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Poctri).
SONG OF THE SORROWFUL.
11=1
I am sad. and I am lonely—
O'er the long lone path I tread.
Clouds and darkness hover only ;
0! I would that. I were dead:
For the clouds will nc'er he riven,
Nor the darkness disappear;
Nor the calm blue fields or Heaven
All the world is dark and dreary,
Life's a toilsome march at best,
And my sad heart, worn and weary,
Sighs for peace and longs for rest.
Ilope and joy have fled forever.
Love lies low with bleeding wing;
By my pathway never, never
Pleasure's wild flowers will up-spring
O! the Past was bright. and pleasant,
But the Future cannot he;
Anil the waters of the Present
Lave the vale of misery.
All around is dni t ness only—
All around the path I tread;
lan] sad and I ant lonely,
0! I would that. I were dead !
a 030°6 citorn.
PRIDE;
OFt,
THE FOLLY OF BEING TOO HASTY
BY TIRE. W. L. BERRY
"Do you really mean it, Fred ?"
"Mean what, Charles?"
"To again propose. to Miss Percy Pierce."
'•I do, indeed—and that, too, this very even
ing. 1 have sent her a note informing her
that she may expect me this evening at seven
o'clock."
"Well, Fred, take my advice and you will
int du it."
"Fur what reason ?"
"Fur several ; among which are these. In
the first place you have proposed twice and she
lola refused, which is sufficient why I would
nut try again. Then I do not think she is
worthy of you, which I aui sure is a very good
reason; besides, I du nut think she is all she
pretends to be." w
'•Stay, Charles, you have said enough. Do
not insult me by saying that she is not all that
she pretends to be.. She is a perfect model of
u female virtue, honor and :beauty. Why not
worthy of me ? Is she not perfect in all the
various accomplishments pertaining to a lady ?
But she is rich—would to God she were not,
or that I had riches and honor to lay at her
feet; she might then look more favorably upon
tue. But because I have proposed twice is no
reason why I should not do so again. Charles,
do you wind the great lawsuit that has just
been decided in your father's favor? He lost
it the first time, tii!id the second time; but did
out the third time put him in possession of six
thousand dollars? Why did he not, after the
first decision of the court, give up all hope of
recovering what he. thought was his just
due?"
"Because he knew he was in the right; h
knew he had been wrongfully used, and sought
justice of the law."
"Well, I know lam in the right. I know
I love her, and, in spite of two refusals, have
reason to believe that she loves me; and if we
were upuu equal staudiug iu society, she would
accept my offer immediately. I'll try once
more, and if then refused, Charles, good-bye."
"You say that if you were her equal in so
ciety you have every reason to believe she
would accept your offer ! Why does she not
now, if she loves you ?"
"Pride, which often governs woman's better
feelings; but once more I am determined to
see her, and see if she will nut look more fa
vorably upon me."
"And you say you have reason to believe
she loves you; what makes you think so?"
"I need not tell you, Charles, that it was she
that first sought in my society. You are aware
of that !"
"I am."
"You know I never went much into society
With her on account of late bereavement in the
family. But, while visiting her, she was all
kindness and tenderness towards me; every
look, every word told plainly that she felt
strongly for me. She is young, so am I; and
When I asked her if she loved me well enough
to become my wife in three years, she took my
hand and told me no, burst into tears and left
the room. This was six months ago. Three
months ago she again invited me to call upon
her; again I asked her the same question with
the same success; and the sawe depth..of feel-.
• 11
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VOL-1111 GREENCASTLE, PA., TUESDAY, OCTOBER 13, 1863.
ing was shown as in the former occasion. Two
weeks ago she again requested my company.—
I visited her; she was cheerful and appeared
happy. I did not broach the subject nearest
to my heart on that occasion ; and, as I left
her that evening, she warmly pressed my hand
and told me she hoped that she would not have
to bid me call again. A few evenings after
wards I met her in company ; she showed great
indifference towards me, but still she was not
partial to any of the rest. Charles, I scruple
not in saying that she loves me; but pride of
ten conquers the strongest love; for she is a
descendant of an old and aristocratic family,
while I am naught but a poor unknown youth,
eagerly striving to gain a proud position among
suciety."
"And you will gain it, there is no doubt,
Fred. The United States' senate contains a
seat for you, and are making giant strides to
wards filling it. When is it you appear before
the public with that oration; what is the sub
ject ?"
"Columbia, the Child of Brittaiuia."
