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Scicct Po ctn.
MOUND IS IN THE GRAVE-YARD.
A mound is in the grave-yard—
A short and narrow bed—
No grass is growing on it,
No marble at its head.
You may go and weep beside it,
You may kneel and kiss the sod,
But you'll find no balm for sorrow
In the cold and silent clod.
There's anguish in the household,
'Tis desolate and lone,
For a fondly cherished brother
From the parent nest has flown.
One lovely form ie missing,
One heart has ceased to beat.
And the chain of love lies shattered
At the desolator's feet.
Remove the vacant chair,
ills clothing put away,
And all his little treasures,
With your precious treasures lay.
Strive not to cherish the tear drops,
Which fall like summer's rain,
For the sun of hope shines o'er them,—
Ye shall see his face again.
Oh ! think where rests your brother;
Not in his downy bed,
Not on the tainted battle-field,
In the cold and silent. grave.
Rut in the heavenly mansion,
Upon the Saviour's breast,
With loved one's arms about him
lie takes his sainted rest..
1 , (goo ."torn.
A MIDNIGHT ADVENTURE.
BY SYLVANUS COBB, JR
My friend was captain of one of the mail
'7. steamers plying between New Orleans and Mo•
He spent some days with me not lung
tAsince, and among other adventures which had
..Wbelallen him, he related to me the following:
-a,
~1 .4 .. I bad been engaged on board the steamer
I : something over a year, and was then serving in
the capacity of mate. During the first few
months I had been rather shy of New Orleans
t
,''l
'!: by gaslight. I had heard so many stories of
„
~
'yrobberies and murderers, and of strangers be
ling attacked from mere wantonness, that I pre
bierred to keep myself as safe as possible.-
-'•;,. ometimes I spent the night at a hotel, where
P
IS
he officers of various steamers bad assembled
I for a social time; and sometimes It went to the
: , 'theatre. At length, however, as I became ac
;?. 'quainted with the city, the old timidity wore
.'..,' . ff, and I finally accompanied some of my
..: rother officers to places where the more start
ng. episodes of real life in the great city oe
ti
‘,.,.
urred. Front the hotel we went to the theatre;
.-Tand from the theatre we went to some of the
.19
'-Most famous gambling-houses.
4' Suffer me, my frieud, to iuform you here
at lam a gamester. I have played a little,
I shall be obliged to confess; but the charm
broken, as you shall hear.
On the third or fourth visit to the :gaming.
ise, one of my companions laughingly pro
ted that we should make a small venture at
Faro-table. With a smile upon my face I
ew down a quarter-eagle. The banker asked
if I bet upon the queen. I told him yes.
is then admonished to put my money fairly
the card. I pushed the piece further on,
the confusion I exhibited must have in
ned the bystanders that I was slightly ver.
touching the rules, regulations, and mys
tes of the Faro-bank. The banker began to
le off the cards, and presently he drew in
piece of gold which I had ventured, and
iw down in its place an ivory cheque repre
ting five dollars. I had won. I smiled at
luck, and when the cards were next she
I placed my cheque back upon the queen.
'on again; and again I smiled; for the
ight that I Was gambling did not enter my
id. It was sport—sport of a new and exeit
kind. I bet upon the queen again, and
in I won. Before the next play I calculated
ttle. It was not likely that the same card
,Id win again ; so I made my venture upon
ace. The queen lost, and the ace won.—
the end of an hourl bad won seventy-five
eighty dollars, and then I went with my
upanions to the hotel, where we spent
&her hour before repairing to our boats.
After this I frequently accompanied my
ids to the gaming houses; and I also made
her ventures at the Faro bank. A love of
excitement grew upon me before I was
e of it—grew upon me so strongly that
.e than once I ventured alone into a gaming
ise not far from our hotel. One evening
of us officers were at the St. Charles, and
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VOL-1111. GREENCASTLE, PA., TUESDAY, APRIL 28, 1863.
after supper the question was started as to how
we should dispose of the next few hours. Two
were for the theatre, and two for the gaming
house. How should we decide ? As neither
party seemed willing to give up, it was finally
arranged that we should go just as our incli
nations led us. Two went to the theatre, and
two started for the gaming-house. I was one
of the latter. -My cornpanion,was captain of
an up-river boat,'and before we set out he
informed me that he must be on board by mid
night, as he was to start early in the morning
This was all pleasant to me, as I had already
made up my mind that I would be in my own
state-room before the hour he had mentioned.
