33.A_K=FL,. Editor aaad Prc:ll-Itc)r_
VOL. NINE.
PUBLISHED WEEKLY
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THE FULFILLED PLEDGE.
"In the still midnight Col. Fry, with a
(land of followers, assembled in a dimly-light
cabin, and with their left hands ou the Flag
wure to defend it and redeem Old Tennessee."
" We swear.by the Flag,
The dear old Flag,
The Flag of r the brave ana the free ;
And our God will help,
With Ms strong right arm,
To redeem Old Tennessee."
The rafters echoed
Those earnest words
Of that brave and undaunted band,
'ho, at midnight hour,
Thus pledged the faith
To Cod and their own loved land.
There were gray-hair'd sires,
With hearts of steel,
Whose blued had been freely given,
In manhood's prime,
For our Union's weal,
Width the treit'rous fue had riven.
4, Our Father will never
Our cause forsake.
Ills children again shall ace
' The nag of our Union
I.Vaving its wide
Over Jess Old Tennessee."
These were sturdy men
And fair-haled youth,
Fathers, sons, or brothers all,
Who had sternly resigned
All that loan holds dear,
To answer their country's call.
Tl.ey swore by the Flag,
IV the dear old Flag,
The Flag of " the brat•e and the free VI
And aslma Cod for the help
Of His strong right arm,
redeem old Tennessee.
With hands uplifted,
And right arms bared
-14 upturn'd to' Heaven,
That unflinching band,
NVith solemn oath,
edged all that God has given
To protect the Flag,
The dear old Flag,
Le Flag of " the brave and the free
And ask'd God for the help
Of His strong right arm,
redeem Old Teenessee.
And Cod has heard
Those earnest words,
d accepted the pledge they gave,
And /Las lent the power
Of Ilis strong right arm,
Id Tennessee to save.
And now the Flag,
The dear old Flag,
The Flag of •' the brave and the free,"
Is proudly waving
Its stars and stripes
Over gland Old Tennessee I
WHAT I LIVE FOR.
e for those who love me,
'hose hearts are kind and true;
the heaven that smiles above me,
nd awaits toy spirit, too ;
all human ties that bind me,
the task my God assiLned tne,
he bright hopes left behind me,
id the good that I can do.
'e to learn their story,
ho suffered for my sake ;
mutate their glory,
id follow iu their wake;
s, patriots, martyrs, sages,
noble of all ages,
.)se deeds crown history's pages,
.ud time's great volume make.
e to hold communion
'ith all that Is divine ;
"evl their is a union
'wixt nature's heart and mine
?rofit 'by affliction,
p truths from fiords of fiction,.
.v wiser from conviction
nd fulfil each grand design.
- e to hail that season
}- gifted mi ds foretold,
211 min shall live by reason,
;La not alone for gold ;
... ....m man to man united,
‘',:. Ails every wrong thing righted,
, :gi The whole 'world shall be lighted
0 As Eden was of old.
, k
:, 1 live f or those who loved me,
f 1
For those who knew me true;
It Fir the heaven that smiles above me,
t4e. And awaits my spirit, too ;
b 0.5,
.0,.1. . the
;? f or cause that lacks assistance,
i ,.
For the wrong that needs resistance,
For the future in the distance,
And the good that I can do.
L -114 1. : rieitx IL
iY aiiibc,,ntiit ' c ittrtuigthaniaAnna' `,ltirotth fa Vcrlitits, Nittraturt, 'Agriculture, uti23 of the gay, `AI.-k'orcil
Her fingers shame the ivory keys
They ;lane° so light along ; -
The bloom upon her parted ips
1 +
Is sweeter than the song
0 perfujned suitor, spare th smiles !
Her thoughts are not of th e :
She better loves the salted wind,
The voices of the sea.
Her heart is like an outbOund ship
That at its anchor swings
The murmur of the stranded shell
Is in the song she sings.
She sings, and, smiling, hears her praise,
But dreams the while of one
Who watches from hts sea-blown deck
The icebergs in the sun.
She questions all the winds that blow,
And every fog-wreath dirn,
And bids the sea-birds flying north
Bear messages to him.
