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scicct portrn.
WHEN THIS CRUEL WAR IS OVER.
EY CHARLES C. SAWYER
Dearest love, do you remember,
When we last did meet,
How you told me that you loved me,
Kneeling at my feet?
Oh I how proud you stood before me
In your suit of blue,
When you vowed to me and country
Ever to be true
Weeping sad and lonely,
Hopes and fears how vain !
When this cruel war is over,
Praying that we meet again !
When the summer breeze is sighing
Mournfully along ;
Or when autumn leaves are falling,
Sadly breathes the song.
Oft in dreams I see thee lying
On the battle plain,
Lonely, wounded, even dying,
Calling but in vain.
Weeping sad and lonely, &c:
If amid the din of battle '
Nobly you should fall,
Far away from those who love you,
None to bear you call—
Who would whisper words of comfort,
Who would soothe your pain ?
Ah ! the many cruel fancies
Ever in my brain.
Weeping sad and lonely, &a.
But our country called you, darling,
Angels cheer your way;
While our nation's sons are fighting,
We can only pray.
Nobly strike for illod and liberty,
Let all nations see
How we love the starry banner,
Emblem of the free.
Weeping sad and lonely; &c.
2. (boob acorn. .
IF I HAD KNOWN OF THIS.
BY T. S. ARTHUR
"Dearest mother," so she wrote, "how my
heart is aching to see you I Three years—
three long, long years ! What an age it seems!
In the Fall, Henry said that I should visit you
in the Spring; and now the maple leaves are
out, and golden buttercups spangle the green
fields, but he does not speak of it. I wonder
if he has forgotten ? How could he forget ?
Last evening I had it on my tongue to say that
Spring was here, and did begin the sentence,
but he interrupted me with a complaint about
something wrong in our housekeeping matters,
and I had no heart to touch the subject again.
If things go wrong, and worry him, while I am
here and trying to do my best, they would be
come intolerable during my absence. It is
plain that I am not to see my dear old home
this Spring. Henry cannot spare me. Well,
well ; no doubt all is for the best. But, lam
a weak child instead of a strong woman ;. a
weak child, longing for my mother.
"Henry is kind-1 love him, dear mother !
Yes, I love my husband, oh so tenderly and so
truly ! I try to be a good wife ; I try to enter
into all his plans; to help him in everything.
But, his heart is set on this world more than
mine. He lives only for what is external,
while my thought is all the while receding—.
all the while dwelling among these things un
seen. lam not as strong as I was last Spring,
nor so stout.. I looked over sonic of my dres
ses, laid by a year ago, and find that they will
have to be taken in before I can wear them.—
I was surprised at this, for I have'nt been sick
—only a little drooping. My appetite was
pool all: winter. and is no better new. I try to
eat, in order to keep up my strength, but have
to force nearly every mouthful.
"Don't mind the stains on this page, moth
er; I can't keep my tears back while I write
for thinking how only my poor written words
will go to you—how, only, from this sheet I
can look up into your dear, dear face, and not
feast my living eyes upon you, not clasp your
neck, not feel your kisses on my lips. Three
years—such long years ! Mother, oh, mother !
What ails me ?"
The pen dropped from nerveless fingers, and
the writer's pale, gentle face, wet with tears,
was laid upon the blotted sheet before her.—
Down stairs, in the room just beneath, sat
Henry Willis, her husband, with busy brain.
He was a strong, earnest man, whose heart was
in his work. For three or four years he had
been all absorbed in laying the foundation on
Which to build a temple dedicated to fortune;
and now, the walls beginning to rise, he could
think of little beyond the plans and progress
of this temple. It was not designed to be very
iropoeing or spacious, for his ideal was not
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grand; but, such as it was, it had, even while
yet only shadowed forth, become the dwelling
place of almost every thought.
Henry Willis had not forgotten his promise
to let his wife visit his mother. All through
the winter it bad been remembered, if not
spoken of, but with diminishing pleasure as the
Spring approached. Now, he did not see that
he could possibly let her go. Such absence
would abridge his comfort materially; and, be
sides, the expense troubled him. To fit her
out with proper clothing for the visit, and pay
the cost of travel, would not take less than one
hundred dollars; and there were so many
things he could do with the sum of money.
"I wonder she can think of going, when she
knows it will cost." So he was , talking to him
self in the room below, while she sat writing,
as we have seen above. "I work too hard for
my money to throw it away after this fashion.
