Carlisle herald., August 12, 1864, Image 1

TERMS OF PUBLICATION.
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For every additional Insertion,, 9.6ets.
Advertisements containing more than one square,
$1 per square for three Insertions.
Estate Notices. $2OO.
Auditors 2.00.
Professional cards without paper, 6.00
Mercantile advertisements per annum 16.00
Local notices, 10 eta p.r line.
JOB PRINTING.—Our Job Printing Office IN the
ergest mid most complete, establishment In the
Cows y. Four good Proxies, and a general variety of
iceiterltt nutted for plain and Fancy work of every
Istud, angles as to do Job Printing at the ehorteet
notice, and on the most reasonable terms. Persons
n want of Bills, Blanks, or anything In the Jobbing
line, Will and It to their Interest to give us a call.
peal foftninatio.
U. S. GOVERNMENT
Preddent—ADßLnAa LINCOLN,
Viso Preadent—BANNlDAL HAMLIN,
Secretary of Stitte—Wen. 11. SEWARD,
fleoretory of Interior—Pio. P. Dom.
Secretary of Treasury—Wm. P. FtfentlDEN,
ecretary of War—lioerm M. STANTON,
Secretary of Navy—Otonorr Weta.ne,
Pont Monter GetieraI—MONTOOMERT BLAIR,
Attorney derteral—EDWAßD BASES,
SA' IliefJ make of the United S otos—Roos:a B TANEY'
STATE GOVERNMENT
overnor —ANDREW G.
Seere•ary of btato—ELl SLIPX/t,
Surveyor General—.lmara
Auditor General—lsaac Swam,
Attorney General—Wu. M. litbaborro.
Adjutant Goooral—a RUBIIRLL,
Slate Treasurer—HENßY G. Moults.
ChiefJu,tie of the Supreme Court—Ozo. W.Woon
*Lan
COUNTY OFFICERS.
President Judge—Eon. James 11. Graham.
Airsociate Judges—Hon. Michael Cocklin, lieu
hugh Stuart.
District Attorney—J. W. D. GlDelon.
prothonotary—Samuel Shireman.
Clerk and Recorder—Ephraim Commen t
Register—Coo W. North.
High Sheriff—J. Thompson tippey.
County Treasurer—Henry S. Ritter.
Coroner —David Smith
County Commissioners—Michael Hatt, John AI
Coy, Mitchell McClellan,
Superintendent of Poor llouse—lfonry Snyder.
Physician to jail—Dr. W. W. Dale.
Physician to Poor House—Dr. W. W. Dale.
BOROUGH OFFICERS
Chief Burgess—Andrew D. Ziegler.
Assistant Durgess—Jobort Allison.
Town Couuml—East Ward—J. D. Rhinebeart,
YOshfik P - Di let, J. W. D. Gilfelon, George Wetzel
West Ward—Geo. le Murray. hoe. Paxton, A. Cath.
cart, Juo. D. Parker, Juo. D. Gorge's, President, of
Council, A. Cathcart, Clerk, Jon. W. Ogilby.
ILlgh Constable Samuel Sipe. Ward Constable,
Andrew Martin.
Aeseemor- •Job u Gutehall. Assists t A eseseore, Jno
Hell, Geo. S. Beetem.
Auditor—Robert D. Cameron. . _
Tax Collector—Alfred Ithineheart. Ward Collec
tors—East Ward, Chas. A. Smith. West Ward, Tneo.
Cornmsa, Street Commissioner, Worley B. Matthews,
Justices of the Peace—A. L. Spoliator, David Smith.
Abrio. Dohuif, Michael Holcomb.
B. Meek, James Spangler
0
CHURCHES
First Presbyterian Churcb,Northwest angle ofCen
tre Square. Rev. Conway P. Wing Pastor.--Sery tees
every Sunday Morning at 11 o'clock, A. M., and 7
o'clock P. M.
• • . .
Second Presbyterian Church, corner of South Hon-
over and Pomfret streets. Rev. John C Bliss, Pastor.
Services commence at 11 o'clock, A. M., and 7 o'cmck
P. M.
St.. John's Church, (Prot. Episcopal) northeast angle
of Centre Square. itev..Y C Clerc, Rector. Services
at tL o'clock A. M., and 6 o'clock. P M.
. .
English Lutheran Church, Bedford, between Main
and Louther streets. Rev. J.r•ob Fry, Pastor. Ser—
'ices at 11 o'clock A. M., and 133, c'clock P. M.
German Reformed Church. Louther, between Man.
over and Pitt streets. Rev. 811133116 i Philips, Pastor.
Services at 11 o'clock A. M., and B o'clock P. M.
Methodist E. Church (first charge) corner of Main
and Pitt Streets. Rev. Thomas 11. Sherlock, Pastor.
Services et 11 o'clock A. M., and 7. o'clock P.M.
Methodist E. Church (second charge,) Bev. B. L.
BOMMIZI, Pastor. Sery ices In Emory M. E. Church at 11
o'clock A. M., and 334 P. M.
Church of God, South West corner of West street
and Chapel Alloy. tier. B. F. Beck, Pastor.
St. Patrick's Catholic Church, Pomfret near East st.
Rev Pastor. Services every other Sab-
bath. ►t 10 o'clock. Vespers at 3P. M.
German Lutheran Church, corner of Pomfret and
Bedford streets. Rev. C. Frits°, Pastor. Bert ices at
11 o'clock P. 111.
Vl..When changes in the above are necessary the
proper parsons are requested to notify us.
DICKINSON COLLEGE
ROT. Ilorman M. Johnson, D. D., President and Pro
lessor of Moral Science.
• • • • -
William C. Wilson, A. M., Professor of Natural
Science and Curator o. the Museum.