She speeds them with the thanks of men
Her periled life ie . save,
And grateful prayers like holy oil
To smooth for him the wave.
Brown Viking of the fishing-smack
Fair toast of all the town ! •
The skippers jerkin in bescems
The lady's silken gown !
But nc'er shall Amy Wentworth wear
For him the blush of shame
Who dares to set his manly - gifts
Against her ancient name.
The stream is brightest at IN spring,
And blood it not like wine
Nor honored less than he who heirs
Is he who founds a line.
Full lightly shall the prize be won,
If love be Fortune's spur ;
And never motion stoops to him -""
Who lifts himself to her.
Her home is brave in Jaffrey street,
With stately stairways worn
By feet of old Colonial knights
And ladies gentle bore.
Still green about its ample porch
The English ivy twines,
Trained back to show in English oak
The herald's careen signs.
And on her, from the wainscot old,
Ancestral faces frown,—
And this has worn the soldier's sword,
And that the judge's gown. •
But, strong of will and proud as they;
She walks the gallery-floor
Its if she trod her sailor's deck
By stormy Labrador!
The sweet-briar blooms on Kittery-side,
And green are Elliot's bowers;
tier garden is the pebbled beach,
'rue mosses are her flowers.
She looks across the harbor-ber,
To see the wi.ite t ulis sly,
llis greeting from the Northern sea
Is in their clanging cry.
She hums a song, and dreams that he,
As in its romance old,
Shall homeward ride with silken sails
And masts of beaten gold!
Oh, rank is good, and gold is fair,
And high and low mate ill;
But love has never known a law
Beyond its own sweet will
0
THE DYING NM 801,
I am weary, dearest mother,
Of the gentlest winds that lull ;
For with a sadd'ning power
They're falling on my soul ;
And I am weary, mother dear,
Of the lung, bright summer day ;
I'm weary of the sparkling stream,
And the eddy's silent play.
I've floated down the river, mother
When the stars were dim above ;
My spirit was all gladness,
My young heart was all love;
Rat adown another river
I'm floating, mother dear,
And when the stars shine out again,
You'll lay me on my bier.
When the summer sun shone brightly,
I've lain among the flowers.;
And oft at weary twilight
I've dreamed away the hours;
When, mother, next the sun shall shine,
You'll lay me neath then' bloom,
And the flowers, once so dear to me,
Will die upon my tomb.
I lore the pale white lily—
I love the summer rose:
Bring them to die, my mother dear,
Above my cold repose.
tlh ! lay me down at sunset,
Close to the pearly stream ;
I'l sleep so sweetly mother dear,
Though I shall never dream.
The birds will sing above me;'
The same as when I played
Among the water-creases,
Beneath the tall pin& shade ;
But methinks a sadder tone
Will mingle in their song;
They'll sing the sweeter, mother dear,
When days are bright among.
And, mother, well I know that you
Will ever think of me,
And how I loved the singing birds,
The bright stream's joyous glee !
\l/4.... But I am growing weary—
. I cannot feel.yoar breath ;
Pin sinking in a dreamless sleep—
I shall not wake—'tis Death.
PLAIN TALK,— . IIr a proailont
stock-broker, has an intolerable habit of
stuttering. Desiring to buy a parrot,
he called on a dealer, and began : "Have
you gar-gar-gar-gar-got any pup-up-up-up
ar-ots ?" " Yes," was the reply. " Ha
ha-ha-ha-how d' d' d' you sell 'em ?"
" Two guineas." " Ca-ca-ca-ca-ca-can
they tau-tau-tatt-tun-talk ?" To which
the dealer replied with peculiar empha
sis, "If they couldn't talk better nor you,
I'd wring their necks."
63 - Wife (complainly)—"l haven't
more than a third of the bed!' Husband
(triumphantly)—':'That's all the law al
lows you."
MARIETTA, PA., SATURDAY, AUGUST 16, 1862.