"A h ! that is it, and I prophecy a great sue
cess for you ; it will be your first round to
fame. Now, if you are determined to again
propose to her, why not wait for a time until
you have gained a certain position iu society;
when she sees that you are rising hastily be
fore the world, she will plainly see that you
are going to gain a proud destiuction ; she will
then eagerly accept your offer. Does she
know that you appear before the world with
that oration ?"
"No, and I do not wish her to know it until
after I have had an interview with her."
"Why not?"
"Because I wish to gain her if possible be
fore I gain public applause; if she refuses me
this time, I'll bid adieu to her and all woman
kind."
"If wealth and position should afterwards
becomes yours, would you not go back to her
and again press your suit."
"No ! this will be my last effort, although it
will not banish my love for her, for that is as
firmly fixed as the stars ; and as long as heart
beats, or pulse throbs, I shall love her ; but the
pride that now governs her love will then re
strain me from drawing near her."
"Then I see that pride will be the cause of
sacrificing both your affections. Fred, if you
value your future happiness, cast your pride
away. Refrain from again seeing her for one
year, and then you will have the height of
your ambition gratified."
"Charles, is it as 1 say; I will gain her con
sent to share my future fortune while I am yet
humble, or never. Let me see, it is getting
late; and as my business requires my attention,
I will bid you good-bye."
"Farewell, Fred, and I do most heartily wish
you success; but would rather you would.fol
low my suggestion."
"'Tis impossible." And they parted.
Fred -- was yet a youth, not having gain
ed his majority. He was a noble specimen of
the male sex, not what most people would call
exceedingly handsome, but still he was attrac
tive. There was something about the noble
brow and expressive eye which told plainly of
a beautiful internal nature and great strength
of mind. He was possessed of superior talents,
and was fitting himself for the bar. He had
been long noted in the lyceum, to which he
belonged, for his superior powers of eloquence.
It had been proposed to him by the members
of the lyceum to deliver a lecture for their
benefit. He at first strongly objected, but was
finely persuaded to comply with their request,
and immediately set himself about, preparing
it; and "Columbia, the Child of Brittania"
was his theme. In three days he was to make
his debut before the public as a lecturer.
He had been acquainted with Miss Pierce
six months, and, as you are aware, during that
time he had twice asked her to become his when
he could appear before her every way worthy
and equal to her. His success you are aware
of. He was determined to once more press his
suit before he had gained any public applause.
If she refused him this time he was determin
ed to bid adieu to her forever.
The time appointed for his visit was now at
hand, and he made way towards the most aris
tocratic part of the city. He came to a large
and noble-looking mansion, whose exterior told
plainly of the interior; and this was the home
of Miss Percy Pierce. She was a beautiful
girl; she had, some ten mouths since, been be
reeved of a kind and indulgent father, whom
she most tenderly loved; her mother had died
while she was but an infant. Her father had
been eutensively engaged in the mercantile bu
siness, and some years before had retired with
an immense fortune, but did not long survive
his retirement.
A fierce disease laid him low and proved fatal
to him. He left his entire fortune to Percy,
his only child. An aunt that had lived with
them since the death of Percy's mother still
remained and superintended the household.—
That Percy loved Fred there was no doubt;
but pride, which bad been born and cultivated
in her, restrained her from complying with the
dictates of her heart. Had Fred been wealthy,
or had he held a position in society that he was
soon to do, she would at once have accepted
him ; or, had Fred taken the advice of his
friend, and waited a certain length of time be
fore he again proposed to her, years of unhap
piness would have been saved them both ; but
pride held a conspicuous place in his as well
as her better nature.
He ascended the marble steps and rang the
bell; the door was immediately opened by the
old porter. Fred was told to go directly to
Percy's parlor; thither he went, and found her
alone. She arose from her seat and warmly
welcomed him. If Fred had thbught her beau
tiful before, he thought her lovely now; a half
melancholy smile illuminated her handsome
features; her complexion was light; her hair
hung in golden ringlets down her alabaster
neck and shoulders; her eyes were of a clear,
wild blue, shaded with long light lashes.
They both stood a moment silent; their eyes
met, and from that glance each read the love
of the other. He led her to a seat and seat
ted himself by her side; then he again told her
the tale of his love, and again asked her to be-
Come his. He waited for au answer; she be
came terribly agitated ; she trembled like an
aspen leaf; great . tears, like pearls, gushed
from out her eyes and flowed down her lovely
cheek. He, too, gave way to his feelings, and
mingled his tears with hers. They sat thus a
moment, when she arose, and, without saying
a word, left, the room.