Rev. Wllllam L. Doswell, A. M., Professor of the
Greek and German Languages.
Samuel D. Hillman, A. M., Profe eor of Mathemat
ics.
John K. Staymitl, A. M., Professor of the Latin and
Trench Languages.
Hon. Jamoa H. Graham, LL. D Professor of Law.
Rev. Henry 0. Cheston, A. D . Principal of the
Grammar School.
John Hood, Assistant in the Grammar School.
BOARD OF SCHOOL DIRECTORS
Jame■ clamEton, President, ❑. Saxton, P. Quigley,
A. Cornuin, C. P Humerlch, IL C. Woodward, Jason
W, Eby, Treasurer, John Sphar, Messenger. Meet on
the Ist Monday of each Mouth at 8 o'clock A. M., .at
Education Hall.
CORPORATIONS
CYRLIELL DEPOSIT BANK.—Provident, R. M. lloEldor.
son, W. M. linetum Cash. J. P. Hassler and 0. D. Ptahler
Tellers, W. 11. !'fabler. Clerk, Jno. Underwood Mes
senger. Directors, It. M. Henderson, President, It. C.
Woodward, Skilee Woodburn, Moms Bricker, John
Zug, W.W. Dale, John D. Gorges, Joseph J. Logan,
Jno. Stuart, Jr.
FIRST NATIONAL Barre.--President, Samuel Hepburn
Ca , bier. Joe. 0. ilelrer ' Teller, Abner C. Brindle, Mes
senger, Jeeso Brown. Wm. tier, John Dunlap, itichM
Woods,John C. Dunlap, isaao Brenneman, John S.
terret, Semi. Hepburn, Directors.
GONDERLAND VALLEY RAILROAD COMPANY.—Presidont,
Frederick Watts: Secretary and Treasurer, Edward
M. Diddle: Superintendent, 0. N. Lull. Passenger
trains three times a day. Carlisle Accommo ation,
Eastward, leaves Carlisle 5.65 A. M., arriving at Car-
Bile P. M. Through trains Eastward, 10.10 A, M.
mud 2.42, P. M. Westward at 9.27, A. M., and 2.56 P.
Contour. Ebta AND Wot an CoMPANY.— President, Lem
uel Todd; Treasurer, A. L. Sporoder ; Superintendent
George Who: Directors, F. Watts, Wm. M. Beetem,
){. M. Biddle, Henry Saxton. It. 0. Woodward, John
LI. Britton, F. Lindner, and John Campbell.
SOCIETIES
Cumberland Star Lodge No. 197, A. F. M. meets at
Marlon Hall on the 2nd and 4th Tueedays of every,
month. . .
St. John's Lodge No. 260 1. Y. M. Meets 9d Thorn
day of each month, at Marion Hall.
Carlisle Lodge No. 91 I. 0. of 0. F. Meets Monday
evening, at Trout's building.
FIRE COMPANIES,
The Union Fire Company wan organized In 1180.-
7iouse In Louther, between Pitt and Hanover.
The Cumberland Fire Company wee Instituted Peb.
18, 1809. House in Bedford, between' Alain. acid Pore.
feat.
The Good Will Fire Company was instituted in
Hareli, 1855. House in Pomfret, near Hanover.
The Empire Hook and Ladder Company was inetitu•
4ed In 1859. Home in Pitt, near Hain.
RATES OF POSTAGE
Postage on all letters of one half ounce ;weight or
nnder, 3 cents prepaid.
Postage on the I.IERALD within the County, free.
Within the State 13 cents per annum. To any part
of the United States, 20 cents Postage on all tran•
Merit papers, 2 cents par ounce. Advertised lettere to
be charged with cost of advertising•
5,000 YARDS
flood Dark Calico Just Received
,AT
GREENFIELD & ,SHEAFER' S,
• East Main Street, South Side.
d poor, Rd Door, 94 Door.
Good Dark Print', ~ 18b"
Getter,
—__Xatra,," , 22
doper E x t ra, do., 25
Bleached Muslims at 20, 25, 30, 85, and 40 tents.
Unbleached, from 20 to 40 cents.
. --Summer Pantsatuffs, at last year's prices, having
purchased our stook of Summer Paste stuffs last Fall
we eats and will sell them from 10 to 15 cents a yard
~clasper than any house In town. Remember the place.
m' OBBENFIELD a 811BAVElt,
Opposite U. S. Bitter's.
T TfiL PARIS MANTILLA. EM
PORIUM. No., 920 Clleetnut BC, Philadelphia.
OPENarlieldade
• MANTILLAS and CLOAKS.
Abio, SPRING andSUMMER GARMENTS,. of our
.°
awn Manufacture, of the Latest Styles and In great
warloty. _
PROCTOR & Co,, .
. The.Parls Mantilla gmporluin,
. 920 CHESTNUT Street.
, PHILADELPHIA.
United States - 6 percent 10-40 Loan
are
We prepared to furriish the 10-40
4 V V United States Loan authorized by the act of
March Bd, 1884 bither Registered or Coupon Gonda ? as
parties. may vete • in denominations of $5O, $lOO, $ 00„,
si,ooo, $5,000, and.slo,ooo.
The interest on the $5O, and WO, Bondsis payable
' annually and all other denominations semiannually
. areoln. The Bonds w date Marsh 14,1884 ill
redeemable at the pleasure of the Government and
af
ter 10 years and' payable 40 years from ; date in Ma
with Interest at 5 percent per annum.
• . • W. 51:11GETESI, Camillo%
Carllale Detain Bankis.pril 20th, 1864 i
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VOL. 64.
RHEEN & WEAKLEY. Editors & Proprietors.