I wish she took more interest in • things; was
as earnest to get ahead as I am. I don't un•
derstand her. -.lt's as my father said before
me—'Women are riddles." 0, well,! I must
only make the best of it. Esther never, cros
ses me in anything, and if I scold, never says
a hard word back. I sometimes wish that she
was sharper than she is, even if she was sharp
on me sometimes. As to going home this
Spring, I don't see that it is possible. There
is too much to do,-and I can't spare the , money
She's said nothing about it, and I guess don't
intend to. Maybe she's waiting for me to
speak; or, maybe, she sees just how,it is, and
has concluded in ber ',mind that it won't pay.
Of course, I shall make no allusion to the sub
ject, if she doesn't. I don't understand this
way some people have of looking back, and
hankering after old places andformer things.
I look straight ahead, and build my hopes in
the future. The past has little in it that I love
or care for, while the future is' full of becom
ing pleasures. Ah, well ! We're not all
formed alike. It takes every kind to make a
world."
How, little, did,Henty Willis.comprehend the
woman he had taken to be his wife. Her
.gen
tleness, her sweetness her tenderness had won
him ;• but he was too much in, the world, and
a man of the world', to comprehend the wants
of such a nature. His inner life reflected only
external things—it was dark on, the. internal
side. -
There' ollovi , ed a kind of interregnum in the
thought of Mr. Willis—a brief cimfusion—as
he ceased speaking. Then he found himself
listening, with pauses of the breath—listening
upwards. He knew that his wife was in the
room above. How very still it was! He
could not hear a souud—not a footfall, or
movement of any kind. A weight of concern
'dropped suddenly on his feelings. Rising, he
went up stairs, oppressed with a vague uneasi-
Hess
"Esther 1" he called, on opening the door of
his wife's room, and seeing her at a small
writing-table, with her face 'bowed down and
hidden. She did potstir nor answer. "Esther !"
There was alarm in his voice now, as he cros
sed the floor quickly. "Esther !" he repeated,
as he laid his hand on her. But there came
no response. He tried to raise her head, but
it sunk down from his, imperfect hold; not,
however, before he had seen her face, that was
pale and death-like. His heart gave a wild
bond of fear as he caught her in his arms, and
carried her to the bed.
It was only a fainting fit; yet, not until!
long after the physician's arrifal, did the weary
soul take up its burden of mortal life again,
and then only with a feeble effort.
To the husband's anxious inquiry—" What
does it mean, doctor ?" this, at first scarcely
comprehended, answer was given : "There is
sotne`unsupplied want in her life, Mr. Willis.
I have seen it for a long time. There are na
tures which cannot live on bread alone, and
her's, I think, is one of them. If you can
discover and supply this want, well; if not, she
will go on drooping and failing. A little while
and the grass will be green above her."
The physician understood, in part, the case,
and this was his prescription—better than lan
cet or drug, than pill or powder.
Alone with his half unconscious wife, and
the doctor's at first not clearly understood warn
ing in his mind, Mr. Willis passed the night
that followed—sleepless.-:-.He was wiser Before
the day dawned, for, every word ce that-unfin
ished letter, over which the poor wife's heart
and strength gave way, had been written down
in his brain. It was read, and then the blotted
pages laid carefully out of sight. But what a
revelation it proved ! •
"If I had' known of this r How' many
time's, in the long, elceplesibours - of that night,
GREENCASTLE, PA., TUESDAY, AUGUST 4, 1863.
did Henry Willis thus give voice to his con•
cern—and all the while light came stealing into
his mind with the gradual increase of breaking
day. 'Natures that cannot live on bread alone."
Strange:words when spoken by the doctor; but
now full of meaning.
Back into the heart of this man, who had,
for a few years, lost himself amid the attrac
tions of mere sensuous things, came old ideals
of life—old tenderness—old appreciations—
old loves.
"I have been too hard, and coarse, and cold,
for this purer nature," he said, with brimming
eyes, as he bent over the low-breathing sleeper.
and looked at her almost spiiitual face. "And
now, if I would keep her, I must be soft, and
gentle and warm. Drifting, drifting, drifting
away, and I saw it not ! The angel of my
home, with wings hitlf raised to depart, and I
dwelling in conscious safety 1"
He shuddered as he realized the danger that
impended. r
The day bad broken; and now the morning
sunbeams were looking in through the half
drawn curtains that shaded the windows of Mr.
Willis's bed-rooni. Mr. Willis, worn out with
the night's watching, had laid his head upon a
pillow, and was asleep. In the long rest of
exhausted nature the wife had gathered up u
portion of strength, and when the sunbeams
awoke' her, she looked around in bewilderment
of mind. Partly rising on one arm, she saw
her husband's face close beside her, on the
very pillow which had supported her own head.
