe r -siteltati ted -ouC her tale, ever piloting to that inner door; then laying her head tin Ilester's shoulder, and nioaoieg out, "0, husband save me," swooned away. It was still early on the morning of the sell-same day, when Sir Itichard, followed by a groom, galloped up the beach avenue. The white autumn mist hung like a shroud over the park, the gulden leaves fell in show ers around him, Mt. be noted them not, as, wdh spur and whip, he urged On his flagging steed. Ills ruddy face was pale as death— his teeth were set in dread anxiety, for he knew all. They had sent to summon hint, and since he had left Chester he had not once tit awll rein. Ile was here at last, at his own door, and throwing himself off his exhausted horse, he flung the reins to his servant, and sprang up the steps. No wife tilts there to welcome him. All was still and quiet. Without—the dewy grass, the red sun struggling through the mist, and the falling leaves Within— the dark old hall, the servants sadly watching fur him, and low sounds of weeping. He to .ked frinn one to another, then his parch, d tongue slowly formed the words: " Where is she ?" They led him to the room s hers she was lying; but whets he knelt beside her. and pressed his quivering lips upon her feverish brow, she only greeted with a wild laugh, and gaiting at loin vacantly, began again tier miserable, rambling talk of emeralds and keys, lonely rooms and glittering knives.— For awhile he lingered, looking down upon her haggard fare, seldy stroking her tangled hair, trien, unable to endure it longer, hur ried away. They wanted hire elsewhere, for Marston was still in the house, and had ask ed to see him. 13ut Sir Richard shook his head ; he dared not trust himself, just now, to he near that mess ; let them carry him Mr away front h.s sight. There was noting fresh to Lear, for Marston had already told all—how his first dis.ike had deepened into deadly hatred, and how, finding that Sir Richard would be absent, 1 1 had resolved to wr , nk his hatred, enrich himself, and flee; how, feigning that night journey, and lea,- ing his horse some three miles off, he had returned mice n to the house. Ile had thought to do the deed, and then escaping with what treasure he could find, be far on his way to London before morning broke. His horse was fleet; the servants thought hint at Chester; and long before suspicion could have turned upon him, he would have been safe. Doggedly and dandy he spoke of all this, and now bade them to bring Sir Richard to hear what his neglect and harsh ness had brought about. They carried him, bound hand and foot, to Chester, where three months later, dogged and as calm as ever, he was sen,tenced to a life-long exile. Many days went by, and still Sir Richard, ever watching by his wife, met only those vacant eyes, beard only that weary, ceaseless mut ilating. At length she knew him—at length, when weeks had come-and gone, she' cams from her sick chamber, and leaning on his arm, crept down to the drawing-room. She had loft that room a brigla-haired bride, radiant with health and beauty she entered. it again graphaired and feeble, trembling at , every sound, clinging to her husband's aim for protection and support. And.when year, had passed away, and the roses had returned to her cheeks, the sparkle to her. ryas—and when the fair children date had • dreamed of, elnetering.round her knee,lobk l ed up into her face, and MarvOled at those silvery locks, thorn she would hash them with fond words and tender kisses, but she never. spoke to them about 'that night—never again trod that gallery, never again entered that room. ' • • Can a watch pitted with a raoond, band ba called a steoond watch ?, IJiL TERMS:--$1,50 in Advance, or $2 within the year gle help us ? Evry battle we might gain ought to wring from the hearts of southern n.en. We are just that, much Nreuker—that much nearer our final ruin. Atwitish and sorrow and desolation meet us wherever we turn. The longet the straggle the more of it. " Don't let yourselvas be deceived with the hope that the United States will aban don the struggle. They can never do it. They have toiled and spent too much to see the solution ot' this problem, and not foot up the figures. They scarcely feel the war at home. Their cities are more populous and thrifty to day than t ver.— For every man that dies or gets killed in battle, two immigrate to the country. Their villages and towns, their fields and country flourish as flesh as ever. They could sink their armies to-day, and raise new levies to crush us and never feel it. Ilow is it with us ? The last man is in field. half our territory over-run. Our cities gone to wreck, peopled alone by the aged, the lame and halt, and %vowel' and children ! While deserted towns and smoking ruins, and plantations abandoned and laid waste, meet us on all sides. And anarchy and ruin, disappointment and discontent, lower-all over the land I lie then shows there is no hope of foreign intervention, as England will not cow() to the rescue and Lows Napoleon is only looking out for his own interests, whichAreinctunptitible with those of the South. With regard to Yortheiiidis: sensions he holds the following striking languago " Have no hopes from a