Veflint
THE BLUE COAT OF THE
SOLDIER.
(The following ballad is from the pen of Bishop Bur
gee, of Maine, and was contributed by him to the book
publisher and sold at the late Sanitary Fair In Balti
more, under the sanction of the State Fair Association
Of the women of Maryland:]
You asked roe, little one, why I bowed,
Though never I passed the man before?
Because my heart was full and proud '
When I saw the old blue coat ho wore:
The blue greatcoat, the elk) , blue coat,
The old blue coat the soldier wore.
I knew not, I, what weapon he chose,
Whet chief he followed, whet badge ho wore
Enough that In the front of foes
Ills country's blue great-coat ho wore :
The blue groat coat, &c.
Perhaps be wax born In a forest hot,
Nampa he had danced on a palace floor;
To want or wealth my eyes ware shut,
I only marked the coat be wine,
The blue great coat, kc.
It mattered not much If ho drew hie line
From Shorn or ilam, In the days of yore
For suroly he was a brother of mine,
Who for roy sake the war-coat wore!
The blue great-coat, &c.
He might have no eklll to read or writ°,
Or be might he rich in learned lore;
But I knew he could make hie mark In fight—
And nobler gown no scholar wore
Than the blue great-coat. &c.
It may bo be could plunder and prowl,
And perhaps In his mood be scotßd and swore
But I would not guess a.spot so fetal
On the honored coat he bravely witta;
The blue greet-cost, he.
He hkd worn It long, and borne It far;
And perhaps on the red Virginian shore
From midnight chill till the morning star
That worn great-coat the sentry wore;
The blue great-coat, &a.
When hardy Butler reined hie eteed
Through the streeta of proud, proudlialtimore
Perhaps behind him, at his need,
Marched ho who yonder blue coat wore :
The blue great-coat, &c.
Perhaps It was seen In Burns Wee ranks,
When Rappahannock ran dark with gore:
Perhaps nn the mountein side with Banks
In the burning sun no more be wore
The blue great coat,
Perhaps in the swamps was a had for his form,
Ftom the seven days' battling and marching
Sore
Or with Kearney and Pope' mid the steely dorm,
An the night closed in, thateont he arm,
The blue groat-coat,.dc.
Or when right over, as Jackson dashed,
That collar or cape some bullet tore:
Or when far ahead Antietam flashed,
It. flung to the ground the cost that he wore;
The blue griiat.coat, &c.
Or stood at Gettysburg, where the graves
Rang deep to Howard's cannon mar:
Or saw with Grant the unchained wares
Where conqueringhosts the blue coat wore ;
The blue great-coat, &r.
That garb of honor tells enough,
Though I Ito Moll , guess no more;
The heart it cowers is made of guch stuff,
That coat Is mail which that soldier wore;
The blue greatcoat, &c.
He may hang tt up when peace shall come,
And the moths may flud It behind the door;
But his ehlbtassu will point when they hear a
drum,
To the proud old coat their farther wore;
The blue greatcoat, Sc.
And so, my child, will you and I.
For whose fair home their blood they pour,
Still haw the bond, no one goes by
Who wears the cost that soldier wore ;
The blue great coat, the sky blue coat,
The old blue coat the soldier wore.
Prom Blachwood's Edinburg MagasJun.
WITCH-HAMPTON HALL
Fivo Scenes in the Life of its Last Lady
(CONTINUED.)
SCENE 111
Lady Ana sits in the window of her
great drawing-room on an April evening.
Six years and half another lie between
her and that September night, and Lady
Ana is now but five and twenty, and this
is the evening of her birthday.
The lines her face takes in repose make
her look older than her years; they are
those of habitual weariness—her expres
sion is one of subjection to fate rather
than of submission; the expression of a
slave rather than of aservant. Yet there
is a something over all the face that re
deems it from sullenness. In the droop
of the soft-fringed lids over the beauti
ful eyes there is a pathetic mournfulness.
But at times they rise suddenly and let
fly forth strange glances of passionate
remorse and despair, of impassioned ap
peal, that aro as glimpses of a soul well
nigh "crazed with waste life and unavail
ing days" in the present, with wild and
evil memories of the past, with the blank
hopelessness of the future.
This April evening Lady, Ana's face
mirrors somewhat of the spirit of what
she looks upon.
. It is the time of year when Witch
kampton Hall is fairest, the desolation of
winter being clothed with beauty, but
the place not yet choked up with the
too rank luxuriance of summer vegeta
tion, The trees, which grow too thick
and too near the house, are only , just
faintly smiling into spring verdure; the
copses all abmit are just beginningto lint
ter myriads of leafy. wings above starry
beds of primroses and hazy mists of hya
cinths.
Glory of glories—though its most gol
den glory is, now beginning to fade—far
off, beyond the Pine Avenue and the
wood, in the open expanse of the valley,
is spread the - .field of the cloth-of-gold
(a Countless host'of daffodils), changing
eheenin eaoh changing light, each breeze
seeming teripple up some deeper depth
of glory:
Lady Ana, 'watches the fading off of
the last, sunlight as the sun sinks behind
the wooded hill. She is listiming to the
spring-beauty of the,world—eitting.lone
lrand lovely, and lookingl-dolim?-
• , ,
upon
such, loveliness Stranger wthiderings
wander 'through „ her soul. She feels
Vaguely as if' Love spoke te her from all
this beairty upoa which she alone lOoks
—that Irifinife -LOTe• WhiCh alone can
pour out beauty thus, without measure
and without stint. She feels for a few
moments as if the great Love, loving the
world with spring, included her in its
loving—not only included her, singled
her out. Then suddenly she thinks,
"Where then was this love when a blight
was suffered to fall on all my life? How
had I sinned so much beyond others that
on me fell such black and hateful sorrow?