He sat in a chair, with his clothes on, and was
asleep.
"Henry !" She called his name, putting her
hand on him as She spoke. Her voice and
touch aroused the sleeper.
"How are you, darling r He was wide
awake in a moment, looking at her with tender,
yet troubled eyes.
"Pm very well.. What has been the matter
Henry ? IWhy are you sitting here with your
clothes on Have I been sick ?" Mrs. Willis,
•
with whom memory was becoming active, look
ed from her husband's faCe to the table where
she had been writing.
"Yoti had a fainting spell, dear," was an
swered, and as Mr. Willis said this, he pressed
his wife gently back upon the pillow from
which she had arlsgu.“Lnever dreamed you
were getting so. weak: 'But :I see it all now.—
We strop.. rough men, don't comprehend every-
thing."
.A. soft smile went Taintly over the plae face
of Mrs. Willis,. giving it a sad and touching,
beauty. Her silken lashes fell trembling down
on her cheeks. Her wan lips quivered. Now
the doctor's admonition came in full force to
her husband, ind- all it meant was apprehended.
He felt that to lose her, would be to lose that
which made life, really precious. The old true
love that had in it no worldliness—that was so
full of sweetness—that saw its objects as an
embodiment of purity and grace—was revived
in his heart, and he-wondered-how it could ever
have failed.
"As soon as you are strong enough, Esther,
to bear the journey, you must make that visit
to your mother. If I had known The
husband checked himself, for this was betray
ing the fact that he had read her unfinished
letter.
"I am strong enough, Henry." Her eyes
flashed open, and he saw rainbows in the tears
that gemmed her lashes.'
"You want to see your mother very much?"
"Oh, Henry The wet lids quivered and
closed. Three years is a long time, Henry,"
she murmured, with her eyes still shut.
"I know it is darling. But I was so absorb
ed in my work—so lost in business and plans
—that I did not enter, as I should have done,
into your feelings. But, I see it all now.
You shall go home at once, and every year, if
your heart desires it.
What light, and warmth and beauty came
nto the pale, wasted countenance.
"You are very good, Henry; and it will be
selfish in me to leave you, even for a short
time; but I am not so strong as I was dear.
Somehow, I'm giving way both outwardly and
inwardly. For the whole of last year, I pined
to see my old home—to lay my head against
my mother, and feel her arms around me. I
could not help it, dear, though I tried bard.
You are good and kind; I love you with my
whole heart; and I ought not feel as I have
felt."
The eyes of Mrs. 'Willis were full of love
as she looked up into her husband's face.
"If I hand only known of this! And I
might have known," was the self condemning
answer.
In less than a week Mrs. Willis was in her
mothees arms. Her husband stood by, com
prehending in a slight degree, through recently
obtained perceptions, something of her ineffa
ble joy. She was passing away from him, but
he had drawn her back.
Thenceforth, food, other than natural bread,
was given for the sustenance of a life whose
wants reached far above those things which
perish in the using
A DI6A-PPOINI.TEI'T.WOMAN.
A few months since a gentleman had the mis
fortune to lose his wife, a literary lady of some
reputation. After grieving for a number of
weeks, a bright idea entered the head of the
widower. He thought that he could do some.
thing to lessen his sorrow, and for that purpose
he called upon a lady of his acquaintance, and
requested to speak a word with her in private.
Thinking that. she was about to receive a pro
posal, the lady prepared to listen with becom
ing resignation.
"Myrrh," said he with downcast eyes as he
took herland, "you knew my wife 1"
"Certainly."
"It is not good for a man to be alone."
"Perhaps uot."
"Did you ever reflect upon that part of the
marriage service which required couples to
cleave unto each other till death do us part F"
"I have."
"I haveoften reflected upon it myself Now
death, has parted me from my wife, and I feel
very lonely."
"I should think it likely."
"I. think I must do something to restore to
me her kind consolations,. and, the memory of
her. virtues."
He pressed the lady's hand and sighed.
She• returned the pressure, and also suffered
a ,sigh to escape her.
"My dear," he said, - after'a long pause, "I'll
come to a point at once, I have a proposal to
make."
"A proposal r
She blushed. and covered her face with her
hands. •: •
"Yes: I have concluded to write my wife's
biography. Now I had but.little skill o literary
exercises, and if you will correct mrmanu
script and *write the heading of• the chapters,
I. will give you five dollars." •
Ste 'sprang from his side and her .eyes flash.
ed with anger.