AMY WENTWORTH,
ON'T PROPOSE IN THE DARK
i The pretty, square farm house, stand
ing at the corner:near Kilbes lane (for
the first phrase, although giving by far
the closest picture of the place, does, it
must be confessed, look rather Irish),
and where the break winds away by an
other lane, until it spreads into river
like dignity, as it meanders through the
sunny plain of a Hartley common, and fi
nally disappear's amidst the green re
cesses' of Ferge wood—that pretty,
square farm house, half hidden by the
tall elms in the flower court before it•
which with the spacious garden and or
chard behind, and the extensive barns,
yards and . outbuildings, so completely
occupies one of the angles formed by the
crossing of the lane and the stream—
that pretty farm house contains one of
the happiest and most prosperous:fami
lies in Aberleigh—the large and thriving
family of Farmer Evans.
Whether feom from skill or from good
fortune—or, as it is most probable, from
a very lucky mixture of both—every
thing goes right on his great farm. His
crops are the best in the parish ; his hay
never spoiled ; his cattle never die ; his
servants never thieve ; his children are
never ill ; ho buys cheap and sells dear ;
money gathers upon him like a snowball
—and yet, in spite of all this provoking
and intolerable prosperity, everybody
loves Farmer Evans. He is so hospita
ble, so good natured, so generous and so
homely 1
There, after - all, lies the charm.—
Riches have not only spoit the man, but
they have not altered him. He is just
the same in look, and word, and way,
that he was thirty years -ago, when he
and his wife, with two sorry horses, a
cow and three pigs, began the world at
- Dean Gate, a little• bargain of twenty
miles off. Ay, and his wife is tho same
woman—the same frugal, tidy, industri
ous. good natured Mrs. Evans—so noted
for her activity in tongue awl limb, her
good looks and plain dressing; as fru
gal, as good natured, as active, us plain
dressing is Mrs. Evans at forty-five as
she was at nineteen, and in a different
way almost as good looking.
The children, six " boys," as Farmer
Evans promiscuously calls them, whose
ages vary from eight to twenty, and
three girls, two grown up and one the
youngest of the family, and just what we
might expect from parents who are so
simple and so good. The young men,
intelligent and well conducted ; the boys
docile and promising ; and the little
Igirl, as pretty a little surly headed, rosy
checked puppet as ever was the pet and
plaything of a large family. It is, how:
over, with the eldest daughters wo have
to do.
Jane and ratty Evans were as much
alike .as bath ever befallen two sisters
not born at one time ; for, in the matter
of twin children, there has been a series
of puzzles ever since the days of the
Dromois. ' Nearly of one age, exactly of
a stature (so high that Frederick the
Great would have coveted them for his
tall regiment), with hazel eyes, large
mouths, full lips, white. teeth, brown
hair, clear, healthy complexion, and that
sort of a nose which is neither Greek
nor Roman, nor aquiline, nor ce petit nez
ret rousse, that some persons perfer to
all, but a nose which moderAely promi
nent, and sufficiently well shaped, is yet
as far as I know, anonymous, although
it may be, perhaps, as common or es well
looking a feature as is to be seen on an
English face. Altogether, they were a
pair of tall and comely maidens, and be
ing constantly attired in garments of the
same color and fashion, looked at times
so much alike that no stranger ever
dreamed of knowing them apart, and
oVen their acquaintances were rather
accustomed to speak and think of them
as the " Evanses" than as the separate
individuals Jane and Patty. Even those
who did pretend to distinguish the one
from the other wore not exempt from
mistakes, which the sisters—Patty espe
cially, who delighted in the fun so often
Produced by the unusual resemblance—
'Were apt to favor by changing places in
a walk, or slipping from one side to the
other at a country tea party, or playing
a hundred innocent tricks, to occasion
far once a grave blunder and a merry
laugh
Old Dinah Goodwin, for instance—
who, being rather purblind, was jealous
of being expected of seeing loss clearly
than her neighbors, and have defied even
the Evanses to puzzle her discernment
—seeking in vain on Patty's hand the
cut finger which she had dressed on
Jane's, ascribed the incredible cure to,
her own incomparable salve, and could
hardly be undeceived. even by the
ailing off of Jane's gloYe and the ex-
Rion of the lacerated digit sewed
ound by her own bandage. Young
George Kelly, too, the greatest beau in
the parish, having bet at a Christmas
party that he would dance with . every
pretty girl is the room, lost his wager,
which Patty had overheard, by that
saucy damsel Blipping into her sister's
place, arid persuading her to join her
own unconscious partner; so that George
danced twice with Patty and not at all
with Jane—•a bantering piece of malice
which proved as the young gentleman
(a rustic exquisite of the first water)
was pleased to assert, that Miss Patty
was not displeased with her partner.