If He is love—loving as a father; if He
is strength—strong to omnipotence; what
had I done that He let my orphan weak
ness cry out in vain?—that He turned
His face aside, Withheld His arm, and
suffered the wicked to triumph?"
She had been ungoverned and ungov
ernable, and gloried in freedom, had re
jected counsel, had been wild and reck
less. But in that fatal, final, and false
recklessness which had ruined her, she
had been actuated by something better
than mere wilfulness—there had been a
wild generosity of motive. She had
meant, being false to herself, to be true
to those she loved. Was there need she
should be so sternly taught that truth
cannot come out of falsehood—that evil
must not be done that good may come?
If this is to be the lesson of her life, the
hardest text of it is yet to be learned.
"Is it then," murmured Lady Ana,
"that the Lord our God is a jealous God,
and that ruin falls on those who would
set their will above His, or who dare to
think they can help out His will?"
Is Lady Ana most of a heathen, a Jew
ess, or a Christian? As yet her inward
life is a strange medley. As she thinks
of the past, her hands involuntarily clench
themselves in hate, and her features grow
haggard, fierce even to ugliness. All
the fair serenity passes from her face, for
she no longer looks on what is fair and
calm, but within on what is foul and tur
bid.
"Why such foul thoughts on so fair
an evening?" she cried, rising suddenly,
She walked to and fro in the room, seek
ing to escape them. This great room
has somewhat of a gaunt and hungry
look; so large, so bare—no books, no mu
sic, no flowers, no feminine odds and
ends of ornament and furniture. As re
gards-essentials, it is much as it has al
ways been through all the years of the
lives of the two orphan and desolate girls
who had grown up at the Hall. But
somehow, since Emma -had gone away,
it had always seemed to Lady Ana quite
different.
Lady Ana returns to the window, opens
one of the casements, and, leaning out
into the coloured twilight, listens to the
singing of full-throated birds; and, as
she listens, her heart grows over-full,
her throat fills, her eyes fill—great tears
go splashing down on to the stones be
neath. Suddenly she clears heir eyes
dashing the tears from them, breathes
forth the anguish from her throat, and
fills it full of music. Emulous of the
birds perhaps, she, leaning forth into the
holy evening, breaks into a wild, rich
flood of passion-fed, untutored song' that
goes ringing down the valley, filling it
from hill to hill. What she sung was a
wild old Welsh melody to which her
heart set words, and her voice rang out
so crystal clear that it hardly sounded
like mortal singing of mortal melody,
but rather like some spirit-singing, be
ginning you knew not when, coming from
you knew not where, no more likely to
end at one time than another. It might
have had for a text the plaint of sad Is
ifole:—
"Laaclolla qutva gravida a soletta."
Irregular and wild, it echoing played
with some such words as these:—
' For thee, oh Dever more, le this world falr 1
For thee, oh never more, is th le world hind I
I hoar my eon tone° ahriesed out by the wind,
Ficrn the black pines that mock my dull despair
Never morel' Never more? Ab, God, on young!
And no warmth left for me In eun end 'bine I
The goblet broken as I lipped the wine,
And I left desolate, desert, undone I"
Something after such fashion sang La.
dy Ana, leaning her fair head on the.
stone-work of the casement, looking forth
with white fair face and bright disord
ered hair over darkening wood and val
ley, holdinaber small hands folded Upon
her breast.
After a time her Zinging lost its full
toned wildness, and became more of a
murmuring plaint, loss of a lament than
of an appeal,'and the 'Sehnsucht nach
der Miebo' which aria its soul was not
wholly vague. -
When, by-and-by, at some little noise
in the room ; she turned,_.still_ singing,
she met the gaze of a pair of eyes that
had not been far from her thoughts—hor
nneanacioas,.beart-thoughts.
nor voice died away, and she listened
to a dearer voice as her hand was taken
and held a moment.
“I stood below at the avenue-gate in
the black shadow, and listened till a
vague, superstitious fear trembled through
me, and I almost doubted if it were the
earthly singing of a mortal maiden. A
few hours since I was treading the mud
and mire of &crowded city, and was shoul
der to . shoulder with its 'squalid misery.
The, change is 'bewildering. Your sing
ing was just the crowning enchantment
of your enchanted valley.”
She smiled sweetly into the gravely
-loving face.
"You see I am just as frSe here as the
birds, and suppose Ism almost as yrild.
From mornitig thrashing, from the be.
CARLISLE, PA., FRIDAY' AUGUST IT, 1864.
ginning of the week's end, I am alone.
I am quiet and free to please myself
things—to sing or keep silent—and this
evening the singing mood was on me."
Sho sat down where she bad sat before
she began to sing. A faint flush had
slowly crept over her face.
" You have quite lately seen my sister
and Sir Lionel,?' she asked, as she point
ed out a seat to him with the unconsci
ously queenly manner she had sometimes.
" I stayed with them a few days, leav
ing them only last evening. lam heavi
ly charged with loving messages; they
have not forgotten what day this is. Let
me add my earnest wishes that your life
may be blessed and crowned with all that
Infinite Love holds to be best for you—"
" Thank you—oh, I thank you," she
breathed out—looked 'as it she would
have said more, but paused. "They are
well ?" she asked abi aptly.
" Well—and happy as few people know
how to be."
" Thank God I" said Lady Ana, softly,
and a sweet peacefulness overspread her
face. "Have you ever seen a woman as
lovely as my Emma ?" she asked.
"I have seen one woman who at times
looks as lovely, but not always."
" Do you mean me ?" asked Lady Ana,
the hot blook mantling over her fare.
"Yes," he answered, with a grave
smile.