divided North. It is on the surface. Scarcely goes to the bottom of their politics, much less shaking the great masses of their deter mined people. Itemeinber too, that much of the . outh is with them. There is no division as far as fighting us is con cerned. The mildest of thew simply proposes peace by reconstruction. That rejected they aro to press us with re doubled energy. Let us not after all our misfortunes and blunders, construe the struggle between politicians for peace in to sympathy fur ourselves. But how could they propose peace? Who would bring the message i To whom would it be de livered ? And should the proposition be made and rejected we are that much worse off fur rt. We must propose peace, fur we ought to know when we have got enough of the thing. Guerrilla warfare, be contends cannot, in the nature of things accomplish much, and generally injures those who engage in it wore than those assailed by it With regard to negro slavery he say's : " 1 mini asked if Mr. Lincoln's emanci pation proclamation will stand. If you continue the struggle, certainly. Ile has the physical force at his disposal to car ry it out If you cease now you may save all your hands, or compromise on gradual emancipation. But let, 1 be seech you, the negro no longer stand in the way of the haPpiness and safety of friends and kindred The changes or sentiment upon this question in the South have been curious. Not many years since it was by no means unusual for the press and public men, as well as for the people generally in the South, to concede that slavery was an evil, and regret that it should ever have existed; expressing, however, no dispo- sition or desire to be rid of it. Yet, a few years more—the demand for cotton having increased, the price of negroes having advanced, and . the agitation of the slavery question having increased to viru lence—finds us-defendinc , slavery as a divine institution. Be Bow's Review, and other Southern papers and periodi• cats, with Senator Hammond of south Carolina, were prominent in this defence Their object was to educate the South ern „mind to this belief. Such a course had ( become vital to the existence of slavery ; because, to concede that ne gro slavery. was wrong, was virtually to concede the - whole arguthent to the aboli tionists. As the controversy warmed we became sensitive. And so morbidly so that the North miglit have threatened with impunity to 'deprive us of horses or other property : yet the whole South would be ablaze if some fanatic took One negie: • Such was' the public sentiment South at the commencement of this most , untotunate and bloody struggle. But revelutions shuke up men's thoughts and put-them in different channels. I have recently talked with Southern slavehold- ors from every. state. They, are tired , •of negro .slavery,.and believe, they could wake more clear money s.nd live more A Repentant Voice From Ar- kansas Convictlon of A Rebel General that the Rebellion is a failure-11e 001111301 M Submission. A pamphlet copy of the "Address of Hon. E. W. Gantt, to the people of Ar kansas," printed at Little Rock, contains seine very important expressions. From the address we learn that Mr. Gratt was elected a member of Congress in 1860, but never took his seat, having been an earnest advocate of secession and until recently, a Brigadier General in the rebel army. On the 3d of July, he was taken prisoner and since then has been within the federal lines. Ile has visited all the States in rebollimo and, is therefore well informed upon, what lie writes. He re views the early progress of the rebellion, particularly in Arkansas, and is very bit ter against Jefferson Davis, on account of his heartless and blundering war policy in that sem,ion, and contends that sub mission to the federal government is not dishonorable under the circumstances, and cannot possibly be any worse in result than their experience under rebel rule Ile adds: " But we are whipped—fairly beaten. Our armicS are melting • and ruin ap proaches us. Will continuing this strug- peaceably without than with it. As for the non-slave-holders of the South, I honestly thought the struggle was for him more than for his wealthy neighbor. That to free the negro would reduce to comparative slavery the poor white WWI. I now regret that, instead of a war to sus tain slavery, it had not been a struggle at the ballot box to colonize it. This will clearly be the next struggle. '• 1 am of the opinion that, whether it is a divine institution or not, negro. slave s ry has accomplished its mission here. A. great mission it had. A new and fertile country had been discovered and must be made useful. The necessities of man . - kind pressed fur its speedy development. Negro slavery was the instrument to ef- . feet this It alone could open up the fertile and miasmatic regions of the South solving the problem of their utility, which no theorists could have reached.— It was the magician which suddlnly revo lutionized the commerce of the .workl by the solution of this problem: It peopled and made opulent tho barren hills of New England, and threw its powerful influ ence across the Northwest. Standing as a wall between the two sections, it caught ' and rolled northward the wealth and the population of the Old World, a'sd held in their places the restless adventurers of New England, or turned them along the gre“ praries and vallies of the West.