THEP I_ L, 0 T
IS maLisuED EVEY TUESDAY MORNING EY
JAMES W. Id 'CRORY,
(North West Corner of the Public Square,)
e t the following rates, from which there will be no
deviation:
ain g le subscription, in advance $1.50
Within six months 1.75
Within twelve months 2.00
No paper will be discontinued unless at the option
,f the l'ublishers, until all arrearages are paid.
No subscriptions will be taken for a less period
six months.
The Great
AXERICAN TEA. COMPANY,
51 Veseg Street, New York;
Since its organisation, has created a new era in the
history of
Wholesaling Teas in this Country.
They have introduce] their selections of Teas, and
are selling them at. not over Two Cents (.0S Cents)
per pound above Cost, never deviating from the ONE
PRICE asked.
Another peculiarity of the company is that their
TEA TASTER not only devotes his time to the eaten
Lion of their Teas as to quality, value, and particu
lar styles for particular localities of country, but he
helps the TEA buyer to choose out of their enormous
stock such TEAS as are best adapted to his peculiar
wants, and not only this, but points out to him the
bat bargains. It. is easy to see the incalculable ad
vantage a TINA BUYER has in this establishment over
all others. If he is no judge Of TEA, or the MARKET.
if his time is valuable, he has all the benefits Of a well
organized system of doing business, of an immense
capitol, of the judgment of a professional Tea ,Taster,
B ad the knowledge of superior salesmen.
This enables all Tea buyers—no matter if they
are thousands of miles from this market—to.pur
chase on as good terms here as the New York mer
chant■
Parties can order Teas and will be served by us
as well as though they came themselves, being'sure
to get original packages, true weights and tares;
and the Teas are warranted as represented.
We issue a Price List. of the Company's Teas.
which will be sent to all who order it: comprising
Hyson, Young Hyson, Imperial, Gun
powder, Twankay and Skin.
Oolong, Sone/tong, Orange and' Hyson Pekoe
Japan Tea of ever/ description, colored and uncolored.
This list has each kind of Ten divided into Four
Clanies. namely: CARGO, high CARGO, FINE,
FINEST. that every one mny understand from de
seripion and the prices annexed that the Company
are determined to undersell the whole reel trade.
We guarantee to sell all our Teas at not. aver
TWO CENTS (.02rents) per pound' above cost: 'be
lieving this to be attractive ,to the many who have
heretofore been paying Enormous Profits.
Great American, Tea Company, • .
Importers and Jobbers,
Sept. 15, 1863-Bco.] No. 51 Vesey St.., N. Y
$ 100 U c W ure A RD! for a medicine that
Coughs, Lifluenza, Tickling in the 7hroat,
Whooping C'ough,or relieve Consumptive Cough.
es quick as .
COE'S COUGH BALSAM
Over Five Thousand Bottles* have heen sold in its
native town, and not a single instance of its failure
im known
We have. in our possession, any quantity of cer-,
tifientes. sonic ,of them from EHINENT PHYSICI
ANS. who have used it in their practice, and given
it the preeminence over any other compound.
It does not Dry up a Cough,
but loosens it, so as to ensibte the patient to expec
torate freely. Two or three doses will invariably
cure Tickling in the Throat. A half bottle has el-
Ira completely cured the most STUBBORN cocci!. and
yet, though it is so sure and speedy fn its opeiation.,
it is perfectly harmless, being puroly.vegetable.-. It
is very agreeable to the taste,. and may, he.fttkroitlia
terra to children of any age. In,eases of CROUP
we will guarantee a cure, if taken in settioa.
_hi) family should be without
It is within the reach of all, the price being only
25 Cents And. if an investment. and thorough
trill does not "hack up" the above statement:, the
mosey will be refunded. We say this knowing its.
merits, and feel confident that one, trial will secure
for it a home in every household.
Do not waste away with Coughing. when so small
an investment will cure you. It. may be had of
any respectable Druggist in town, who will furnish
you with a circular of genuine certificates of, cures
it has nude. C. G. CLARK & CO.,
Proprietors, '
• New Haven, Ct.
At Wholesale, by • .
Johnston, Holloway & Cowden,
28 North Sixth Street. Philadelphia,.Ps.,
For sale by .Druggists in city, county, and every
where [Sept. 29, 1863 -gni.
J. W. BARR'S
Karamoth. Stove
and Tinware Store Room,
A foss doors South of the Diamond, Greencastle, Pa.