Fred sat as though entranced after her depar
ture. Presently 'the door opened, but, instead
of Perry returning, a card was handed to him,
upon which was written—"'Tis impossible."
Without further'delay he' prepared to leave;
and, as he was opening the door she again came
up to him: "Fred ?" she said. "Percy, fare
well ?" said he, and be hurried out. He re
turned home, and, there found his friend Charles
•
awaiting him. •
. "What success, Fred?"
"Do not ask me, Charles!'
"No, your looks tell plainly of' your feel
ings: she has again refused."
"She' has; bia, Charles, she loves me : I am
satisfied of that. I have bid Ler farewell, and,
Charles, I soon do the same to you. Were it
not for my engagement Thursday evening, to
morrow evening would find me a day's jour
ney from this place."
"You do not mean it."
"I positively do; and Friday I will leave
this place, and I hold most dear ; Charles, ex
cuse me, I would be alone; call and see me
in the morning and I will tell you all."
• Charles immediately withdrew. Fred re
tired, and sought sweet repose to while away
his sorrow. ~Thc time passed away, and he
had made every preparation necessary for leav
ing as soon as his lecture engagement was ful
filled.
It was Thursday evening; and the large
Town Hall was beautifully illuminated and
adorned in honor of the young lecturer that
was to make` his first appearance. At an
early hour the hall was'filled to excess; and,
as the hour of opening drel near, the speaker
was called to the stand. As he ascended the
rostrum a loud burst of applause welcomed
him; on being introduced to the audience he
arose and came near the front of the rostrum.
Immediately opposite him, upon the front seat,
sat Percy. When he first saw her he was
slightly embarrassed, but immediately regain
ed his composure and commenced his lecture
And for two hours did that vast audience sit
in breathless silence as though entranced, so
great, so mighty was his eloquence, and so
masterly did he handle his theme.
As he closed his discourse and resumed his
seat tremendous applause greeted him. Percy
was like a marble statue from the beginning to
end; in fact, so deeply was she ft:seinated with
his speaking that, even after they had begun
to disperse, she sat in mute astonishment,
wondering if that could be the Fred she loved
so well but dare not own it.
The next day Fred bade adieu to his most
intimate frineds; be also addressed a brief note
to Percy, telling her he should always remenir
ber her, but being thrice rejected he would
never trouble her more. When this was coin-
pleted and despatched he sprang aboard the
train and was being. rapidly carried away from
his home, and not until two years had rolled by
was he heard again ; at that time he addressed
a letter to Charles, to whom he briefly told the
incidents of his absence. He had gone through
his studies, and had been admitted to the bar;
was now just elected to a seat in the balls of
the legislature. He very meekly inquired
after Percy; and concluded by telling his
friends to remember him to her.
Ile continued to rise in public opinion for
the next five years, when he was chosen to the
United• States Senate.
Percy had indeed been unhappy. Upon re
ceivin4 his note informing her of his intended
departure, she immediately sent a messenger
to bring him to her. But alas! she was too
late. He had gone. She now thought over
her folly, and plainly saw where she had erred
She had many suitors for her hand, but she
decidedly refused them all. She lived on dur
ing the fifteen years that followed the same
that she had during her childhood. But when
she became aware of the high position he now
filled she was determined to once more see
him; and, for that purpose, hastened to the
capitol. When the house opened and the
spectators were admitted, she was among the
first to gain admission, and procured a conspic•
uous seat. Nearly all the members was pres
ent, but among them all she did not see one
that bore the resemblance to Fred.
Presently a man with a lordly mein passed
through the room and took his seat near the
front. As her eyes first caught sight of that
figure a crimson blush spread over her beau
tiful face; her brain whirled, and she nearly
fainted. She had seen the Fred of her youth ;
but when the speaker called silence, it aroused
her from her peculiar position, and she regain
ed her senses.
One after another of the gifted senators arose
and argued the point before the house. Pres
ently Fred's commanding figure was seen to
rise; he argued long and strongly the question ;
and, as he was about to resume his seat, he
glanced among the spectators, his eyes caught
that of Percy's. A. word of meaning was in
their glance; it caused him to suddenly stop
in his argument, and, amid confusion, took his
eat.
That night while setting in his room, he re
ceived a note from her, wishing his presence
at her room at the hotel. • He simply wrote on
the back of the one he received,—"Pride—
thrice rejected," and returned it•by the same
one that brought it.
