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U. S. GOVERNMENT
President—AßßAHAM LINCOLN,
Vito President—HAN:MM. liAmtiar,
Secretary of State—Wm. 11. SEITLRD,
Secretary of Interior—km. P. Usnse,
teeretary of Treasury—Wm. P. Feserres:‘,
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Governor—ANDßEW G. CE RUN,
Beerelary of State—Ett Sttreß,
Surveyor General—JAW-4 . BARR,
Auditor Geneial—fen At: SI.RNRER,
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State Treamurer—llmvar D. Moms.
Chie(Ju,tic of the Supreme Court--om. W.WOOD
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COUNTY OFFICERS
President Judge—Don. Jams D. Oraham.
associnto Judges—lion. Michael Conklin, Hon
Hugh Stuart
Dietrint Attorney— . l. W. D. G (Delon.
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Iteglater—Goo W. North.
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County Commissioners—Michael Kest, John M.
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As9istenc Zohert A liigon
001.111, east Ward—J. D. Ilhtn..heart,
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Weßt Ward-9ro. 11, urra v boo Paylton, A. Cath
earl, 11 l' trkor, .1 no. D. I/ o
iiounril, A. Cathcart. t4:111)y.
high ConstmOle a.,m url ;quo Word Constable.
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A • 1. 1 / 1 11ntlt , hx11. ASSiSta"t Assessors,Jno
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IZI=I
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eortiman, Street Commi,slonor, Worley It %lattlie...
of the lletro k. L. Sp nollor, David niiith
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CHURCHES
Flret Proshytorian Church,Nortliveest angle of Cen•
tr.. Square !tee Cl•nlaay P. ‘Ving. Pastor --Sere cos
overy Srl Inlay Morning at ll o'clock, A. M., and
u'eloes P. M.
Secon•t Presbyterian chunli, cern, of South Ilan
van and Pomfret streets Ito, .1 011 rl C BIM, Pa4ier
Pervines commoner at 11 o'clock, A. M., mid o'c.ock
P. M.
St. Johu's Church. Prot Epkeop3l) norllwoot oglo
of Coat )p Silaare. Ito 5.. t Ct or . Servj ooo
at 11 t. M., audO o'clock. 1 1 )1.
English butllcrAn Chur• - h, Ih,d(ord, hetween \ fain
and 1,. ith ,T jtreuts. Roy .I‘ al, Fry. Pastor. Ser
•jces at 11 o'clock A. .'clock I. 31
ilerman /C.:formed Church 1.” - utin.r. netts 0./ Ilan
over rtn•l Pitt sircu•ts. Rev. Situ Llel I'asC6t -
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\lnt hodkt E. Church (first charge) ciirnor of Mein
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Services et 11 o'clock A. M.. nod 7 o'clock I' M.
Mothodhat E. Church (second chn,e,) Rev. S. 1..
Bowmen. Pastor. F orritos I n Emory M K. Church ai 11
o'clock A. M., and .3% M.
Chnreh of .I , td South %Vest corner of West street
and Chapel Alit*. Rev. B. F. Beek, Panto . Services
11 . .. 11 a. tn.. nod 7 p. nu,
e t. Patrick's Catholic Church, Pomfret near Racket.
Rev Pastor. Services every other Sab
bath. at 10 o'clock. Vespers at 3 P. M.
German Lutheran Church. corner of Pomfret and
Bedford streets. Rev C. Fritz°, Pastor. Sonices at
ii o'clock P. M.
&-sl_When changes In the shove are necessary the
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DICKINSON COLLEGE
Rev. Herman M.Johnson, D. D., President auy Pro.
feseior of Moral Science.
4175114 as C. Wilson, A. Professor of Natural
Science and Curator o' th,e Museum.
Roy. William L. Buswell, A.
Greek and German Languages.
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John flood, Assistant In the Grammar School.
BOARD OF SCHOOL DIRECTORS
James Liam!lton, President, Fl. Saxton, P Quigley.
E. Corn:nun, C. P liumerich, It C. Woodward, .)axon
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Education
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COSIYERLAND VALLEY 11.111.1[011.6 CORPANT.—president,
Frederick Watts: Secretor and Treasurer, Edward
M. Biddle: Supetintendent, 0. N. Lull. foss,-ego
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and 2 42, P. 51. Westward at 9.27, A. M., end 2.55 P.
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CARLISLE G AE.IO Worn Co3lP,NY.—PreFident,
Lrm
uel Todd; Tronsuror, A. L. • .:iponder ; Superintunuent
iieorgo Wino: Diroctorei, Wattn, Wsn. M. licetem,
H. M. Riddle, henry Soeton. It. C. Woodward, John
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SOCIETIES
Cumberland St Ai Lodge No. 197, A. T. M. meets al
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month
Bt. John's Loko Nu, 260 A. Y. M. Moots 3d Thura
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. ar11,141 1,01411 O. it 1..) of U )loots Monday
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i I t 16:)J LI .0 t, noir Main.
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W. M. RHEUM, Cashier. .
Barllsfe-Depoelt Bank's Aril 06th,1861,
VOL. 64:
A Hymn for the National Fast
BY REV.OEO. LANSING TAYLOR, Si. A.
O God of Nations, God of Ifosta,
Chastised by tby Almighty hand.
To day wo mourn, through all our manta,
Tho guilt and shame of all our land
A bore all nations bleat end crowned,
Enlightened, honored, prospoooue, free,
Thy law we've trampled to the mend;
Thy gifts received, rejected thee!
In human pride and strength too strong,
We've met the 'mbattled befits oft!!;
Nor first confessed our sin and wrong,
Nor owned thy stroke, nor done thy will!