THE undersigned having purchased. Mr. Need's
1 entire interest. in the Tinning business, wishes
to inform the public at large, that he has on hand,
at his extensive Stove store,
COOK, PARLOR AND ;NINE-PLATE
Stoves. Among them are the Continental, Koble
'Zook, Commonwealth and Charm. which he will sell
'heap for cash. The very best quality of
Tin, Japaned and Sheet. Iron Ware,
in great variety.
RPOUT.ING
of the best. material, for hoises, &c., manufactured
tad put up at the shortest notice.
All are invited to call at this establishment, as the
sroprietor is confident in rendering satisfaction.
sib In price and quality of his wares. My price
hall be low! tow ! ! low!!!
Save money by purchasing at headquarters
All work warranted .
August 26, 1868
WELLS COVERLY. DAVID H. HUTCHISON.
VOVERLY & HUTCHISON
kJ Have become the Proprietors of the UNITED
4 TATES HOTEL, near the Railroad Depot at HAR
RISBURG, Pa. Tide popular and commodious
Motel has been newly refitted and furnished through
out its parlors and chambers, and is now ready for
the reception of guests.
The traveling public will find the United States
Hotel the most convenient, in all particulars of any
Hotel in the State Capital. on account of its access
to the railroad, being immediately between the two
great depots in this city
Harrisburg, August 4, '63-Bm.
GREENCASTLE SEMINARY.
MALE AND FEMALE.
THE subscriber will open a Male and Female Semi
nary at Greencastle, on the fire! Monday of October
next• Instruction will be given in all the Branches
usually taught in a first class school. MUSIC and
other Ornamental Branches will be taught by an ex
perienced Female Teacher. A limited number of
Pupils will be received into the family of the Prin
cipal, as Boarders. For terms and further informa
tion, address JOS. S. LOOSE.
Greeneastle, Sept. 22, 1868.-2 m.
VOL-1111 GREENCASTLE, PA., TUESDAY, DECEMBER 22, 1863. NO 39
, • • %"•• • .•,,,^4••••".•••,,,0..••.0,0w4,•,,,,,,...,•,,,,
rINISH THY WORK.
Finial thy work, the time is short;
The sun is in the west;
The night is coming down—till then
Think not of rest.
Yes, finish all tby work, then rest;
Till then, rest never ;
The rest prepared for thee by God
Is rest forever
Finish "tby work, then wipe thy brow ;
Ungird thee from thy toil;
Take breath,-and from each weary limb
Shake off the soil.
Finish thy work, then sit thee down
On some celestial hill,
And of its strength-reviving air
Take thou thy
Finish thy work, then go in peace ;
Life's battles fought sad won,
Hear from the throne the Master's voice,
••Well done! well done!"
FiniFli thy work, then take the harp,
Give praise to God above ;
fling a new song of 'nighty joy
And endless love
Give thanks to Hint who held thee up
In all thy path belo*,
Rhormade thee faithful unto death.
And crowns thee now!
WOUNDED AT DONELSON.
"I must go! If I could resist the impulse
that leads me to the scenes of excitement and
dangers -the fierce wild life of the soldier, I
•
cannot still the small but , ceaseless cry of con •
science. It tells me that I ought to devote
myself to my country in this dark hour of
trial—l cannot give it the life."
Thus soliloquized Jervis Weston, as he sat
alone in his office long after the busy streets
were liiisbed, and all 'around were buried in the
night's profoundest slumbers.
" But Effie, what will she say ? and my
mother? My lite, in one sense, belongs to
them both. Have I a right to go without their
full and free coasent Y Have I a right to peril
their happiness- as freely as I would my own
life? Yei. Yes, for onr country calls upon
its daughters, no less than upon its sons, for
sacrifice. lam decided. fro-morrow must see
niy plans arranged.",
The next day was a busy one. At noon he
found an hour's time to tell his mother what
he had done, to seek her approval and blessing.
Neither were withheld. •
Jervis was her' only son, her only child.—
But she bade him go to the defence of his
country, and gave .him her blessing. His
heart was calmed and lightened by her strong
'oviug words. He hoped to find in his be
trothed a woman like his mother—one who
could forget self and give royally in the day
of great needs.