How little does a vain min know of
womankind. If she had liked him, she
would not have played the trick for
the mine? of Golconda. In short from
their school days, when Jane was chid_
den for Patty's bad work, and Patty
slapped for Jane's bad spinning, down
to the prime of womanhood, there had
been no end to the confusion produced
by this remarkable instance of family
likeness.
And yet nature—who sets some mark
of individuality upon even her meanest
productions, making some unnoted dif
ference between the lambs dropped
'from one ewe, the robins bled in one
nest, the flowers growing on one stock
and the leaves growing on one tree
—had not left these maidens without
one permanent distinction a natural and
a striking dissimilarity of temper,—
Equally industrious, affectionate, hap
py and kind; each was kind, happy,
affectionate and industrious in a, different
way. Jane was grave ; Patty was gay.
If yen heard a laugh, or a song, be-
SUM it was Patty ; she who jumped the
style, when her sister opened the gate
was Patty ; she who chased the pigs"
from the garden, as merrily as if she
were running a race, so that the pigs
did not mind her, was Patty. On the
other hand, she that co carefully was
making with its own ravelled threads,
an invisible darn in her mother's hand
kerchief, and was hearing her sister
read the while; she that so patiently
was feeding, one by ono, two broods
of young turkeys ; she, too,-that so pen
sively was watering her cwn hod of
delicate and somewhat rare flowers—
the pale hues of the alpine pink, or
the alabaster blossoms of In white eve
ning primrose, whose modest flowers,
dying off in the blush, resembling her
own character—wee Jane; Some of
the gossips of Aberleigh used to assert
that Jane's sighing over the flowers, as
well as the early steadiness of her
character, mese from an engagement
to my lord's head gardner, an intelli
gent, sedate, sober and steady young
Schotchman. Of this I know nothing.
Certain it is that the prettiest and new s
plants were always to be found in Jane's
little flower garden; and if Mr. Arch
ibald Maclane did sometimes come to
look after them, I did not sea that it
was anybody's business.
In the meantime, a visitor of anoth
er description arrived at the farm. A
cousin of Mrs. Evans had been as suc
cessful in trade as her husband had
been in agriculture, and now he sent
his only son to become acquainted with
his relatimss, and to spend some weeks
in their Charles Foster was a
fine young man, whose father-was nei
ther more or less than a linen draper
in a groat town, but whose manners,
edneation, mind and Character might
have done honor to a far higher sta
tion. He was, in a word, ono of na
ture's gentlemen, and nothing did he
more thoroughly show his taste and
good br ceding than by entering entirely
into the homely ways and old fashioned
habit of his couatry consins. He was
delighted with the simplicity, frugality
and industry which blended well with
the starling .goodness and genuine pru
dence of the great English farm house.
The women especially pleased him much•
These formed a strong contrast with any
he had met with before. No finery, no
coquetry, no French, no piano. It is
impossible to describe the sensation of
relief and coinfort with which Charles
Foster, sick of musical misses; ascer
tained that the whole dwelling did not
contain a single mesical instrument ex
cept the bassoon, on which George Evan's
was wont, - every Sabbath, at church to
excruciatellitrears of the whole congre
gation. He liked botlysisters. Jane's
softness and considerateness engaged his
I full esteem. PaltY's -innocent playful
ness.snited best with hie.irwn high spirits
and anirn ated 'icenversatio . He had
known theni apart - from the first, and in_
deeill ied that the likenesses were at
11 puzilingeor more than is usual among
.Z l l. - ID - ria. 141854,
sisters ; and secretly thought Patty as
mach prettier than her sister as she -aas
avowedly merrier. In doors and get he
was constantly at her side ; and befo r e
he had been a month in the house all the
inmates of the house had given Charles
Foster as a lover of his young cousin ;
and she, when rallied on the subject,
cried "Fie !" and "Fish 1" and "Pshaw 1"
and wondered how people could talk
such nonsense—and liked to have such
nonsense talked to her better than any
thing in the world.