She remained silent and thoughtful,
grew very pale, and shuddered. Pres
ently she said—and there was the soft
est witchery of sweet unconscious appeal
in her poor face—"l might, perhaps,
have been as lovely if, when I was as
young, I had been as much loved. Yet
I think not oven then, for she was al
ways good ; from the very earliest I can
remember the gentlest sweet creature al
ways."
" You aro cold," he said, noticing how
again she shuddered, and he rose to shut
the window. He stood some moments
looking out, then he asked, "Have I your
permission to pass an hour or two with
you, Lady Ana ? There is much I want
to say to you."
She shrank into herselfand grew paler
as she answered that she should be very
pleased.
She had light brought, the fro made
up, the tea prepared. And she, wholly
unconscious ofconventional usages, served
her guests, loving to serve, and showing
that she did so. He suffered this, to
to the Coic of his heart with her sort wo
manly simple grace, and much marvel
ling how this fair girl had gained her
character for wild recklessness—for her
character remained to her, though her
life was now altered.
Lady Ana's guest had never beforo
been her guest, save for the brief quar
ter of an hour of an occasional call: but
often she had looked up into his face
with calm, unflinehingatteution, often he
had looked down into hers with growing
interest and pity; often, too, had she
heard him spoken of with love and ven
eration by those she loved; often had he
heard her spoken of with a loving pathos
of compassion. Ho was a near friend
and distant relative of Sir Lionel's, and
now he was the rector, just a year ago
appointed, of the little grey ohurch look
ing into the river. He thought he knew
all the story of Lady Ana's life—know
ittg how she, as well as the gentle Emma,
had loved Sir Lionel.
The hours went by,strangely swift and
sweet to Lady Ann. She sat a little in
the shadow, and the full blaze of the
wood-fire, which paled the light of
.the
faint-burning lamp, fell on the face of her
guest, whose eyes, wonderfully calm in
their brilliance, often sought hers.
He spoke to her as no one in her life
had ever spoken to her, with such a min
gling of tender deference and authority ;
and at his words there opened out before
her vistas of new life that should nomoro
be waste and aimless. But when ho
ceased to speak, the memory of the past
rushed back, and all the high hope he
had awakened died out again as that tide
of bitterness surged up and filled her
soul.
She said, "If, ten years ago, when I
could have listened to you sometimes,
then I might now indeed be like Emma,
as lovely and as happy—fit for such a
beautiful life as you fancy I might lead.;
but, as it is, it is not I who can help Ot
hers to be happy, good and purer'
-‘ 4 When -you- wore youtig,"lii':achoed,
with a smile..
" I am not old now, I know," she said.
"Oh, how I sometimes wish I were old,
that there might not lie before me sucks,
dreary waste of yeara—old, and with all
my senses dulled, that I should not have
such power to suffer! I ani not old io
years,- but ray . heart, - soniehow, is very
old." .
He 118U:flied with a addle so tenderly
incredulous, dm did not wish that he
should believe her. He bad a face, she
thought, that somehowseemed all love-L.
to love all it looked upon with all itself;
not with eyes only, or with - eyes and
mouth, but with every line and' light and
shadow; withal, it Was a face Unmistak
ably Manly, full of power—tho Power. of
le rose presently.
"You will 'have a lovely she
said rlthe moon is' up: Lt ''ii a lonely
valley, and then up the bill and doWn
the long lane where the owls hoot ?"
"Your lonely valley is indeed lonely.—
]often think of its loneliness. In the
winter—at the time of those terrible
storms—l used sometimes to be driven to
leave my fireside and come out here, just
ta walk round your house and see if all
looked as usual. Once or twice I was im
pelled to do this at night, and then the
Wild isolation of your ppaition smote me
with a heart-paining blow."
"You came out here in storms and at
night to watch over me I How good of
you l" Her eyes, filling with tears, were
more eloquent DtAn her poor words.
"Not good at Irei. he answered quick•
ly, "for I could not help it! It was for
my ease. lam fast-learning, Lady Ana,
to be uneasy always when I am not near
you —for I love you.''
"You—love—we!" she faltered
"Is it so strange ? Having seen your
sweet, fair fax) shining below me, star
bright, in my little dusky church sooften?
Having beard your sweet, fair name so
often named with love by lips I love ? Is
it so str nee that I have learned to love
you, and that'. long to give you a life less
desolate and waste than thisyou lead now?
Y,s this strange, my sweet lady ?"
"Is it strange ?—quysweet, fair name.'
•'4lll, heaven 1 you cannot think how strange:
strange as music from heaven beard by
one in bell."
This she murmured, cowering back as
much into the dusk as might be, and with
her hands hiding her burning face. His
words had awakened feelings that had
been but lightl,. sleeping : her heart rose
up and cried out within herthat she loved
him.
"It is so—strange as it may scorn to
you, it is so! Has your heart any love to
give me? Will you trust your loneliness
to my love, your liberty to my law ? Will
,7ou be my wife ?"
"Wife,"she whispered to herself. "His
wife—happiness, love—love, happiness—
for me! Tempted tempted, tempted—"
Of the devil—and love is of God, and
brings strength to resist the temptations
of the devil: It brought her strength ;
she tookler hands from before her poor,
quiverineface ; she looked up into his
face, and said, in a voice that strove to be
firm—
"I thank you from my heart. I love'
you, from my heart. It is my love for
ett makes mo able to be true. Loving
ch, F would not, wrong you. I <moot,
marry you—l must not marry any one.
There is something stands between. I
am not what you think me." Again she
cowered into the darkness, and again she
hid her burning face.
What did he think ? Why, that. the ex •
quisite delicacy of her maiden modesty
made hOr thus morbidly reproach herself
that she had loved Sir Lionel with unre•
quited love—Sir Lionel who had loved
her sister.