It was evening before he could go to her
the lace draperies of the window,
whose blind the servants had forgotten to close,
be saw her sitting alone. A shaded light threw
its downward radiance over her. Her face,
with its pure Greek lines, was in rrofile—he
needed not to have been a lover to have found
it beautiful. Her, rippling hair, golden in the
mellow light, shaded < the low straight brow,
and fell in light curls over her snowy neck.—
Her half-reclining attitude showed the outlines
of her superb figure to the best advantage.—
One hand, fallen at her side, held the book she
had been reading. The other she leaned upon
as in deep thought. Was she thinking of
him ? Perhaps. Jervis Weston's was a lov
er's heart. No wonder it beat tumultuously
as he sprang up the steps and rang the bell.
A moment more and he was in her presence,
holding hor hand in
,his, reading something
very„pleasautio her smiles and btushes, think
ing toost,unfriendly that forgotten blind be had
thought so friendly five minutes before. He
did not want the passers-by to behold his rap
tures, so ,be, sat down at a, polite distance from
Effie Moore,.and let words, instead of caresses
interpret his feelings.
He forgot for a time the tidings he had to
impart. Or, 'Mote 'truly, he Strove to forget
tliA by his own Wet, he had decreed a separa
tion between this lovely girl and himself; that
it was possible, even more4han possible, that
when they parted, it Must be forever.
Meantime she was chatting gaily of some
plans she had formed, of some parties she and
her lover were to attend, and: of th 2 near fu
ture that was to be so happy and binliant. It
was very hard to tell her that all these plans
were to be frustrated; and yet it must be'done.
J. W. BARR
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sclrct Pottni.
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BY MARY C. VAUGHAN.
Done at once, for in three days his regiment
was to march.
He had written her a note the previous even
ing, telling her what he thought of doing; he
wondered that she did not help him by allud-
ing to it.
"Effie, I don't think I shall be able to go
with you," he said, at last, hesitatingly. "I
shall be away in a week," he added, as he saw
surprise and annoyance flash across the 'face
she turned to him.
She turned pale as she saw his stern, sad
look. She gasped his name, but stopped there,
watching his face eagerly.
"Did you get my note ? I thought it would
have prepared you for this. Yes, it is true.
lam going to war. 1 enlisted this morning.
My mother has blessed Me and given her con
sent. I have nobody else but you; you will
not withhold yours ?"
So he questioned, looking at her still for an
answer. None came. IVe took her hand. It
was very cold, and there was no response to his
pressure.
''Speak to we, Effie, are you willing I should
go ?"
"Have you really enlisted ?" she asked oold-
"Really, my pet."
"It is useless then to ask me if lam willing.
I think you should have asked that before.—
My views of the matter can be of little conse
quence now."
Her tone was freezing, a little raised, clear,
incisive, reminding one of the . tinkle of icicles
on the winter day.
"I thought it Jny duty to go, Effie. Do you
think it was no sacrifice for me to leave you,
my darling ? Only help me to bear it, dear.
I have my part to do fur my country, dearest,
and though it is hard that any trouble should
fall upon you; you have yours also. Men
must act, now, and women must suffer. It
must be so, darling. Tell me if you are will
ing to show yourself a true little patriot, and
bid me God speed ?"
"I have told you it is useless. What can I
say. now ? And I suppose you have made
yourself a pitiful lieutenant, or something of
that k ind."
"Not' even that, 'dear. I am only a pri-
vate." - •
She drew her hand hastily from his, and
paced the room.
"'Phis 'is , too Much—too much," he heard
her say. . .
"It was not enough to leave nie,'but he must
disgrace me also;" and she flashed upon him
au angry glance.
I don't want to belong this scene. It pre
sents a woman, a young. girl, in a most unlove
ly aspect,—a selflih, tyrannical one. It' shows
an angry woMan, trampling tin - Caring upon her
own f heart, that she may wound another's.
"No, no ; I don't love you;" she said at
!aft, almost in a scream, so great was her an
gry excitement. "Why should I , when you
core so little for me ? You, who have now my
promise to marry you, and then deliberately
leave me.' Not only that, but disgrace mei as
well. You 'are going ? Go then. No; I
will not tuly good-bye. I don't care for you at
all. I never wish to see you any more."
These words were ringing in Jervis Weston's
ears when he found himself again upon the
sidewalk. It was no pleasure to him, then, to
look through the lace drapery, and see Miss
Moore restlessly . pacing the floor, her small
hands clenched above her brow, and tangled iu
her brown ringlets, her face flushed. her eyes
sparkling, all the calm, ladylike repose of
wanner, the gentle expression, departed from
face and figure. His whole feeling was—
" What tvpitty 'tis 1 love her so, that. even this
is not sufficient to tear her from my heart."