Affairs were in this state, when one
night Jane appeared even graver and
more thoughtful than usual, and far, far
sadder. She sighed deeply ; and ,Patty
—for the two sisters occupied the same
room—inquired what ailed her.
She burat,into tears, whilst Patty hung
over her and soothed her. At length
she roused herself by a strong effort, and
turning away from her affectionate cote
forter, said in a low tone
" I have had a great vexation to-night,
Patti; Charles Foster has asked me to
marry him."
Charles Foster l did you nay Charles
Foster ?" asked poor Fatty, trembling,
unwilling even to turn her own senses
against tho evidenv, of hot. kart
"Charles roster?
"Yes ; our cousin, Charloa Postzz !"
" And you have accepted him. 2" in
quired Patty. in a hoarse voice.
"Oh ! no—no—no I Did yoa thin!: I
had forgotten pour Archibald ? Besides,
I am not the person whom he enght to
bare asked to marry hint—false and
heartless as he is ; I would not be his
wife—cruel, unfeeling, uemanly as his
conduct has been I No 1 cot if he
would make queen of England 1"
"You refu9ed him, then"'
" No , my father met us suddenly, just
as I was recovering from the surprise
and indignation that at first stric's
dumb. But I shall refuse him—the
false, deceitful, ung,raieful viliian 1"
"Poor father—he will be dimppointed.
So Will mother."
"They will both bo disappc:ntod, and
both angry, but not et Ely rofusal, Oh I
how they will despise him l" added Jane.
Poor Patty, melted by her sister's
sympathy, and teachod by an indigna
tion most unusual in that mild and gen
tle girl, could no longer commend her
feeling, but threw herself on the bed in
that agony of passion and grief which
the first great sorrow seldom fails to ex
cite in the young heart. After a while
she again resumed the conversation.
"We must not blame Lim too severely.
Perhaps my vanity made me think his
attentions meant more-than ho really did
and you Lad all taken up the notion.—
But you must not speak of him so un
kindly. He has done nothing but what
is natural. Yeu are so much better and
wiser than I am, my own dear Jane !
Fie laughed and talked with me--but he
felt your goofiness ; and he was right.—
I was never worthy of him, and you are ;
and, if it were not for Archibald, I
should rejoice from the bottom of my
heart," continued Patty, sobbing, "if
you would accept"—but, unable to spa 3
her generous wish, she burst into a fresh
flow of tears, and the sisters mutually
and strongly effected, wept in each
other's arms and were comforted.
That nightre.tty cried herself to sleep
but such sleep is not of long duration.—
Before dawn she was up, and pacing with
restless irritability the dewy grass walks
of the garden end orchard. In less than
half an- hoar a light, elastic step—s! le
knew the spend well—came rapidly be
hind her ; a hand—oh ? how often had
she thrilled at the touch of that hand—
tried to draw hors within his arm;
whilst a well-known vo'.ce addressed her
in the softest and , teaderest accents :
" Patty--my-own sweet Patty 1 have
you thocght of what I said to yaa last
night?"
" Said to me i" replied Patty with bit
terness.
"Ay, to be sure—to your own dear
self! do you not remember the question
I asked you when your good father—for
the first time unwelcome—joined as 80
suddenly that you had not time to say
'yes,' or no ?"
Mr Poster," said Patty with seme•
spirit, "you are under a mistake here
It was to Jane that you made the propo
sal, last evening, and you are taking me
for bar this very moment."
" Mistake you for your sister I Pro
pose to Jane I Indredible I Impossi
ble I You are jesting I"
" Then he mistook Jane, for .me last
night, and ho is no deoeiverl" thought
Patty to herself, ak with smiles beaming
brightly through her tears, she turned
round at his reitererated praytw, and
yielded the hand he sought to hie pro
NO. 3.
Ea@
"He mistook her for me 1 He that
defied us to perplex him 1"
And so it was I an nnconscion' and
unobserved change_ of place, as either
sister resumed her station beside little
Betty, who had, scampered away after a
glow-worm, added to the deepening twi
light and the lover's embarrassment,
produced the confusion which gave poor.