'•At least," she answered to his further
pleadings, "leave me now, and let me
have time to think." Was the devil as
serting himself?
He answered, "I will take that time to
hope," and having kissed her hand, ho
left her.
1:3
An hour later, old nurse found her
darling weeping, passionately, convul
sively. She had thrown herself upon the
flow, and laid her fairhead where his feet
had been.
The old woman, not without suspicion
of what had passed, raised the poor girl,
and strove to calm her.
"Oh, nurse, I love him, and I would
so fain be happy," she sobbed. "But I
may not, I dare not. As a little child
longs for its mother, and stretches its
arms towards her, and on her bosom
knows rest, so I long for his love, and
stretch towards it, and in his bosom could
know rest. But I may not—l dare not."
"May not I dare not I Who says so,
lamb of mine 2" she cried, with passion.
ate pride.
"I say so, nurse. I blot his life with
mine l---be, of all men—he whose life is
so pure, so good—he of all men, to have
for a wife a woman whose shame may at
any moment be in all mouths."
"Hush, hush, hush reried the nurse,
and then there followed: a to and fro of
passionate talk. By-and.by Lady Ana,
wearied out, rested her head on her nurse's
shoulder and murmured—
•• 4 qtshall-be then,- as you %Nay. He will
come to-morrow—you will tell him; af
ter-4 shall see him no more—but oh, I
love him,,nurse, I love him—l will go on
loving him. .Remembering that he has
loved me, I will try to grow good."
• * * * * a *
Next day, at the same twilight ,hour,
,Lady Ana stood in' her drawing room,
waiting for 'one last lOok, waiting to see
him whom she loved. go away—leaving
her for ever. Old nurse harrnet him
outside the house, to make sure of speak
ing to him before he saw her lady.
A step aoross the hall.- = his step—he
entered the room.
Like a wild thing driven to bay, Lady
Ana left the window to orouoh, literally
crouch, hiding her, face with her hands,
the' darkest, corner of the mere. But
whenhe oanie close, - when he
• ' apoke, when
she felt his netirtiests and heard his voice,
oho . rose up, drove the burning blood
from her face, stood before him whiteand
calm ; the holy might of her love gave
her power so tacitly to honotirtbe un
tarnished purity of her soul and will.
The last fair light of evening was hill
upon his face; she looked into it, and
even then wondered at its beauty. He
raised her hand to his lips, and did not
release it. She spoke first—
" You leave me, but not in scorn ; you
are too noble to know scorn. May God
in heaven bless you fur ever and ever for
having loved me, for your gentleness in
leaving inc. And now, for pity's sake,
go." She ended with a heart-broken pas-
sion of appeal shrilling her voice, and
would have sunk down upon the ground.
But ho took her in his arms and press
ed her head against his breast, and made
her understand bow be meant that it
should be with her for all her future—
his arms her shelter, her resting-place
his breast.
For a fow moments she yielded utterly,
and knew nothing but his love and her
delicious rest. Jut soon came the sting
of conscience and the chill of ice doubt,
and Hhe cried, "Nurse has been false ! she
has not told you all. Leave me, leave me,
leave me ! this can never be 1 . Leave me
while I have any strength to bid you go."
"She swore that, as she hoped for mer
cy, she had told me all. fly soul is full
of pity and of love, and I will not leave
you."
She lecher head droop against his breast
again. The fair present was so fair, life
was so sweet, love so good, she hardly
had a faculty left that could believe in the
dark past a 8 other than a hateful, hideous
dream.
Yot when she had been alone some
hours—when she had lain some hours
sLepless in her white bed, watching the
moonlight move along the ink-black floor,
shaking with the fear of her new happi
ness—suddenly that horror of doubt a
gain stood .up and would be heard, chill
ing all her blood with its suggestions.
She rose and moved, herself like a fair
moonbeam along the moonlit room, and
passed into that in which the old nurse
slept.
She bent over the woman Whale waken.
ed her, then she said—
" Nurse, did you tell him all r My
sham", and, since, my sin ? For pity's
sake, dear nurse, be true ! Did you tell
him all ?"
"All ! as I hope for mercy at my end.
I'm an old ~ w oman, tind eatet last tong: as
I hope for mercy, I told him all."
Lady Ana, after kissing the old woman,
went back to her white bed.
The old nurse turned in hers and groan
ed—" Now God forgive me, and have
mercy upon my poor miserable soul But
if the devil have we or no, no great mat
ter if my lying mak s the - sweet lamb
happy."
Then she pulled the bed clothes up
over eyes and ears, and slept again.
It was not till Lady Ana was married
"safe and fast" that the old nurse confess
ed to her how little of her story her husw
band knew. She then accompanied this
confession by entreaties to Lady Ann, for
h"r husbands sake, and as she. I,alued his
happiness, not to speak now.
Ifl3
Done enough! So said one,. says the
Editor of the Pittston Gazette, who was
asked to contribute to the aid of the Great
Central Fair at Philadelphia. Done e
nough ! Oh, think of the mother who is
weeping over the list of "Killed in the
Wilderness," and say while looking upon
her pale face, that you, who have given
of the Surplus means you have accumula
ted under the protection of the flag her
boy fell to protect, have done enough.
one Enough l—Looli,intn that hospi
tal 4 the field—a low tent crowded with
wounded and dying—bravo men are there
breathing out their lives in messages for
their loved ones at home and thanks to
laud for sending thenqbe agents of the
Sanitary and Christian t ommissions.