He had expected that parting to be - a sore
pang ; but he had thought Effie Moore leal
and true, and he had not looked for aught like
this. After this, it was not easier for hint to
go away, as one would, perhaps, think. He
almost felt that he had not counted the cost—
certainly he had not expected to sacrifice his
love, for his country. It was much; very much,
to have his mother's prayers—there was one
earthly love that never could change, let what
would come.
"Mother, you will pray for me, and think of
ms and love we," were his last words, and the
mother knew that he was thinking of that oth
er love, that had grown to be part of his being,
and was lost.
So the young soldier went away with a very
sad heart. Ambition, patriotism,—his wild,
exciting life—nothing could heal the wound,
or make him forget the girl who had scorned
him,
And how was it with Effie Moore ? Was
she happy ? Could she forget ? Did she find
herself justified by her conscience or her heart
f'or the deed she had done ?
She was a motherless girl, and her father,
immersed always in business and politics, had
thought his duty done by his child when he
gave her a luxurious home, sumptuous dress,
and perfect freedom. No sweet confidences
ever passed between this father and daughter.
`Jervis Weston had sought his approval of his
suit, and gained it, for he was wealthy, and
rising iti his profession, besides being of an
ld fathily. Beyond questions of that sort, Mr.
Moore did not trouble himself.
He heard that Jervis had gone to the war;
gone, too, as a private, and he called him a
"foolish young chap." It did not strike his
dull perceptions that his daughter-was greatly
affected by his absence, so be gave no further
heed to a matter of so little importance.
Others saw that Effie Moore was somewhat
thinner than of old, somewhat absent in man
ner, a tittle less stately, but the change was
not very perceptible, and people had so much
to talk about, to think of, in those early days
of the war, that there was little comment upon
the change. It was supposed that Jervis
Weston was still her lover, and there was
enough to account for her altered demeanor.
Battle after battle was fought, and in each
Jervis Weston distinguished himself. He rose
from the ranks, rose grade after grade, until
long before the battle winter of '62 was ended.
he was captain of the company in which he had
been a member at the first. Thub far he had
escaped unharmed. He had seemed to bear a
charmed life. Always in the thickest of the
fray, shot and shell rained all around him,
leaving him untouchcd. And so drew on the
fatal days of the siege and surrender of Fort
Donelsou.
Over the wires quickly flew- the tidings of
that desperate fight to the western city where
Jervis Weston's mother and Effie Moore lived.
It was a period of terrible suspense and appre•
hension. Mrs. Weston spent the hours upon
her knees, " wearying heaven with prayers,!'
Effie was like a mad creature, in the solitude
of her own apartment, or the great parlors,
where she ordered herself denied to all callers.
The servent thought she must be ill, losing
senses, but her imperious manner checked-their
expressions of wonder and offers of aid. Then
came the
,tidings of surrender, and then slow•
ly, all too slowly for hearts agonized by fear
and apprehension, the list of the killed and
wounded. Among the lists, conspicuous, was
the name of Jervis Weston, captain of the
gallant "Badly wounded i " that was the
report, and scarcely an hour later a telegram
reached Mra. Weston, informing her that his
condition. was desperate, and that he had been
removed to Cairo.
There. was no time to be lost, and Mrs. Wes-
ton was hastily preparing for the sad, hurried
journey to lie side, when a. lady, who would
not be denied, was ushered into her presence.
As she advanced, she threw aside the thick
veil which entirely hid her face, and disclosed
the features of Effie Moore.
Airs, Weston received her coldly. Her,
warm mother's heart, that cherished Jervis.
in its inmost depths as the most precious of
earthly, things, could scarcely expand to cor
diality in the presence of her who had so cruel
ly treated him If she had been allowed a
choice in the matter, she would not have re
ceived her at. all. • Reluctantly she took the
offered hand, then pointed to a seat, with a
brief—" Pardon me; I am, as you see, very
busy."
"You are going to your son—to Captain
Wes ton ?"
The mother looked her surprise that such a
question should be needed.
"Assuredly," she replied. "The train leaves
in an hour; and I must beg to be 'informed at
once what has procured me the honor of this
visit, for I must not be delayed."
Her tones were cold, almost disdainful, for
she was impertinet of the girl's presence. How
the reply surprised Nr !
"Mrs. Weston, let me go with you. Iknow
lam all unworthy, but I cannot live here. If
I could only hear him say that he pardoned
me, perhaps I might bear to live."