'•I'll see you banged, first and then I won't
you—you—"
She left the room not being able to express
her feelings. The widower sighed, took his
hat, and went home. He has not yet publish
ed nor proposed It, was a pity to be so ruisun
derbtood. • '
DUTIES OF A MOTHER.
She should be firm—gentle—kind, always
ready to attend to her child.
She should never' laugh at him—at what
he doev that is cunning—never allow him
to think of his looks except to be neat and
clean in all his habits.
She should teach him to obey a look—so
respect those older than himself; she should
never make a command without seeing that it
is performed in the right manner.
Never speak of a child's faults or foibles or
repeat his remarks before him. It is a sure
Way to spoil a child.
Never reprove a child when excited nor let
your tone of voice be raised when correcting .
Strive to inspire love, not dread—respect,' not
fear. Remember you are training and educat
ing a soul for eternity.
Teach your children to wait upon themselves
—to put away a thing when done with it.
Butido not forget you were 'once a child. The
griefs of little - ones are too often neglected;
they are great for them, and never in any way
rouse their anger if it can be avoided.
Teach a child to be, useful whenever oppor-
unity may Offer
Shirts hung out to dry have often been
thought ghosts, many mermaids have been
made out of seals,. many times a school of
horse•mackerels have been taken for the s.
serpent.
Mother-Love is the first token of God's no
tice, the first trace of God's care. Father
power and right construct order and constitute
home.
A cornstalk is a vegetable that often bears
three or four ears; the human vegetable , never
bears more than two.
The soul that has no established limit to cir
cumscribe its endeavors loses itself. He that
is everywhere is nowhere.
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NO. 21.
Over-warm friendships, like hot potatoes,
are quickly dropped.
Every cook should circumnavigate the world
of kiteheu literature.
It is beauty's privilege to kill time, anti
time's privilege to kill beauty.
A verb is a word signifying to be, to do
or to suer; vonaan's life is a verb.
A man may be nettled by a rose—if his
sweethearts gives it to his rival.
A widow, whose lands supply rick grazing for
a thousand cattle, is an attractive grass-widow.
The crow is a brave bird; he never shows
the white feather.
To make your coat last; avoid' using it; to
make your virtues endure them continually.
Dandies and nanny-goats never fail to pride
hemselves upon their kids.
Bayou says that "good schools wake men."
Then they are tnan'factories.
The miser is a vvreteh who starves himself
n one world to be damned in another.
If a roan thinks he belongs to a superior
cast, probably the cast is in his eve.
Envy is unquestionably a high compliment,
but a most ungracious one.
Old age is a reotless tyrant; it forbids the
pleasures of youth on pain of death.
Love map seem to be where it isn't ; it can
never seem not to be where it is•
Live with the culpable, and you will be
very likely to die with the criminal.
Before you form an intimacy. with, a man
earn how he acted with his former friends.
To the greater part, of mankind it is less
dangerous to do an injury than much service.
If we live according to nature we can never
be poor; it accordinc , to opinion, we can never
be rich.
They> say at death we first begin to live—
hat we lie •down in the grave just to take
breath
The wine of lite goes, into adversity, into
vinegar; and friends, that hugged the bottle,
shirk the cruet.
Though love cannot dwell in a heart, friend•
ship may; the latter takes less room—it has
no Wings
Little differences keep up the commerce of
friendship between sensible men, and destroy it
between fools
Waste not your benevolence on the notori
ously ungrateful; it is like sowing seed upon
the surface of the sea.
Some women paint their faces, and then
weep because it doesn't make them beautiful.
They raise a hue—and cry.
Teach people their duties, and they will
know their interests. Change as little as pos
sible, and correct as much.
Commentators often write upon books as
men with diamonds write upon glass—obscur
ing light with scratches.
The pareot, who gives away a loved child in
marriage, but pays back to wedlock the good
gift it bestowed upon him.
Judas b :trayed our Lord for thirty pieces of
silver; many professing Christians have, by a
similar service, made ten times the money.
A glutinous bodied man, whose bones are
not even muscles, and whose muscles are pulp,
is necessarily a coward.
Alas for those women whose staff is their
needle; for, when they lean upon it, it pierces,
not their side, but their heart. The needle
has slain more then the sword 'of war.
The cries of the poor never enter into the
ears of the covetous man ; or, if they do, he
has alwaya one ear readier to let them out than
the other to take them in.
Justice upon earth News fondir of punish
ing than rewarding. She is'n'either blind, as
Some have represented her, nor cleir sighted;
she.is one eyed, and looks fixedly and fondly
with her one eye upon edge tools and halters.
tittle-or-Not I)ingb-.
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