Done Enough! Geu. Wadsworth, one
of the wealthiest men of the Empire
State, abandoned ease, luxury and wealth,
to fight for his country. His money was
poured out like water, and his life waslaid
on the battlefield. Say besides his sac
rifice that you have ''done enough" if you
Done Enough ! Hospitals are filling up !
Every train brings its hundreds to north.
ern cities. Husbands, brothers;' - fadiers,
sons, are lingering and dying there.—
They call for all the delicacies so grate
ful to- the sick and wounded. They ask
to give of your abundance. Will you
answer them "We have done enough!"
Done Enough! Here comes a man with
one empty sleeve. The arm that did oo
oupy it was left at Gettysburg. Have
yen done as much as'he ? Another walks
on crutches. Would you save all that
remains to you, restore his limbs and take
his crutches if , you would make,the ex
change ? Or would you say "that is not
enough, take all I have but let me have
my limbs sound and whole !" , Ask him
if he thinks You have "done enough."
Done EnoUgh! -Thousaads'are panting
On bloody fields today, marching up to'
the deadly cannon's mouth, to save your
country and you; Ask them ii,You.have
done enough, . • • ,
Zoote Etioagfil, Other theneatida are
pining by tbe iray aide and in lrpitale,
1 1 1".111.1S:-42,00 in Advance, or $2,50 within the year.
Done Enough
suffering pain and anguish beyond the
power of words to describe, that would
long be neglected but for the Sanitary
and Christian Commissions. Ask these
sick and wounded heroes if you have done
enough. Will not the scorching answer
come back to you in bitter reproach—
have you done as much as I?
Reader, when you think you have done
enough, think but a moment of what
the bravo men are doing, and yot► will
never again say, "I have done enough."
Poetry of Mackerel Fishing
Cliffs overhead, ribbed and scarred, four
hundred feet in height, over which peep
ed many a gallant deer ! Stacks of rock
island at their feet, as large as great men
of-war with all sails set, ribboned with
yellow, black and red, pierced with vast
arches, through which shone the infinite
gleain of the Atlantic; mackerel in tens
of thousands, breaking water an acre at
a time, with a soft roar, as out of the
water flashed before them millions of shi
ing splinters—some water-beads sparkling
in the sun, some "brett"— the herring
fly which they bad chased in shore.
In among them the boats slide, with
three lines out, and each taken ere the
bait was two oars' length from the boat;
while overhead and all around was a Ba
bel of wings and voices which confused
the eye and oar—alike of mere and shear
water, black•blacks and herring-gull,
hackletand cormorant—diving, gobbling,
screaming, cackling, laughing, fighting
—and overhead two or three stately gnu
nets, too proud to mingle withdhe corn-
mon herb, sailed round a hundred feet in
air, in search of a vacant spot, and then
' Foil from thu shy. like a god whilo the Wind rattled
holm to tholr
and rushed under the water, thro*ing up
a perpendicular jet of spray, exactly as
does a cannon ball. And over all near
est the root of cloudless blip:), sailed out
from her eyrie in the white cliff, the great
hen pelegrine, the queen of all the shore.
Slowly the falcon slides round and round,
over the mob below, till same fat herring
gull, full gorged with mackerel, flaps laz
ily away to digest. In a moment the
great falcon's wings are closed over her
back. With one long, silent rush, she
has reached him, rnd those terrible hind
talons, which can strike the life out of a
mallard's brain, and drop him into the
mere t.lt a single stroke, aro fast in the
gull's shoulders, but not t o kill.
After a moment's flapping and scream
ing, adversity gives hin,LwiLarnd neon"-
sity invention. Down drops a mackerel,
shatne'ully disgorged, and down after it
drops the falcon, and catching the fish in
mid-air, bears it off in triumph to the
ledge where her young are barking for
their dinner. And so goes on the great
hungry world, as it has gone since the
first Lingula or Orthis gaped in pre-silu
rian seas, some hundred millions of years
ago, and as much more as Sir Charles Ly
ell has need of—conjugating the verb—
"to cat." I eat thee ; he eats me; they
oat him; otherwise they cat them; and so
forth, ad 10'111cm.
Philosophical Pacts
Sound travels at the rate of 1,155 feet
per second in the air ; 4,960 in water, 11,-
000 in cast iron, 17,000 in steel, 18,000
in glass, and from 4,636, to 17,000 in
wood.
bleicury freezes at 38 degrees Fahron•
heft, and becomes a solid mass, malleable
under the hammer.
) The greatest height at which visible
otouds ever exist does not exceed ten
tulles.
Air is about 816 timos lighter than
water
The pressure of the atmosphere upon
every square foot of the earth amounts to
2,168 lbs. An ordinary siz.d man, sup
posing his surface to be 14 square feet,
sustains the enormous pressure of 40,149
lbs.
Heat ratifies air to such an extent that
it'may be made to occupy 5500 times the
space it did before.
The violence of the expansion of water
when freezing, is sufficient to cleave a
globe of oopper of such thickness as to
require a force of 28,000 pounds to pro
duce the same effect.
During the conversion of ice into wa
ter, 140 degrees of beat are absorbed.
Water, when coverted into steam, in
creases in bulk" 1800 times.
One hundred pounds of water of the
Dead Sea contains 45 lbs. of salt.. ._. ,
The mean annual depth of rain that
falls at the Equator is 96 inches.
Assuming the teMperature of the inte
rior of the earth increases uniformly, as
we descend at the rate of one degree in
46 feet, at the depth of 60 miles it will
amount to 480,000 degrees of Fahrenheit
—a degree of heat sufficient to fuse all
known substances.
The explosive force of closely confined
gun-powder is six and a ball tons to the
square inch. . •
Hail stones sometimes fall with a veloc
ity of 119 feet inrt second, and rain at 84
feet in a second..