Patty a night of misery, to be followed
by a lifetimO of happiness. Jane was al
most as glad to loge a lover as her sister
was to regain one. Charles has gone
home to his father's to make prepara
tions for his bride. Archibald has taken
a great nursery garden, and there is
some talk in Aberleigh that the mar
riage of the two sisters is to be celebra
tinc on the same day.
Oamp Literature.
A friend hi , s furnished us for ptablica.
tiou, a copy of the " Chronicles of the
Pennsylvania Reserve Volunteer Corps..'
They are very handsomely printed on a
fly sheet of letter paper convenient for
circulation, and have evidently had an
extensive "run." They read us follows :
CURONICLES OF TIME PENNSYLVANIA RR
SERVE VOLMITEER CORPS.—Man that is
born of a woman, and enlisteth as a sol
dier in the " Pennsylvania," is of few
days. and short "rations."
2. fr.n.that comoth for at " ravine,"
is present also at "retreat ;" yea, even
at " tattoo," and retireth apparently at
taps."
3. Ho draweth his rations from the
commissary and- devoureth the same.—
He striteth his teeth against much "hard
bread," and is satisfied. He filleth his
canteen with aqua Pura, and clappeth
the mouth thereof upon the bung of a
whiskey barrel, and after a while he go
(Ail away rejoicing in his strategy
4. Much soldiering hath made him
sharp ; yea, even the seat of his breech
es is in danger-of being cat through.
s. 'He covencriteth with the crednloiiii
farmer foi many chickens, and much
honey and mil!r, to be paid promptly at
the end of cult ton days ; and lo I even
upon the ninth da7, he is no where to be
found.
6. His tent is filled with potatoes,
cabbJE,o, turnips, kraut, onions, and oth
er delizate morsels of a delicious taste,
which abound not in the commissary-de
partment.
7. And many other things not in the
"ret , zre," and which never will return ;
yet, for a truth, it must bo said that a
soldier of the " Pennsylvania Reserve,"
that cf a surety he taketh nothing which
be cannot conveniently reach.
3. I.le frreth his musket at midnight,
and the whole camp is aroused and form
ed into a lime, when lo ! his mess comes
bearing in an adult porker, which he de
clares so resembles "secesh" he was com
pelled to pull the trigger.
p. When he goeth into Washington
ho girerh the Provost Marshall much
trouble, often captureth his guard, and
possessoth himself of the city.
10. At such times lager and pretzels
flow like tn:lk and honey from his gene
rous hens. Ho giveth without stint to
his comrades; yea, and withholdeth not
from his lank, e;:pectant, "raw," friend
of the "Pennsylvania Forty-Ninth."_
11. The grunt of a pig, or the crowing
of a cock, awaketh him from his sound
est sleep, and he sauntereth forth, until
banned by the guard, when he instantly
clappeth hie hands neon his " bread
bas!:et," and the guard, in oommissera
tion, allowsth him to pass to the rear.
12. Ho ;termer hath he passed the sen
try's beat than he striketh a " bee-line "
for the nearest hen-roost, a seizing n
pair of plemp pullets, returneth, solilo
quisieg- to himself "The noise of a goose
saved Rome ; how much more the flesh
of a chicken preserveth the soldier."
13. Re playeth " Old Sledge" with
the chaplain, whether there will bo
preaching in camp on the Sabbath, and
by dextrously "turning a Jack" from the
bottom, postponeth the service.
14. And many other marvellous things
doeth he ; and lo ! are they not already
recorded in the morning reports. Yea,
verily.
g "Hullo, driver, your wheel is go
ing round," sang out a little urchin to a
cart driver, who was driving furiously
through the street.the othei-day.'-arty
pulled up and looked anxiously
one side and then on the other. "
needn't look now, it's stopped 1" .coolly`-
added the provoking- little rascal.
or A. soldier on sentry was noticed
byhis officer with having a black eye
and charged him with fighting. !Please
sir," replied the soldier, "wasn't it for
that purpose you enipped aye:"