So off we went, over towards the Third Muni
cipality, nearly a mile anda half from our hotel,
where we found the gaming-house we had
planned to visit. We sat in the bar-room
awhile, and smoked a cigar, and then went up
into the hall. The company was large, and
the playing seemed to be spirited. We lounged
about, and observed the progress of the different
games, and finally stopped at a Faro-table,
where I made a venture, and lost. Another—
and won. Then I-bought twenty dollars worth
of cheques. ' '
When I bought my cheques
: there were
seven players beside myself at the table. Two
of them were either steamboat captains, and
four of them were either merchants; or gentle
men of that stamp. They may have been
gamblers by profession--regular blacklegs—
but that doesn't matter. They appeared to be
gentlemen, and certainly they behaved as such.
The seventh wan at the table was a study; and
had there been an over-balance of apparent
gentility in the company, 1 should not have
stopped where he -was. lie was evidently a
boatmen, and when I had heard liiMsPeak,
made up my mind that he was a Hoosier. He
had come down from the Ohio with his flat-boat,
had sold his cargo and his useless lumber, and
was now on a bit of a ".time." He was truly
a tough looking customer. He must have stood
six feet and two or three inches' high, with a
frame like an ox. His shoulders were broad
and heavy, his arms long, and muscular, and
his hands so large and hard that it was difficult
for him to put doWn his cheques. Of his face
but little was to be seen, the lower part of it
being covered by a thick, long beard of a
grizzly color, while the upper part was shaded
by the slouching of the broad rim of an old
felt hat. I could see his eyes, and they were
keen and bright 'enough: 'They looked black
when in the deepest shade, but when his head
was turned so that the light struck upon,- the
face, they seemed to have a metallic lustre,
changing from steel to brass. Presently those
eyes were turned upon me with a threatening
look, the owner seeming to intimate that I had
started at him about long enough. At any
rate I took it as a hint, and went on, with my
play.
My luck was changeful. I won, and then
lost. Then I won once more, and then I lost
again. Finally I touched the knave with a
dozen cheques, worth five dollars each, and
won. The Hoosier had staked twelve cheques
on the queen. He lost, and the banker pushed
the pile on the queen over to me. I let the
twenty-four cheques remain where they were,
and the Hoosier put twenty four upon the
queen. At this point my companion came and
told me that he must be going. I was too
much excited with the play to leave the table
then, and I told him not to wait for me. The
queen lost—the knave won—and again the
banker passed to rne,the„,cheques which the
Hoosier had lost.
Once more my companion asked me if I
would go with him. I told him I could not.
He went away without me.
Forty-eightCheques were upon the knave, in
four stacks.
"Stranger, do you go them yer—all ?"
The Hoosier asked me this question, at the
same time pointing to my cheques. I told
hiM, yes. He bought more cheques, and
placed a number equal to wine upon the
•
queen. •
"This yer keard must win some time," he
muttered, as he straightened up his stacks of
ivory, and then he added, glancing over at my
pile, "an' that yer knave's got to lose afore he's
much older."
The dealer began to throw off the cards
again. The knave came first. It had won.
The queen came next. The banker turned it
upon his left baud—the bank won—the Hoosier
ltist. As before, the cheques which came from
the queen were passed over to me.
I hesitated—but the spell was upon me, and
I could not break—and ventured them ill on
the knave again. The Hoosier eyed me sharp-
ly, and then ventured a like amount upon the
queen, at the same time muttering to himself
that such kind of luck couldn't last always.—
Again the cards were slid off, and to the aston
ishment of all who were watching the game.
the knave and the queen came out very near
ti gether—the knave to the right, the queen to
the left. I had won—the Hoosier had lost.
The banker now took in my smaller cheques,
and gave me in exchange some worth, twenty
dollars. each. My last stake had been fbur
hundred and eighty dollars, and my present
pile was consequently 'nine hundred and
sixty.
"Make it a thousand!" whispered the H9O
MU
"Done," I replied. And I. added two elle-,
ques to my accumulated venture.
Again the banke; began to throw off his
cards, right and left.. The knave came up first.
to the right. I had won.- .The queen came up
—to the left—lost! The Hoosier drove his
hand into his bosom,, and brought forth,a pock
et-book, from which he took a roll, of bank
notes.
"Go yer two thousand 1" he said, in.a hoarse
whisper. "I've got that much.".
My
My first impulse, before he had spoken, had
been to do that very thing, but now .I hesitated.
What had I to.do with him.?. iwas not playing
with him—l was nut betting against hiw.- My
play was simply against the banker, and his
was the same. told : him as much.
"No, not," he said, eagerly. "It's agin luck
we're phyla': Them yer two keards is in for
it. -: The knave's yourni an' the' queen's mine:
Go your two thousand.'
All that I had upon the table beforeme, save
one solitary cheque , twenty dollars, .I had woo ;
so I had little real risk to run. •
"It's done," I said; and down went two
thousand dollars upon the knave.