The greatest artificial cold ever pro
duced is 91 degrees Fahrenheit:
Electriaity moves with a greater
Oity tharOight,.willoh traverses'2oo,ooo
milesof space in a second of time. i•
Thunder can be,heard at the, distance
of 80 wiles.
Lightning on be seen by reileotiona at
the distance of 200 miles.
HOW Slavery Debauches its Vic:tin:is.
We append atelling description of one
of the evils of slavery as giVen by a sol
dier of the 104th Pennsylvania,. Who
ever can read it, knowing ,that it is only
one of thousands that can be : written, and
still defend and seek the preservation of
the "institution," is loSt Ise well to the .
dictates of reason, as to those of litirttani
ty. The soldier saw whereof he writes,
as well as all who wore with him, and de
tails his impressions in a style of simple
and touching earnestness. After seine
introductory remarks he continues
"About fourmiles north of the Pamun
.key river wo wore met by a delegation of
Uncle Tom's hardy black fellows, who
Wanted to emigrate to the Yankee land of
promise. They said they repretiented one
hundred and fifty slaves, the property of
Mr. Anderson Scott, who owned these
cultivated fields for miles. They wanted
to get their children carried in our trans
portation wagons to White House Land
ing, from which place they had been as
sured Uncle Sam would take them North.
Our wagons being full we could aocom.:
modate but few, However, anything
was preferable to being a slave; so they
determined to come along anyway. About
a mile ftirther we came to the mansion of
this rich slave lord, Mr. Scott. A broad
avenue, lined with broadspreading mag
nolias in full bloom, led up to the house,
,which was the usual style of southern plan
tation houses. On one side of his house,
and in the rear, stood a very neat and tidy
little slave hut. Everything was clean
about. The little yard
, neatly trimmed
swept, the door step scrubbed to an
astonishing degree of whiteness; every
thing, in fact; denoting the careful and
skillful hogsekeeper. •
"Around the door were three wonted
and about half a dozen children, from the
wee baby to the young girl of 15 or 16.
Two of the women were about a shade
lighter than the quadroon, while all the
children were white. The third woman
was apparently pure white ; bar eyes
were blue, her hair was brown and straight;
her features were entirely Arnericati—
nothing to denote a particle of negro blood.
In her arms she had a beautiful boy,
about four years old, with fa'r hair and
blue eyes—This woman was crying bitter
ly when we rode up. Thinking that she
was a member of the fa'naily„ we tried to
console her by assuring her that Yankees
made war upon men, and not upon wo
men. Can you imagine how shocked we
itifistYw when we were told that this white
woman; and child were slaves, and that
the degraded mother was weeping for
shame and degradation I Lieut. Wren,
quartermaster of the Gist New York, was
so excited that he bolted into the house,
and his sword rattled and his spurs jing
led with his impetuosity as be strode a
long the halls in search of the old 130011i1..
drel Scott.
NO. 33.
"I asked one of the wcrinem why she
did not bundle up and come along, now
that she had a chance, with the rest.—
She said she had an idiotic son in the
house, who was sick, and they could not
go without him., I asked this woman if
she was the daughter of the owner of
the plantation. She said she was I We
went into the hut, and upon a clean bed)
there sat this poor idiot boy, white as I
am, with brown hair. About this time
Mr. Scott came in, the lord and owner
of all these while people, whiter than
himself. He is an old, shrivelled-up,
nigger faced, crooked backed, little speci
men of Southern chivalry—aristocratic
as a king and Virginia born by Gawd.'
I asked the mother of this boy if Mr.
Scott was his father. You should have
seen her blush as she answered 'Yes.'—
The incestuous old beast l This idiot
son—the child of his own daughter—
father and grandfather to his own chit
dren I"
"'The Model American Soldier:"
The following amusing description of
the American soldier as he is, Is taken
from the Crutch, a sheet published at the
United States General Hospital, Annapo
lis. The model American soldier is pa- ,
tient and enduring; likes camp life; is_
good-natured and, jolly, and makes fun
for his comrades; is aiways ready for
any duty ; does all the cackl i ng for his
tent-mates and himself; washes a shirt
occasionally for tent-mate; has his knap ,
sack always ready to start at a moment's
notice ; spends all day Sunday cleaning
his gun; can eat raw pork on a march;
don't drink much water on a march, don't
consider it healthy ; sleeps with his boots
and cap on; carries his pockets • full of
ammunition; has his tent up and supper
cooked just ten minutes after a halt;
knows where to find plenty of raillencesi;
always has plenty of straw to sleep on;
don't have a high opinion of officers ;
wouldn't do anything for the Colonel if
'twas to save his lifekthinks the Major
ought to have something to do to prevent,
him from getting lazy; thinks his Cap
tain a first-rate fellow, and helps' to put
..up tent ;won't
__stand any..nonsense
from the •Lieutenant; don't - like.hattlCs
better than anybody else, - but is ready to
do his duty; tries to. take - Of his
health; has re-enlisted, and intends tijiiies
the thing through, sends home all his
pay ; intends to buy land and clettledown,
'when the war is over; „considers it fool
ish to get drunk; never spends money at
the sutlers; helps the, new recruit. strap
on his knapsack; advises him to eat much
grease, Wants him ..to take' care of .his
health; never gets angry except when
talking about rebels ;' swears a little then;
can't help it ; is willing ''tot,eaerifice his
life to put down the rehellion;. believes
Abe Lincoln an honest--man vote
for him • or'any other - . man that . will pak ;
down this rebellion) tlitialcci'ariny: con
tractors and officers - with big sainries, have
kept the .war going too, long;.is willing to
do his •duty any Way s -and hopes w ho r ,
the War is over, tO ;static Davis and the
copperheads go tci