"Why do you wish to go?" Mrs. Weston
asked coldly. "You who cast him off—Who
told him you did not care for him—who re•
fused to give him God-speed ! Perhaps he had
been less reckless of his precious • life but for
you. No, 'no. Go home. I cannot talk with
you—and he, is very low, and I will not have
him agitated."
"Oh, Mrs. Weston ! I have deserved it all,
I know. You cannot -reproach tub. as toy oWu
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heart does. I have loved him all the time,
but it:was my wicked pride, my selfishness.
Oh, let me go! I will not speak to him. He
shall not see me. Only let me look upon him
once more."
And she prevailed, at last. When the train
left, two muffled figures occupied seats in one
of the cars,'silent, grief-stricken, conscious only
of the hours that seemed so long, as the train
dashed swiftly onward towards it destination.
Weeks passed. The sparks of life lingered
in the sick man's breast, but oh, so dimly,
that often that pale watchers bent to listen if
indeed the breath were not forever silenced.
He had not recognized them. He had been
conscious of nothing since that awful night
when, with three desperate wounds, helpless
and bleeding. he had lain half stretched across
a log, half immersed in melting snow and mud,
on the field where the tight was still raging.
A Rebel soldier had spread his own blanket
over him, and telling him that he would soon
return to claim his prisoner, had left him there.
Then the boom of cannon, the rattle of musket
ry, and the terrible shouts and groans of the
combatants, had mingled in one dull roar, and
consciousness had lapsed into that long in
sensibility.
The spring sun shone warmly into the little
room where, screened by curtains, his cot was
shut off from the sad sight and sounds of the
great hospital ward, when he once more opened
Iris eyes with the light of consciousness shin
ing from them. A female form bent over him,
bathing his 'brow, and smoothing back the mas
ses of dark black hair. Was it an angel ? ho
thought, for he saw only shining curls of gold=
en brown, and a pale, pale cheek, and then,
without sound, the vision had flitted away.
His mother.was there when again he opened
his dazzled eyes. Joy overcame him. lie
was not a prisoner then ; but where was he,
and how came she there ? The rough walls,
the plain white curtins, the narrow cot—surely
this was not home. Too weak for thought, he
fell asleep again, with his hand in hers, before
his feeble, half-uttered questions had been
answered..
And so the days passed—two and three.
More than once, half-waking, he had seen that
light, flitting figure, but when the mist of
dreams and weakness had passed, only his
mother answered when he spoke. Once he
thought of Effie, but the thought brought a
mental pang, and.of that was born a restless
movement, that darted fire through all his un
healed wounds, and he fainted. Still the
thought would recur. In his sleep he felt a
cool hand on his brow, not lighter nor softer
than his mothers' but that sent a thrill, half
pain half joy. through all his being. He woke
one day, and laying with closed eyes, consicious
of that touch, yet not daring to move lest it
should be withdrawn. A murmur fell upon
his ear—sweet, loving words, then a kiss, light
as a snowflake, on his forehead, with his un
wounded hand he clutched the sleeve that
swept across his breast, and opened hh eyes
upop—his angel
If angels ever blush and weep, she might
have been one—Effie Moore. kneeling there to
wan, so ethereal, yet with the light of true
love shining in her eyes, and the peace that
comes of pardon gain, on her pure brow.
It was a feeble . clasp that held her to ber
lover's breast but she could not have broki- n
from it if she would. And thus the mother
found them—he sleeping the deep sleep of ex
haustion, with a peaceful light upon his face—
she watching him, still circled in that slight
embrace, with ineffable joy and gladness shin
ing from her eyes.
The past was forgotten and forgiven. There
came the hospital ehaplin 7 —Jervis would have
it so—with a witness or two of his comrades,
and made the twain one. Oahe Effie had dream
ed of kneeling at the altar, in satin and laces,
to take her marriage vows ypon her. A love
lier bride, she knelt, in simple gowns of white,
beside that bed of pain th4ter care:and pres
ence had wadi a couch Of °roses for the wound
ed soldier. And the mother gave her a bles
sing, and joy and peace brooded over the
strange bridal.—N. Y.
*Ledger.
Some men can never hold their own in con
versation except by .holding their own—
tongues
Next to God, we are indebted to women,
first for life itself, and then for making it worth
having
The currants in our gardens are easily stem
med ; the current of life isn't.
A bachelor's face is often the worse for wear
—a married one's for wear and tear.
$lO.OO
36.0(
20.00
8.00
6.00
4.00
1.00
26
5.00