O God, we own our giant crime,
The sin of Slavery, dire and dread ;
For which thy wrath, in ancient time,
Filled Egypt's hind with first born dead!
O God, we own tho lust of powor,
That bribes its upward way with gold;
And buys tho triumph of an hour
With justice bartered, oirtuo sold;
o God, wo own tha greed of gain;
The blasting withering curso of rum;
The luxury ICrung from woo and pain;
Thelunguo fur Right and 31,rey damb I
Wo own thy holy Day profaned;
Thy Sacred Name blasphemed and cursed;
Our land with lust and outrage stained;
The best In words—ln works the worst]
Nor would we pause with guilt confessed,
Help us to hate, abhor, forsake !
So shall we prove thy clia,toning blest,
And Thou, though bruising, wilt not break
U may We 11,1,03 at once to give
The rights hysulf to oil host given;
'I hen shall Thy sovrrri ni grace forgive,
Ami stay Thy plowsh,ro o'ur Os driven
d forgive! U God rotnovo
1 hose wagues and judgmonts of Thy hand!
Scud'rlghtitous vittt.ry, peaco, and love,
And reign Thyself through all our land.
From tho Independent.
TO TIIE GOD OF NATIONS
O Than hoforo whew, throne wo Mll,
Who b,ndest, to the hemled k nen,
Whnsymrne,t. none, who Invest all,—
How tont, 0 Ood, from land and sea,
Shall yet the groaning nations till!
0 Thou by whom the lost are found,
11'hnse Cross, upraised, forever stands,
When shall Its shadow nu the ground
Spread East nod West through alt the land•,
Uutti It gird the world around?
0 Thou who maltest kid4d. ms Thine,
When shall Thy mie,hty arms outstretch
From Southern palm to Northern pine,
To bind each human heart to each,
And each to Thee as branch to 0100 ?
O Thnu who eloangent human Mu.
For whom tho whole creation waitit,
shalt Thv reign on earth bogie—
() be ye lifted up, ye geten,, ,
And tot the fling of Ginty Id.
M., Professor of the
Five Scenes in tho Life of its Last Lady
I hate you all ! will hear it no longer
—I will go away. You shall never, any of
you, hear of inc again, unless it is in some
way that shall show you how I Irate you."
.A tall slight hod•, whose fine-featured face
was now distorted by passion, stood with
defiantly-folded arms in the great drawing
room window of Witeh-hattipton Hall, and
hurled these words at Sir
Sir Lionel ;vas pacing the room in great
and el: ident agitation. Lady .Emnia s.nt by
the fireside, het• youngest child on her knees,
the others gathered roandhar, aghast at their
br 'ther's insolent and violent conduct.
Sir Lionel approached the boy.
Come with me," ho said. You are not,
fit to remain in the same room with your
mother and sisters.
" Let they go, then. I will not, till I
choose."
Sir Lionel drew nearer; his fare was
white, but resolute: the boy uncrossed his
arms, a gleam of—another moment, and
there would have been a struggle for mas
tery. Just in time Lady Ana stood between
them. In a voice more sad than severe, but
that showed not the slightest doubt that she
would be obeyed, she told the boy to leave
the room immediately, and go to the library.
She followed him,
Emma sent the children all away, bidding
them not go near their brother ; then she
/ went to her husband. Sir Lional had seat
ed himself at the table, leaning his head upon
his hands. Emma folded her arm round
his neck, and murmured, 'God comfort yeti,
my poor Lionel. What will become of bhp?
Win:lt must we do with him ?"
" What will bocome of him God only
knows," answered Sir Lionel. Ho tried to
rouse himself from his deep dejection. Pass
ing his arm round his wife, ho added—"lt
would be strange if our lot had not some
flaw in it ; but it seems strange that this
should be the flaw ; and how to act for the
boy's good I . calmot tell. I must in some
way havo failed and fallen far short of my
duty towards him."
" You could not help it," said Emma,
timidly; "but towards him, it has seemed to
me, that we have both acted from duty, and
not love. Sometimes I
.think ho feels this."
" Yet Ana, who has such influence over
him, does not love him."
"I do not know," Emma answered
thoughtfully.
" I shall go now and find Ana's husband,
and talk the matter over with him."
"Perhaps if, when we leave, we could
hiAve,him behind under their charge for a
• •
•" I have thought of that, Emina. But it
does not seem to me right that we should lay
our burdens on others ; we, ought to learn to
bear them ourselves. And Ana, ever since
old nurse's death,has seemed so weak and ill
that she is not iit to beat.„ the shock of such
scenes as that of to=day.
Meanwhile Lady Ana had softly'.turncd
the key upon young. Lionel, and had then,
with a feeble faltering step, gone up to her
own room.. . ,
She locke4 ieraelf in, and knelt by the
RHEEM & WEAKLEY, Editors & Proprietors
41fustinl
EFIE
BY TIIEODO TILTOS
From Illacknrood'A Edinburg Maymino.
WITCH-HAMPTON HALL
(cosci.o DEI)..)
MIME
(Trrt yea lairr.)
window. Her face, as she knelt there, rais
ing her eyes to the pale sky of the autumn
afternoon, looked bloodless:and haggard.