The . finosier placed his venture Upon the
queen—there 'were 'some cheques, and some
bank notes—in all two thousand dollars. His
hand quivered a little' as be Pushed the 'pile
forward ; and 'then he turned •to watch the
move.ments of the banker. '
The card began to move off once more, and
this time the table was surrounded by an eager
crowd. Them was soniething novel -in the
spectacle of two men playing against each other
.
at Faro; and it struck me as being excessively
nov:1, too. But it was no doing of mine. The
Hoosier seemed to' have a sort of superstitious
faith that our chances' were running' together'.
HoWever, I meant to make this one venture
further, and then break the spell, let it be win
or lose. - Right and left—right and left. The
queen came up firit—to the hp ! ! The
knave came up—io the .
right! i Wen
again ! I gathered up my gains, and then
looked for the Hoosier; but he fiafgone.
"Perhaps you'll try the knave again?" said
the banker.
I told him no. I .had played enough. I
pushed over my cheques, and he gave me the
.
cash for them—some gold, and some bank-notes
—to the amount of nearly six thousand dollars.
I went to the bar, and took a glass of wine, and
then I started for my boat. The night, was
dark, and.l had a long distance to walk.. I
looked at my watch as I came through the,hall,
and found it to be an hour past midnight. I
began to think I had been a fool. But there I
was, and I must make the best of my way to
my boat., So I started forth, at a brisk walk.
intending to strike the Levee near the Mint.
and then follow the course of the river. I had
gone half a mile or so, when I heard heavy
footsteps behind me. I increased my rate of
speed; but the following steps still came near
er. I hurried on, but to no effect. The echo
behind me was not to be outwalked. , 1 felt for
my pistol, but I had none. I had not brought
it with me. I had a dirk-knife, and that was
all. By and by the steps sounded so near to
me that I turned to see who it was that thus
pursued me. At the distance of only, a few
yards came a tall, gaunt figure, which I at once
recognized by the light of tlie street-lamp
As the dull glare fell upon the oz-like form
knew it was the Hoosier!
I would have started to run, but it was too
late. He was upon me, and his hand was upon
my arm. I would have shouted for help, t
but
he might have killed me to stop my noise. I
would have drawn my dirk•knife. but the show
of opposition might only have called the giant's
strength down upon me to crush me. My in
stinet told me to be passive and wait for the
worst. We were in a lonesome spot, with not
a light visible save the few
.street•hamps ,that
sent their sickly rays struggling through the
dingy glass ; and if the fellow meant to rob me,
or to kill me,l knew not bow to help myself.
"Stranger," he said, his voice sounding
frightfully low and hollow, "you played agiu
me to-night."
"No," I replied, trying to speak plainly—to
speak calmly was out of the question—"l had
nothitry, to do with you. I was playing against
the bank."
"It's all the same," he continued. "Our
luck run , together, an' twas you agin me, an'
me gin you. It don't make no odds now. I'm
deal brake. I haint got a single pie. Hold
on. D'ye see this?" ,
He i reacbed„his right hand up over his shoul
der, and, from beneath his coat, he drew forth
the largest, longest, brightest, and most savage
looking bowie knife Iflad ever seen. My 'knees
smote together, and my heart leaped to my
throat.
"You've got money," le , went on, as he held
he gleaming weapon in his hand. "You won
woa.all. I lost—lost all. I'm dead broke
—not a pie. I want enough to get home. I
paid, twenty dollars, in clar, yaller gold, for
this yer tooth-pick. Give me fifteen on it, an'
I'll go. Ef ye're a man ye won't refuse that."
Mercyl what a letting down was that! In
stead. of seeking my, life, the poor fellow had
followed me for the purpose of pawing his
bowie-knife!: ; . He was acquainted with none of
those whom he had seen in the gaming -house,
and he had no,friends in the city. I feared
him no. more., As I spoke with him now, I
felt that he was a true-hearted man.
"If you get fifteen dollars you will go back
to the gaming•table again," 1 said.
,Ills answer,was,slow and sure:.
"I've tried it twice, stranger, an' when I try
it agin I'll let you know." • s
I told the man to come with me.
"Come to my .boat," I said, ,"and you shall
have the money.",
He said, perhaps l'd let him stay on board
all night.
Of, course ;I would.,
As we walked, along, I made up my mind
just what Iwould do ; and when we reached
the boat,.l took , him to my .state-room, and
handed him a chair.. Said I: •
. "My friend, I. have made a resolution since
we have been walking together. :I have re
solved that , I will gamble,no more. While
you and I played at the same
,table, you lost
just thirtynine hundred dollars." •,;
'Xaetly " he replied.
"Well,". I continued, "I, am _going to make
up to you what you lost. . I shall feel better to
do so." . . • , , -
=MEE
.The Hoosier started in amazement,./
"I do it as much for my sake as Jor your
own," Lwent on, before he could make any,an
swer; "and if I can feel assured that the event
has cured both of .us shall consider it as one
of the most valuable experiences of ;:tnylife."