Almost broken-hearted she returned to her
home and employed her time in chartiable pur
poses. Fred soon received a foreign mission ;
he bade adieu to his native land, and went to
dwell in foreign court; there he stayed until
old age subdued his pride, and he once more
sought his native shore, and return to the
place he abruptly left years before.
Great change had taken place during his ab
sence; all who had been schoolmates of his
were either dead or separated to different parts
of the world. His old friend Charles, he
found, and a happy meeting took place between
them. Long did they sit and talk over the
incidents of their younger days, but not one
word was said about Percy. Fred did not
mention her, and Charles would not wound
his feelings by referring to her.
A week passed since his return, and he was
about to leave again. Charles requested him
to call that evening, as au old friend was to be
there and would like to see him before he
again departed. At an early hour Fred was
at his friend's door and was met by Charles.
who ushered him in to the parlor and closed
the door; and, as he passed in, was met face
to face with Percy. Neither spoke a word,
but Fred clasp her to his bosom. Pride was
forgotten then in their old age, and they min
gled their tears together over the folly of their
youth.
An hour passed, but what was said during
that time is left, reader, for you to conjecture.
Suffice it is for us to say, that Charles was cal
led and he was instructed to summons a
minister; and before they again parted they
were united in the holy bands of wedlock;
the pride of their youth had been conquered,
and in their old age received its reward.
There are childlike Christians, whose heads
are reckoned white with age on earth, but they
are called flaxen-haired on high. We call
them wrinkled here, but there they call them
dimpled. They seem to us to be very dull and
still, but the hand of the Almighty rocks their
cradles when they cry.
tive and let live is no motto for war-times
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NO. 31.
A shoemaker 'waxes, and a wagoner loans.
In every old book we find, if not the shadow,
the type of the age in which it was printed.
Mediocrity is a plant that .bears but one
flower—envy
It is far easier to see small faults than large
virtues
She who can compose a cross baby is greater
then she who compose books.
The sun is no worse for shining on muck,
and the muck no better for being shone on.
If you let your throat be seared with daily
lies, your very cravat will tighten around it.
Love is a butterfly that shakes dust from
his wiugs into the eyes of his votaries.
Cider becomes sour by working; men's
minds gets so by not working.
Men are generally an octave below women
in voice, and a good many octaves in every-
thing else
This is a hard world. Every rose has its,
thorn, but not one thorn in a hundred has its
rose
Wheo a man who has been rich finds him
self compelled to break, his friends are apt to
break with him.
Sin is as much a forerunner of misery as
the forward wheels of a coach are of the hind
ones
If wine gets men into quarrels, it sometimes
gets them out. Ask your opponent to take ' a
glass with you
Beauty has its privileges.; a womon who has ,
plainness of face must not expect to be indulg
ed in the luxury of plainness of speech. `: •
The most cheerful and soothing of all fire.
side melodies are the bleeding tones of acriek-'
et, a tea kettle, and a loving wife.'
A woman is not fit to have`a baby who
doesn't know bow to hold it; and this -is as ,
true of a tongue as of a baby.'
Men become what they are from woman's
influence; so, although men make laws, the
women make the law makers.
The seamstress who rigs out young men by
the brisk use of her.thimble, is undoubtedly a
thimble-rigger. . .
If "wit's a feather," many of our young,
ladies have a great deal of wit about their
heads, however little in them.
There are worse serpents than those. that,
crawl in the grass, and they deserve to lose
their skins twice as often.
As the true gentleman will appear, even in
, .
rags, so true genius will shine out, even through
the coarsest style.
Proverty, like other bullies, is formidable
only to those who show that they are afraid of
Whether discretion is or is not "the better
part of valor," it is most certain that diffidence
is the better part of knowledge.
A man may be old and young alternately
twenty times a day, as bright and cheerful
thoughts and sad and despondent ones succeed
each other in his mind.
It is a misfortune that the head of dullness,
unlike the tail of the torpedo, loses nothing of
its benumbing and lethargising influence by
reiterated discharges.
The soundest argument produces 'no more
conviction in an empty head than the most su•
perficial declamation ; as a feather and a guinea
fall with equal velocity in a vacuum.
Some silly spirits are seized with a misgiv
ing about their funded hopes of future happi
ness; just as timid depositor's and note hol l airs'
are sometimes smitten with panic and rush' to'
the banks to demand their deposits.
Little--or-Not Dings,
$70.00
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