" The time has come I" she "moaned—"the
time has come I Now God be pitiful to him,
my only beloved, my husband. Oh, my
great one, my strong one, my true one,
—ybu who so believe in the saving pow
er of love—little you thought how your
words—from which, since you spoke them,
I have had no rest—'lf you could love him,
Ana, your love might save him, for some
fascination draws him towards you r —little
you thought how those words would open a
grave in my heart, which, after letting out
a long-buried lie, which close again over all
the joy and light and life of life. My love
might save him I The time is come when I
must try. Yet oh, a little longer, a little
longer ; the years of your love, my husband,
have been as days, and now the days of my
life will be as years, so long and weary. A
little loAger—love me a little longer before I
luse yoSr love for ever. Yet why lose it ?
Shall I not be less unworthy of your love—
a little less unworthy ? Ah, but he has not
known me, and now he must. My husband,
my husband, oh, how I love you I oh, how I
pity— oh, how I would spare you! And
God, He loves you more and better ; He
pities you, and Ile can spare you."
In her agony she pushed open the case
ment, leading out for air. She saw her hus
band below, walking up and down with Sir
Lionel. At the noise of her window ho
looked up and was startled at her face.
A moment, and she heard his step upon
the stair, and the his hand upon the lock.
She opened the door to him : when he had
elos,.d it she throw herself upon his breast,
her arms filing wildly round his neck ; strain
ing- her-cif iigainst him, she wept as one who
weeps very life away.
My own dearest love, my darling one,''
he murmured, making vain efforts to soothe
her. "What is it? are more ill, more
weak to-day. But what is this sad trouble?''
"I am ill, very ill 'and. weak," she sobbed ;
'and you—you are going from me."
‘i For two days, love, be said, with a ten
der smile. But if you are not better, I will
not leave you for two hours. You have been
shaken by the seem. with that miserable boy.
Lionel lies been telling me. Calm yourself;
I will not leave till you are better,"
" I shall never be better till I am dead;"
she cried. And yet lam growing better
—it is the growing better- that kills me.—
Kiss me, husband, hold me closer—love me,
love me. One moment more. Now, leave
me, dear love—l will grow calm. I shall
grow so soonest left alone."
She drew herself out of his arms, and
,looked into his face. Then suddely she fell
ran his breast again crying,
"My heart is breaking. Oh, husband,
don't you feel it breaking ? Oh, how I love
—how I love you! Remember how I love
you—never forget how I love you,"
" I shall not leave you to-morrow, Ana,''
he said, in gravest, tenderest concern ; "it is
no duty that calls me. Indeed, poor child,
I will not leave you."
We will :4‘c," she said, '•it is a long time
till to-morrow. Who can, tell what will
happen ? Now go down to poor Lionel. I
will come down soon."
But when he turned to obey her she called
him hack, and again she strained him in her
arnie as if, indeed, they were about, to part
for ever.
]le left her reluctantly. greatly troubled at
her state. A few months since, about the
time her old nurse died, a change'had come
over Lady Ana—a namelesc illness, a troub
le inure of mind than of the body, but telling
surely upon her physical condition.
During the last ten years of her life, Lady
Ana had been conscious that the dreadful
secret at her heart grew ever heavier. In
those ten years—her husband, her one con
stant companion, she working for and with
him—her life had been struggling upwards
towards a higher standard of truth and love.
Now, since the old nurse died, she had
borne her burden all alone—all things com
bined to make its weight intolerable. No
living creature shared her knowledge of the
truth of her buy's parentage : this isolation
of hers had in it something which she felt to
be frightful. The condemnation to perpet
ual silence roused in he r a wild, a mad de
sire to proclaim her sin, ay, upon the house
tops. She would have done it had not love,
her love for him, her husband, restrained
her.
Not many days before her nurse had died,
she had learned to be certain that the man
who had so deeply wronged' her was dead—
had died a violent and a miserable death.—
Since that ho was not for bar so much the
man who hod foully wronged her as the
who had once loved her, though in a wild
and savage fashion; towards whom she had
not been blameless, and whom she had in her
heart cursed and hated. “Curses come home
to roost ;" she was taught the truth of the
homely saying. The weight of her own
hate, the blightof her own curse, come back
upon her, blighting her own love, burden
ing her own burden.
When she looked upon her son now—her
son whom she ha 4 planted as a thorn to fes
ter in the flesh of those she loved, who seem
ed to live among the gentle flock of his re
puted brothers and sisters, like a wolf, in
whom the wolf-nature has been restrained
but not subdued, among lambs—herson who,
inAls unmanly boyhood, seemed to scorn the
the gentleness of her ho called "mother," to
writhe under and revolt against the calm
justice of him he called father, while, as if
by some fated fascination, he appeared drawn
towards her ho had been taught to name as
aunt—it was with remorse rather than loath
ing, and with an awakening consciousness
that by love paid the son, 'by *less and :
pain - suffered for him, shd, might expiate her
crime of hato towards the father.: Aiplate
her crime of hate—was theta orimo there(
anything in the teaching off?ti pa we profess to
follow, that ofirer,i : the slightest jastifieation of
hate in nzaa ormontenander extremest wrong?
Expiatakocriniel - Bit then she would think,
* Whet did her crime matter = what mattered
her fate, soul ! „ 0 6„?. If she only could
have suffered and 'not pulled pain and pur
ishMent down on the head of the true; the
,-tho good; ,the innocent-.:then=-
Why; then, she Would not, could not, • haVe
suffered in any adequate way... Love is the
one lesson we have to learn in lifh. When
, tvrlitivelearned:anythiniheyend tha',Mere
,
rudiments;i ymkrieWthntwe can only suffer
CARLISLE, FA., FIUDAY, AUGUST g 6, 1864.
in any deepand abidingmanner for, through,
and by those whom wo love.
Nothing from without now threatened Lady
Ana's tranquillity. No sword of Damocles,
that one day must fall from force of fate, and,
falling, would sever her from all that made
life dear, now hung over her head : since it
had been thus, the inward straining towards
truth that at times seemed all but strong e
nough.to expel all falsehood from her life,
oven against her will, seemed to be tearing
that life up by the roots. Why was it now
thus with her? she often questioned. For
long years her love had strengthened her to
hold her secret, and to live a lie. Did she
love less now ? Was this why she felt that
not even for his sake could she bear on long!
er ? Or was it that love being truth, and her
love having grown and strengthened in those
years, left now no room in her life for any
thing that was false?
However this might be, the fact was, that
since all cried peace and oblivion, she knew
no moment's peace or forgetfulness ; she
learnt to dread sleep and her own fevered
dreams. The inward impulse, to be wholly
true to him she loved, contradicted by the
love that feared the truth for what it loved,
seemed to be tearing her heartshred byshred.
All good she gained, all knowledge, all ex
perience, weighted the lie she bore. All
things worked together to show her the evil
of the thing she had done, and how it turn
ed to the harm of those she loved.
Whe she had hated her innocent child, she
had grudged it the good she!did it, giving it
such a father and mothei : •;" now sho under
stood how, even to him, what she had done
had been not good, but evil.
Young Lionel being home from school—
sent home disgraced—had come with the
others on a visit to the Hall. To the very
depths Lady Ana had felt her soul stirred
with pity as she saw how the proud boy held
himself aloof, felt himself unloved and alone.
She had felt too, that to which no one else'
had been blind—her own power over him.
Then those words her husband had spoken.
that if she could love, she might save the
boy l
But her husband—he held her as a flaw
less gem, en unspotted pearl of truth, on
whose pure candor the finest speck of the
falseness of the world would show out black
and ugly. How could she so open his eyes ,
as not to blind him to the beauty and joy_oi'
life for ever after ?
It was not now what she had hidden, so
much as the fact that sh.e had hidden it
through those long years of his love, that
seemed to her the more dreadful part of that
which he should have to learn and she to tell.
In the minutes that elapsed between the
time of her husband's leaving her and the
time When she softly quitted her room, went
down the stairs, and paused at the door of
the library, into which - she had locked the
boy, Lady Ana suffered, God only can tell
how much.. Pausing to try and realise such
suffering, with what gratitude the sick heart
turns to the remembrance of the finiteness of
human power, the limit and boundedness
that so safely hem us in, limiting and bound
ing the power of one poor heart to suffer.
The dusk seemed already to have gathered
in the corners of the dark old room when
Lady Ana entered the library. She paused,
looked round, and thought the room was
empty ; one of the Windows stood open.
Young Lionel was light and agile; a spring
from that window, a branch of the great
beech clutched, a swing to the ground was
easy enough. Lady Ana, in her wild girl
hood, had often thus escaped when shut in
there by nurse for bomcchildish naughtiness.
Who shall say what passion leapt up and
fought in that poor woman's half-distracted
mind, as the idea flashed across it that if the
boy had escaped, were gone as he had threat
ened, speech would not a vail for him, anti
silence might still for all be best? She ems
not long left in doubt. She heard a stifled
s'd); there, on the ground, his face hidden
in his hands, Iffy the young creature whom
all thought too hardened in sullen evil-mind
edness to shed a Cettr.
Lady Ana went to where he lay. Kneel
ing down beside him, she laid a trembling
hand upon his shoulder, and softly, fearfully
breathed out, "My son !" and at the breath
ing of those words something consciously a
woke within her—and—she—loved him.
Softly as those words were spoken, they
sounded in her ear as the crash of doom.
Young Lionel raised himself to lean upon
his elbows ; he looked 11 , r in the face with
startled wonder, and said--
"Why do you call me that? I wish I were
your son I If you were my mother, every
thing would bo different."
She sank upon the floor beside him, tremb
ling so that she could not even kneel.
"Why do you come to me and speak to
me like that?" he continued. 'Why do you
Come to me and look at me like that? You
hate me worse than they do."
"I do not hate you," she said. "If you
will let me, I will love you !"
"If I will letyou! You know, you know,"
ho cried, "that I want you to love me; but
you won't, you nan't, Sometimes I see you
look as if you wore trying, and then—then
the look comes that shows me how you hate
me—worse than the others do, a hundied
times. Aunt Ana, I have felt you look at
me as if I were loallisonze to you. I have
felt that, and I can't forget it I"
"My poor boy ! learn to forgotit now, and
lot me love you."
"You, are sorry for me?"
,ho asked, after
an eager reading of her face. "You look
sorry about something. Is it about me?"
"We all . are sorry for yon ; nobody hates
you : it is your morbid fancy."
"Are y'ou sorry for me, I ask ? 'They all
aro ;' oh, of course., I know what that
means: they are all sorry for mejust as
they aro sorry if a worm is. trodddd upon or
a snail crushed. 'They do not hate mo
oh, I know what that means too, quitowell
they are so good; so , Christian, they cannot
hate! But—are you sorry for me? you .are
not sorry about every trifle ; are you sorry
for me? - You can hate ; are you sure, you
don't hate, me,?"
4 , lana more-sorry for you than lean tell,
or• you can think, my., poor boy. Itio not
bate you; I love ' • • '
"Now, aunt Auk" cried thoboy,"whot
is thO meaning ,of this Why aro'you so dif
ferent top td-day ? Why have you never
come
. tc ueio . and beew kind' tO.mo_hoforoL If.
youhsd; I should hay.e hoeit different.",'
"But you him-had lolio,/
have not! you know I have not.—
hy do you lie r he asked , paagenately.
!'lf they had loved me and used me ill, or
it they had hated me out and out, honestly,
I,wbuldn't have minded ; but always to be
'well treated, to have nothing to compTiin of,
to be mocked with the show of kindness by
all Aiose meek hypocrites—l hate them I"
:."Oh, Lionel, I implore you, do not feel
like that!"
i "But I do feel like that, and you have
fklplike that. When you hated me, and
yOr fierce eyes said so, I liked you better
them any of the others who seemed to love
me." \
'"Then, if I lova you," she said, "when I
love you—now I love you—you will not care
Wine any more."
;t/ . will I" he cried. "Try me—love me,
aunt Anal I will obey you like a slave, I
will follow you like a dog—love me, aunt
14,1%. Let me live with you always."
"Now, God help me," she murmured.
anA laid her head down on the boy's should
er' Her sentence had gone forth; all was
irrevocable now. Had she not felt this be
fore? Who knows? Even on the way to
execution a ray of hope will sometimes play
about the path of the condemned, and make
it seem less unlikely that some sign in the
heavens or convulsion of the earth shall al
ter the face of the worldrthan that beneath
an'Unregarding heaven all shall go on to
wazds the appointed doom.
"Are you ill?" the boy asked, when she
dknot speak or stir. "I heard them say
yoil looked as if you had not long to live,
and I did not mean to live after you."
Her head slipped from his shoulder as he
moved to try and see her face; she moaned
a little, then lay quite still upon the ground.
He spoke to her; she did not answer; he
took her hand up, and it fell powerless when
he loft hold of it. Ho bent over her dead
ly-white and sunken-looking face.
"Dead!" he cried, and for a moment. his
3Oung life seemed to stand still.
When he sprang to his feet. Taught ten
derness by fear or other emotion, he brought
a pillow and put beneath her head ; he got
water and sprinkled over her face, he chafed
and kissed her hands. Most jealously he
abstained from calling any one.
When he found that she gave no sign of
.ecmsciousness or life, he stretched himself
heap) her, laying his face upon her hand.
Lady Ana's husband had been seeking her
anxiously; presently he came into the room.
"Axe you here, love?"
At his entrance, young Lionel looked up,
but did not rise. "She's here," he said,
with sullen sorrow.
"Good heavens! what does this mean ?
Boy, why did not you call for help? Your
aunt has fainted. How long since?"
e'Not long. I didn't call help, because I
- didot choose that any one should come. I
did\vhet I coulcl---"
s.ound of voices, just as her husband
was...kneeling at her side, Lady Ana roused
hersalf. She put an arm around the boy's
neck, raising herself to lean against him. _
"Poor boy ! I have been ill. I frightened
you. Poor boy—how white you look she
said. Then to her husband--"Ile has been
very good to me, husband." Turning again
to young Lionel, she kissed him, and mur
mured—"Go away now, my boy, and leave
me alone with my liusdand; I have some
thing to tell him. Go to your own room till
I come to you, and remember that I love
you."
"Bat-you will boill again —you will die
—you will leave me, and not speak to me
again.' '
"It won't be so," she answered. "Go
now."
He rose. As ho stood proudly erect, gaz
ing down upon her, a wonderful softness was
over all his fine fierce face. Her husband
looked at him with wonder. At the door he
turned, again gazed at her a long, strange
gaze, which she met with eyes of love —yet
not a-mother's love for a child, so much as a
martyr's love for the cause for which she
dies.
The doer closed ; she moaned and chop
ped filer head into her hands.
Hbr litlaband, with soothing words and
tenderest caresses, strove to raise her from
the ground.
"S:and up," she said, writhing herself free
from his arms. "My lord, my judge, my
king,. whom I dare no more call husband,
stand up, and do not touch me. Stand up
and leave me here. Stand up and judge
ME
Then in broken sentences, passionately
self-reproachful, abjectly humble for all
the pent-up penitence of. years burst forth,
and she felt her shame, her guilt, her false
lwod,loverwholmingly—she made her con
fession, When she had ended—when, str ug - -
glingnp on to her feeble knees, she bad
raised her strained starting oyes and her
cleul:10d clasped bands to him a moment
:itho fell forward on her face, feeling for his
feet with her failing arms.
Het husband! When he first began to
gaihe'r the sense of her wild words, he star
ened himself into incredulity.
Thtit defence gave way as a thousand trifl
ing confirmations that in another man, would
have been enough to have raised suspicion,
rushee) across his consciousness. Then ho
staggered, heeled as under a heavy blow—
felt MY things become as nothing—all lifo
grow black and void.
Ho, as Stunned. Without losing physi
cal rio"wer . (though he had staggered back a
little fi•em tlie spot whore he had stood when
her first words
,rooted him to the ground,
ho was still erect), ho appeared to lose men
tal consciousness.
Afemawhile, over this black death-daik
ness the flashes as from the flames of hell.
Ut he now loatho what he had so lov
ed? 'Must ho hold as polluted both the mind
and. b4ly which ,he had thought so pure?
Thop came a.vast pity that sickened.
soul alpiost unto death, as herthought what
this erring lvopian bad suffered, did suffer,
lutist suffer.,
It SySIEI tho bitterness of .ileath tO'•oet:i her
lying there—to knOw that', iho'rneritecl tc.be
there. ti:
Not.yct could ho ralotit.herl not yet could
•ho touch lied Alan! from
' ouch high estate! •:, . •
no loathed.!thp of . her long deceit with
..th o _ito:aeofloathing ; • ancl.Yot, , throngh' all,
ho ilon'Otted, but that'ho , bOr still
.4-Ciiiir - 4.1 10 , 1 4 4 1. 6 r41e! still. iit'Onitiees hos
TERMS:--$2,00 in Advance, or $2,60 within the year.
more and more separated the sinner from the
sin, and over the consciousness of her sin
the consciousness of her suffering spread
like a Charitable mantle.
He lived a lifetitne, past, present, and fu
ture, while she lay there motionless; await
ing her sentence. How long she was left to
lie there she never knew; it could not have
been long, for the room had seemed dusky
when she had first entered it, and when all
was over it was not yet quite dark.
She had not fainted again; with all the
power left her she strove to keep her senses
alight to read her sentence.
"Ana" At that low sound she stirred a
little, lifted her fees, and looked up towards
his, drawing herself a little farther from
him as she did so.
She tasted her punishment, reading the
changed lines of his beloved face, hearing
the altered broken tone of his voice, as he
said—
"How must my love have failed and fall
en short, not teaching you to trust me I"
As he spoke he tried to raise her; but she,
resisting him, answered—
"lt is not no; you are wholly blameless—
you are wholly spotless, and all the fault is
mine."
"Not all. Your old nurse—she deceived
you as well as me that she had told all. God
forgive her I For the years after you kept
silence for my sake, and now it is for the
sake of others that at last you speak. All
are dead who could have told ma—all, you
say- every one ?"
"All—every one. Very few need know.
You will tell Emma and Sir Lionel, and
they, Heaven blesi them! will try to com
fort you. I will take my boy and go with
him where you shall think best. Always
you will be my lord and master, though no
more my husband; and you—you will try
and forget me. And oh, God comfort you!
God comfort you!" She broke into a pas
sion of heart-wasting weeping, creeping a
little nearer to fold her hands around his
feet. But when he spoke she stilled herself
to listen.
• " Forget you. Ana l" he said. " I have
loved you long enough for love to have
worked into the very fibres of my 'ife. I
have loved you, not knowing—now I know.
That is the change in me; and now, how are
you changed from the being I hat. - o loved ?
God has worked in you mercifully through
love, strengthening you through love, giving
you sight through Igve. Is it now, when
you are more love-worthy, when love has
strengthened you to throw off a lie and live
for duty in the truth—is it now that I shall
dare to east you off, you whom He is so man
ifestly saving nay love, shall I cast off, and
call unworthy of my love ? Wife, Ido not
any that the cup has not been bitter, bitter
beyond all word or thought; butl feel that
in these minutes, or these hours, I have
drunk it to the dregs. It will not work a
poison-death to love. Ido not say that life
can never again be fur me what it has been,
,can ever ho fur us what I had hoped—the
light of life is blurred, and the hitter taste of
the cup dwells in the mouth. I look on and
see much trial ; our lives will be salted as
with tire; but what matter if we come forth
purified?" He paused a little and bent over
her---- Love, my love, come to my arms.—
Every moment that you lie there you re
proach my love and grieve my heart and
make me feel myself a Pharisee; you called
me lord and judge, hut He has judged you,
and, working in you through love, has so far
pardoned you that He sets your feet in a
straight path—thorny it may be,.-but stupor
plexed."
She let him raise her now ; but as her head
fell back against her breast a great fear shud
dered through him, lest the strained thread
of life had cracked.
It was not so. Lady Ana lived—a life
which henceforth was love.
If hatred and fierce evil passion may be
expiated by love--a love, too. which knew
more of the anxious grief and fiery trial of
love than of its joy and peace—then:Lady
Ana in the years that followed must, by love
paid to her son, have expiated that sin of
hate against his father.
Young Lionel loved his mother ; but at
first with love so fierce and jealous that it
threatened speedily to wear her heart out.—
It was by very slow degrees that his love
grow tame enough to be a softening influence
of his own life, and not to be barrier stand
ing between him and his mother's husband.
Lionel Winterhouso (ho kept his uncle's
name) did not grow into a noble, a great, or
pre-eminently good man. It seemed as if
be might have been groat in wickedness, but
as if, striving towards good, his fierce tem
perament and wild passions made his life so
much one battle to resist evil, ono continual
effort and struggle, that in this was expend
ed to exhaustion all his energy- Ho was,
looked Ort from without, & sad life•—an ranch
endeavour, so little achievement (as the
world judged)-4o much labour and pain, so
little result. But who shall 65y it was in
truth and in the eyes of the angels, one half
as sad as many a life of far more, success?
If ever, though even by little, he continued
to be victor in the warfare against evil, if
within him the flame of u spiritual life,
though often burning low, was yet never ex
tinguished, who shall say that the years by
which Lady Ana's life was shortened through
the wear of the incessant watch she felt forced
to keep were too dear a price to pay for the
saving of a soul? Her husband, giving her
from as true arms and heart as over held
and loved a woman, did not grudge the
sacrifice.
DRILL FOR VoLurrrzEns.—Fall in— te
good ways and habits, which will bo likels
to conduct) to your beneflt..,,
' AttentiOn—To your own business, ani
%• •
never mind other people's i.,
flight FadeHhianfully do'your duty, and
don't be glad of a pottregtouso for shirking
Quick . Afarch—Proni -. temptation' to do
'anything which la ' mean - 'or unmanly,'
conscience'' :tells you that
you are not doing its yo.it *ciuld : like to be
, • 'Right about Pace—Fiom.dishonesty and
falsehood. • , . - .
Present' Arms--Cheerfully, whop. your
wife asks you to carry the baby for her:
Break Off—Bad habits,, and every Ti
~thij;
which; likely to retard. your advancernenk
In the vorld.
BOORS AND BUFFOONS
The Richmond Examiner, it is known,
illw lit to announce the nstmination of Lin
coln and Johnson in the following chivalrous
terms :
"The Convention of Black Republicans in
Baltimore have renominated for President
of their country Abraham Lincoln, the Il
linois rail-splitter, and fbr Vice-President
Andrew Johnson, known in the west as thl
Tennessee traitor, one of the meanest of that
craft; whether they quill everfie elected or
not depends upon the Confederate army al.
together.
The people of the enemy's country have
now two Black .Republican 'tickets' before
them ; and the Democrats are to come yet.
All these several movements we aropbliged
to watch, and if possible, understand—by
reason of theif• possible effects upon the war;
otherwise wo have no earthly interest in the
matter, and if we were now at peace with
that nation it woullPloo altogether indiffer
ent to us what ape, or hyena or jackass they
set up to govern them."
In the same spirit, and in not dissimilar
terms, our Copperhead neighbor commented
on tho nomination as follows:
" The only merit we can discover in this
Baltimore ticket is the merit of consistency;
it is all of a piece ; the tail does not shame
the head, nor the heal shame the tail. A
rail-splitting bufon and boorish tailor, both
from the backwoods, both growing up in
uncouth ignorance, they would ailorl a gro
tesque subject for a satiric poet," sac., &.
This language seemed to us at once un
seemly and unwise, and we rebuffed it ac
cordingly. We did not, as is now alleged,
assert that Messrs. Lincoln and Johnson
were,assailed because they had formerly been
employed in two of the humbler departments
of manual labor, but we urged that Simon
Snyder had been - rendered the idiol of Penn
sylavartia by just such wretched flings, and
that
"The facts that Abraham Lincoln rose
from rail splitting to the Presidency, and
that Andrew Johnson, an illiterate and pen
niless nobody, one of the 'poor white trash'
so generally kept under in the South, fought
his way up through the Legislature, House,
and Governship of his adopted State, to the
U. S. Senate, art! eloquent - tributes alike to
to the character inst7tections and the
personal worth of these men."
Hereupon we find ourselves accused by, our
Copperhead neighbor of fal.:ehood, though
we cannot discover wherein. We quoted
fully and fairly the language to which wo
demurred. and briefly indicated wherein we
deemed it untit. But we will let the assail
ant amend his plea to meet the exigencies of
the case. Ho now says:
''The whole ground of attack was that
these nominees were not statesmen; that
they had risen to eminence from early pov
erty, which s. far v a creditable to their en
ergy; hut that, unlike many another poor
man, who in the short annals of this coun
try has risen from obscurity to attain
the highest offices in the gift of a free
people, they had not enlarged their minds,
had not strengthened their understandings,
but remained to-day what they were in the
beginning—the one a rinfloon and the other
a boor.-
Let 115 sec how this statement accords with
recorded facts, and w:th the genius of Ameri
can institutions:
Abraham Lincoln. 'born fifty-five y..ars
ago of very poor parerts in slaveholding
Kentucky, reared in a lag cabin in the
wil
derness, which then all but covered southern
Indiana, losing his mother at ten years of
age, and receiving but very little education
in the rule and scanty log schoolhouses of
hie boyhood's days, joined a volunteer mili
tia company in the Black Hawk war of 1832,
and was (at 23 years of age) elected its car
taio. Ile soon afterward studied surveying,
and became proficient and useful therein, and
at 25 years of age chosen to the Legislature
of Illinois from its metropolitan county,
having once already been a candidate and re
ceived 277 of the 281 votes east at the pre
cinct where he resided and was thorougly
known. He now commenced the study of
the law ; and in 1537, when 23 years old, was
admitted to practice, and immediately taken
into partnership by the Lion John T. Stuart,
Clay, Whig 6,732
Polk, Dora. 6,818
" Maj. 914
4864. Con'greea
onco n,, , 6,340
•,..20artwright, . 4,829
Maj.
18*.' Prosideat.
Taylor *
Casa,
1850:' 'Congress:
Gatos . ; Whig
Harris, Dam,
310
[These districts wore re-Cast be,
election of 1862.]
titre are six distinct
_contests in that a.
trict—all of which we can ilnd any • fedOrd
—we believe all thateVer -occurred in it—
and the highest majority it ever east forany
one was that given for Abraham Lincoln,
though the vote was usually much higher,
especially at a Presidential election.
At this time Mr. Lincoln was struggling
against the popular current in his State, as
t elerally in the nation. When he first en
tered upon political life, Illinois was and
ever had been strongly democratic and de
voted to Gen. Jackson, yet he proclaimed
himself a Whig and an intense admirer of
Henry Clay. No ono could have taken that
side without expecting to generally in a
minority. Is that the course likely to Com
mend itself to a vulgar boor and buffoon,
ambitious (as Mr. Lincoln clearly was) of
political success and eminence?
NO, 35.
In 1849 the Whig minority of the Legis
lature of Illinois cast their votes for Mr.
Lincoln as tr. S. Senator, while many able
and honored champions of their, faith would
have been proud of the honor.
1854 there was a breaking up of'old
parties. Many Democrats were shaken loose
from their moorings by the passage of the
Nebraska bill. The Legislature of Illinois
then chosen, showed for the first time an Op
position majority. A U. S. Senator was
then to be elected in place of Gen. Shields,
a Nebraska Donwerat. Spontaneously and
without hesitation, the great mass of the
Anti-Nebraska members designated Abra
ham Lincoln as their first choice for the
proud position. On balloting, however, it
iviiifound that four or five Anti-Nebraska
Deillocrats would not vote for one whotti
they had hitherto .opposed as a Whig.:=--
Thereupon, by Mi. Lincoln's urgent advieei,
the nine-tenths dropped the man 'of their
choice and went over to the one-tenth, 'elee
ting Mr. Trumbuil„ an Anti-Nebraska Dem
ocrat. This was at once generous and wise.
In 1358 Mr. Douglas' first term drew to a
close. The Legislature then to be chosen
must elect his successor. 'The Republican
party had now become consolidated and ho
mogeneous—in good part, through the una
nimity of Mr. Lincoln and,his friends in
1854 —5. A State Convention assembled in
the spring, and, without one dissenting voice,
nominated Mr. Lincoln as their candidate.
They did this in full view of the fact that he
must expect to meet and grapple with Stephen
-A. Douglas, one of the very best popular de
baters of any age or country. If they had
supposed they had a more deserving or bet
ter man for the work than Lincoln, they
would doubtless have nominated that man.
In the contest that folloived, it is well
known that our sympathies were not on tho
side of Mr. Lincoln. That is to say ; regard
ing men as of no account in comparison with
ideas, we thought, , the Republicans of Illi
nois should have supported Mr. Douglas, in
acknowledgement of the greatservice he had
just rendered to the cause of Pdblic Liberty
in defeating the Lecompton bill. We ilflVo
never been driven from this position, though
we can easily realize that the fierce antago
nisms engendered by twrnty years of fierce
and often abusive party warfare could not
readily be effaced Suffice it, that issue was
joined, and the canvass between Messrs. Lin ,
coin and Douglas that ensued was ono of the
ablest, the most lucid, the niost instructive,
ever known.
It was an honor to our country and to re
publican institutions. We think Mr. Lin
coln had much the stronger and juster posi
tion; but on this point opinions will differ,
while on that of the talent, felicity, ingenu
ity and general good temper evinced by Dith
er disputant, we see not bow there can be two
opinions. In the event, Mr. Douglas with
re-elected, but Mr. Lincoln received the lar
ger popular vote. And it was the very first
instance of such a preponderance on that sido
in an Illinois canvass.
In 186) Mr. Lincoln was invited to speak
for the Republican cause in this City, and
his speech was much the most cogent, felici
tous, convincing defense of our main posi
tion ever uttered in Cooper Institute. Tens of
thousands of it were circulitted and admir
ingly read, and it doubtless powerfully con
duced to his nominationfor President at Chi
cago some two months afterward—a nomi
nation triumphantly ratified by the Electd
ral Vote.
—"Well. all this don't prove Mr. Lincoln
the fittest man for President."
—Certainly not. The matter will come up
in its order. But does it not show the utter
absurdity of all the wretched babble of The
Richmond Examiner and its Northern imi
tators! Mr. Lincoln, if you will, is not a
hero—not a genius—not a man of the very
highest order of intellect. lle has made mis
takes as President, some of which it is quite
possible that another might have avoided.--
But is the God-forsaken traitor who reviles
him as an ape, a hyena, or a jackass, one
whit more absurd than the feeble Northern
imitator who prates of him as "a rail-split
ting buffoon," who has "grown up in ignor
ance," &c., 'to. If that is a true character
ization of ono who has stood such tests, over
come such impediments, and achieved such
successes as Abraham Lincoln, then the de
mocracy based on popular suffrage is an im
pudent fraud--a stupendous hoax—and we
ought at once to burn our constitutions, close
our school-houses, prohibit'all future elec
tions, and di3patch a deputation of notables
to Louis Napoleon to bog hint to send us an
Emperor. That's all.—N. Y. Tribune. •
.
Rus.i.r,TAstr.. , ;--What. is more interesting
and beautiful, especially on a warm summer's
day, than a well developed shade tree? It
may occupy a place by your, dwellings, by
the wayside, or 'n the
„ pasturo - Aiold; it pos
sesses the same noble and picturesque appear
ance. There is nothing that adds, so mach
to the prospectiveness and beauty of a well
arranged country farm house, giving it
. a
spirit of real rural loveliness, as a surround
ing 'of stately trees. They may he the ele
gant, maple, the graceful ork; or - the tall and
noble elm, occasionally interspersed with
some evergreen, fir, and pine--the effect is at
once pleasing and ennobling in its tendency.
The lowly cottage of the poor, : no laskthan
the stately mansion of-the rich,,is ornament
ed and made pleasant by their wide-spread
and shadowy branches. • No class need -be
deprived of, these every-day beautifiers of our
home. And we are led to ask, why is it that
we soo so little interest manifested in this di
rection? Why aro ciurfarm houses general
ly so' bare and., devoid of trees, fellage, and
flowers? is it that we have no taste for the
beautiful and picturesque in nature ? Qr
that - tile, teal no interest: in regard to the beau
ty-and loveliness'of our housea and home; ?
That cannot_ be. .There may be a - tvapt of
cultivated rural taste atherig our fan:nerves
seen by the carefully eultivate,d eye, in these,
sylvan appendages- to ~.our. country homes,
which too uch he ca ,
is m
t se
_._.z .
1,611
8,188
6,686
..airturi President hai iaoriferred a brevet
Major Cienera.l.ship on Gen. Kelly in reward
forhis gallarit ankeilleient defense of Cum.,
berland and New Greek, arid M cont,inap/
st3adlast, everyday matehfulness are'
ae ainoor"pver.theAnterenti eery
fits charge. •
1,60(1
.7,00 e,
7,264