The plain heartedfellow seized my. t hand,
and my offei was accepted; and when lie told
me that he would never play again, I believed
him. He took the money, and all he could do
in return was to make me accept his bowie
knife, and to promise me that he should always
remember me with warmest emotions.
That was several years ago. I have not ven
tured a dollar at anygame of , hazard since, nor
do I believe my Hoosier friend has done it
either. I keep the long, heavy bowielnife,
and I never look upon it but I think how
weak my knees were when my gaze rested, for
the first time upon its gleatning blade.—N. Y.
Ledger. • •
THE GENTLEMAN.
It is 110 very uncommon thing in the World
to meet with men of Probity; there are like.
wise a great many men of Honor to be found,
men of courage, reen > of sense, and men, of
letters are frequent, but a true gentleman is
what one , seldom sees. He is properly a corn
found of the various good qualities that em
bellish mankind. As the great poet animates
all the different parts of learning by, the force
of his genius, and irradiates all the compass
of his Knowledge by the • lustre and bright
ness of his imagination , so all the great and
so'id perfections of life appear in the finished
gentleman with a beautiful glos and varnish;
every thing he says or does is accompanied
with a manner or rather a charm, that draws
the admiration and good will of every beholder.
A Goo]) MAN'S WISH.—.I. freely confess to
you that I would wish, when I am laid down
in my grave, to have someone in his manhood
hand over me and say, "There lies one who
was a real friend to me, and privately warned
me of the dangers of the young; no one
knew it, hut he aided me in the time of need ;
I owe what I am to him." Or else to have
qnule w:giow, with choking utterance, telling
her children, "There is your friend and mine."
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NO. 13.
A man chased by wolves thinks that it isn't
pleasant to travel with a pack at one's back.
The head learns new things, hut the heart
orevermore practises old experiences.
The physically blind are thankful for guid
ance; the mentally blind resent it as an insult.
Little lambs, little birds, little kittens, little
children, are beautiful. Little souls are not.
If you wou!cl know a man mark his gait;
moat men step to the tune of their thoughts.
Strive to make everybody happy, and you
will make at least one so—yourself.
The world doesn't know a fool's infirmities
half so well as a wise man knows his own.
The gates of heaven are low-arched; we
must enter upon our knees.
Praise is the hand maid of virtue, but the
maid is much oftener wooed than the mistress.
•
Prosperity, like a comet, threatens while it
shines
The snake's poison is in his teeth ; the slan
derer's in his tongue.
Honest mirth lengthens life ; death is often
aug,hed out of his fell intentions.
It is almost 'as easy to be contemptuous as
contemptible. He who is the first is both.
Infidels are generally credulous. They be
ieve everything but the mmrd of God.
The'mind, like the eye, sees all things rather
ban itself
Relations, always take the greatest liberties,
and frequently give the least assistance.
A man may go over the world and round the
world with Out: ever being in the world.
Most Married men must think the devil is
slow of foot, they so often catch him.
The child of a very wealthy man may be
considered a million-heir.
A: Field officer usually puts young men
upon Lis` staff•. Nature selects old men for
staff•seicice.
lie„ who is ingenious
n in, contriving artificial
appetites. generally , proves au ingenious self
tormentor..
The freedom of a people is in less danger of
being suddenly devoured than of being nibled
away.
Never associate with a person that doesn't
pay his debts. If a fellow, won't pay, his com
pany won't. ,
All the months of the year come with er.
rands and gifts to , the framer; there is not a
Judas among the twelve.
-Many. minds are Mammoth caves, all under
ground, and unlighted but by the torches of
selfishness and passion.
Little sincerity is to be expected between
belligerents. Even their caunon•bull aygu
tuentv are. all iiony.
In the first garden, woman and the devil
were two distinct agencies. In some modern
gardens they are combined in one.
If the body is, as an old author calls it. the
bridegroom of the soul, many a good-looking
body is worse married than Socrates was.
A helping hand is often like a switch on a
railroad track—but one inch between wreck
and smooth-rolling prosperity.
If a great fool is breaking your windows by
pelting thin with , guineas, you are a greater
one if you sally forth to cudgel him.
A man' that everybody knows to be a liar
may perhaps be excused forlying. It seems
to do him a vast deal of good, and nobody any
harm.
It is better that one's armor should be some
what bruised by rude encounters than hang
forever rusting on the wall.
Don't always be troubling yourself about the
effect of what you do and say—shoutiog to
hear the echo of your own voice.
The talent of .auceess is.simply doing what
you can do well; and doing well whatever you
do—without a thought of fame. Erne never
comes because it is craved
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