— Thus New England reached its climat, and the Northwest was overgrown of its age, while the South, with its negro la borers, was sparsely settled and compara tively poor. Thus slavery had done its utmost for New England and the North west, and was a weight upon the South. It; at this point, its disappearance could have clearly commenced, what untold butlerings and sorrow might have been avoided. " Its existence had become incompat ible with the existence of the Government. For, while it had stood as a wall, damming up the cm rent arid holding back the peo ple and laborers of the North, it had, by thus precluding free- intercourse between the sections, produced a marked change in their manners, customs and sentiments. NO. 47 And the two sections were growing more divergent every day. Thi@ wall or the government one must give way. Tho shock came which wis to settle the ques tion. I thought that the Government was divided, and negro slavery estah , fished forever. I erred. The govern , went was stronger than slavery. lit unt_on. is certain . ;_but noli more certain than the downfall of slaver - y. As I li - ave said, the mission of the latter is accom plished. And as his happiness must always be subordinated to that of the white man, he must, ere long, depart on , the foot prints of the red men, whose mission being accomplished, is fast fading from our midst. " While I think the mission of th© negro is accomplished here, 1 am clearly' oh' the opinion that the time will conio when civilization and learning shall light up the dark abodes of the Pour hundred million people i t n India, and when their wants and necesSities will put the patient and hardy negro to toiling and opening. up the great valley of the fertile but miasmatic Amazon. But such specula tions arc out of place here. " Ler, us, l'elluw citizens, endeavor to be calm. Let us, look these new ideas and our novel position squarely in the face.— Wefeaght_fertezreslavery. We have lost. W e way liaie ti do"iviflioutbt'.— The inconvenience will bo great for while. The loss heavy. This, however, is already well nigh accomplished. Yet behind this dark cloud is a silver lining. If nut for us, at least for our children.—• n the place of these bondsmen will come an immense influx of people froui•all parts world bringing with them their wealth, arts and improvements, and lending their talents and sinews to increase our aggre gate wealth. Thrift and trade and com-• won destiny will bind us together. Ma chinery in the hills of Arkansas will reverberate to the music of machinery in New England, and the whir of Georgia spindles will meet responsive echoes from the slopes of the far off Pacific. Protect ing tariffs, if needed, will stretch in their' influence from the Lakes to the Uulf, and brow ocean to ocean, bearing alike, at last, equally upon Arkansian and Yer nionter, and upon Georgian and Califor nian. Di fferences of section and !senti ment will wear away and be forgotten, and the next generation be more homo geneous and united than any since the days of the lievolution: And the descendents of these bloody times will read, with as much pride and as little jealousy of theise battles of their fathers, as the English and Scotch decendents of the heroes of Floded Yield read of their ancestral achievements in the glowing lines of Scott, or, as the descendents of highland and lowland chiefs, allusions to their fa thers' conflicts in the simple strains of rustic Burns " Let us live in hope, my grief-strick en brothers, that the day is not far dis tant, when Arkansas will raise from the ashes of her desolation, to start on a path of higher destiny than withner° slave ry she ever could have reached; while the reunited government; freed from this cankering sore, will be more vigorous and powerful, and more thrifty, opulent and happy, than though the scourge of war had never desolated her. fields or made sorrowful her hearthstones !" The desolation of the South is told in the following truly touching language " I have witnessed the desolation of the Southern States from one end to the other. This hopeless struggle but widens it. Each day makes new graves, new or phans and now mourners. Each hour flings-into this dreadful whirlpool more of wrecked hope, broken fortunes and an guished hearts.. _The rich have mostly. fallen. The poor have drunk deep of the cup of 'sorrow, while surely, and not slow ly, the tide of ruin, in its resistless surge, sweeps towards the middle classes. A few wore campaigns and they will form. part of the general wreck. Each grave and each tear, each wasted fortune and broken heart, puts . us that much farther off from the object of the struggle, and that much further off from peace and hap. piness." . "Viewing It thus, the terrible question was presented to me, as tO.whether lebould con tinue my lot in an enterprise so fruitless and so lull-of woe, and help . hold tbe masses of the people on this ter. ible Da, via, where only ruin awaits thent.E:or whoth, CONCLUDED ON SECOND PAGE.
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers