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VOL. NINE.
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SLEEPING ON HIS POST,
is night along Potomac's shore ;
The toilsome march is done ;
,e tired soldiers tentless lie;
And dream of honor won:
The m"on looks full upon the scene,
Silvering the dewdrops on the green.
youth upon the outer guard
Is leaning on his gun ;
d, while he muses on his home,
Ills dreamy fancies run—
Where nymplicea's petals ope and shut—
Along thy shores, Connecticut!
e banks archung with pictures brig lit,
Paintei by Hope and Love,
id curtains rich, ofsolors rare,
Are drooping from above ;
Ali! still Minerva's spirit breathes
In tapestry that Fancy weaves!
glowing future rises there;
heats the emmils t,f I me;
And freshly to his leaping heart
A mother's blessings come !
ills gun is seiztd ; the guard accost ;
The youth is sleeping on his post !
" What! have I slept when I should watch ?"
The startled sentry crleJ,
While flames his cheek, and horning tears
Ale sw citing to his eyes ;
" Oh ! when I sought for honor most,
To bleep V. itti Attune upon toy post !"
Al! quickly &arm the trial on,.
Beneath a schorching sun
Sadly the sergeant of the g lard
Di iplays the sentry's gun ;
In duty firm, with pity weak,
Tears smooth the furzow3 nu his cheek
The simple story seen is told ;
No quibble there, or flaw,
For inertial men disdain CO warp
The teachings of their law :
And now, with low and husky breath,
The judge declares the smite - rice—Death !
" 'Tisjust i 'tis right!" exclaims the youth;
But, comrades, gently tell
111 y story there, where still they love
The sleeping sentinel :
I fear not death, but, courting fame,
1 dread—oh, God !—the shame ! the shame!"
! would to God, c. hen first the din
01' traitors woke our coast,
'1 he axe had fallen on their necks
't% ho - slept upon their post'!
When weakness quailed at Treason's frown,
And dropped the nation's starry crown !
We plead foi pardon, and the while
Ills doom has been delayed ;
tt now the soldier's answer comes—
" Ktample must be made :"
And 'need] a blackened, weeping sky,
They lead the sentry I'm th—to die !
heavily - his comrades tramp
Across the matted green, ,
Halt!" isthe word—the clouds are rent—
The rainbow gleams between :
" Pardon !" along the line is sent,
And blessings greet the President.
stand Upon Virginia soil,
Where rival waters seek
win a place within the hcart.
Of mighty Chesapeake:
Where'er they turn, to seek his flood,
Brothers ara seeking . brothers' blood!
A nation's curse hangs o'er their heads
Who, while our sky was bright,
Ileversed God's providence, an d•brought
This chaos out of light!
May earth reject the recreant crew,
And Heaven reverse its mercy, too!
is lines are formed on Warwick's bank,
And firm each soldier stands,
bough o'er their heads, from mortar mouthss
Death flies in iron hands :
There stands the yoith we saw before
Sleeping upon Potomac's shore.
Chaise !” is the word; their bayonets
The glancing sunbeams slit,
o'er the yielding bog they charge
The dreaded rifle-pit :
So stern they look, as thus arrayed,
That cowards fear to be afraid.
irp crack the rifles; foemen shout ;
Fiume-belching cannon roar ;
; Warwick leaps his trembling banks,
Foaming with freemen's gore !
well ! this bloody-sweating toil
' 4, Will sanctify Virginia soil !
12'.;ivf"rom copse and dell the foe advance,
c4y - P.:i And pour their sheeted fire
Our troops hove looked for aid in gain,'
J c ii I ruitttn,
lY yukritkut thintqthattia Punta' P6Oieb' 10 . VatitiCS, Nittraturt, AFicidtitte, Brill of the pa l peat afattliiynct, ft.
And slowly now retire :
Our youth is borne from bat • s brunt,
With seven bullets in his out!
They bear him—though , eir tired arms
Beneath their burthen sag—
Attd lay him where the parting sun
S = alutes his country's flag,
Which bow's, as bows the crested wave
To greet the mermaids' coral cave.
" God's blessing on the President I"
Thus speaks the dying youth,
As bends the stalworth low—
That weeping man of truth—
And bathes with tears that bleeding brow,
So glowing once ; so pallid now !
" God's blessing on the President!"
May his example stand,
Of mercy, truth and firmness blent,
To dignity our land !
Oh! while we need his strong arm most,
God keep him wakeful.on his post!
" He pardoned me, and came himself,
Nor trusted other v Ace ;
Perhaps it cheered his heart to hear
Our comrades there rejoice:
Oh ! when in death his eyes grow dim,
God's spirit come to comfort him !
"'Tis true, upon Potomac's shore
I stained my father's name :
I give my heart, my blood, my bones,
TO cover up the shame!
And yet I fain would lie, in death,
Where first I drew, this heavy breath
" Oh ! take me to Ascutney's side, -
And lay my boil.) where
The rose-tipped mayflower scents the gale,
And violets breathe the air !
And to my loved ones gently tell
How died the sleeping sentinel."
The past is crowding on his sight ;
Ile hears the sound of home ;
And freshly to his sinking heart
A mother's blessings come ;
And now, amid a mourning host,
The youth is sleeping on his past !
They could not take him on the hills
That smiled upon his birth,
Where silvery firs and hemlocks fair
Adorn the s•velling earth ;
Yet still beneath yon knotty pines,
They laid his body where •
The spiced arburus scents the gale,
And violets breath Bic air!
• lid loving hearts may fondly bo st
" Ie stecTs with honor, on his post !
A BLINDFOLD bIARRAIGE
The elite of the court of Lords tilt
XIS', the great monarch of France, wera
assembled ir. the chapel of the great
Tranon, to visit the nuptials of Louis,
Count of Franche Compte--a natural
sou of the King—with Lydonie, Duchess
ae Batiizerne, a worthy heiress.
The singular feature of the ceremony
was that thebridegroom's eyes were to
be bandaged with a white handkerchief.
This circumstance excited the wonder
of all. hied the bride been old and ugly
they would not have been surprised. On
the contrary, she was young and quite
pretty.
The King alone understood this
strange freak of the bridegroom, and
though much enraged, he prudently held
his peace, and suffered the ceremony to
proceed.
A few words will explain the motives
of the bridegroom.
When Louis XIV came back from his
great campaign in the Palatinate, he de_
termined to unite his son whose valor
and daring in the war had greatly pleas
ed him, to one of the wealthy wards of
the crown.
Ile proposed the union,to the young
Duchess of Baliverne, and found her fa
vorably inclined.
She, had just come to court, having
just emerged from the convent where
she had completed her education.
She had seen the young Count often,
though he had never designed to cast a
glance upon her. She knew he was
brave and noble, and she thought, hand
some. The bar-sinister in his escutche
on was no objection. She accepted him.
Unfortunately, Louis of Franc he
Compte, who like his father, was some
thing of a retrobate, would not accept
her.
" My son," said the King, " I have re
solved that you should marry."
_ "My worthy sire and most excellent
father," returned the Count, "I have re
solved to do no such thing I"
The King frowned. He was not in
the habit of being contradicted.
"I have made a formal proposition in
your name, for the hand of the Duchess
de Baliverne, and she has accepted you"
said he gravely.
"Doubtless," sneered the young scape
grace, "her taste is excellent, and how
could she refuse me I Perhaps it would
have been as well to have consulted my
inclinations in this matter. Ido not
wish to marry."
"Are yon in love with any one"
-"No I"
"Then love my Duchess. She is no
ble and wealthy."
MA - i TA, PA., SATURDAY, AUGUST 23, 1862.
" I am your son—that is nobility
enough; he bowed low as he spoke, and
the King smiled at the compliment;
" and the Jews trust me—what con ld I
do with more gold ?"
" she is the prettiest woman in my
court."
"I am tired of pretty women, they are
always fools."
. "Could you but see her you would be
sure to fall in love with her."
• "I never will see her," answered the
Count determinedly.
"See her or not, you shall marry her,"
cried the King in a rage.
" If I. do, I'll marry her with my, , eyes
shut," returned the Count.
The King grew purple with passion.
" Harkye, boy ! You owe me obedi-
ence as subject and son. It is my will
that you bestow your hand upon the
Duchess de s Baliverne. The wedding
shall take place this day fortnight.—
Submit to my will with a good gr •,
and I will create you Duke on your ed.
ding day. Dare to disobey me, and I
Will strip you of your title, and the lands
Sou hold from me, and cast you into the
Bastile."
This is what bad brought t Count
of Frenche Compte blindfolded to be
married
The King smiled grimly, but said noth-
The Count placed the ring upon..the
finger of the bride, but he did not salute
her, and when the ceremony was over
took the handkerchief from his eyes, and
walked dehberatelytnt of the chapel.
Lydonie pouted her pretty lips, and
was almost ready to cry with vexation.
The King took her in charge and con_
veyed her to the hotel her husband oc
copied.
" Here you are, my dear„' said the
King conducting her through the apart
ments ho had expressly furnished for
her reception ; "here you are, at home."
" But where's my husband ?" asked
Lydonie.
" Silly boy !" muttered the King, look
lug very much annoyed. " Never mind
my dear, he's-your husband, the rest will
come in time."
" What's the use of having a husband
if he will not look at you ? ' pouted Ly
douie.,
"He shall look at you, or I'll send him
to the Bastile." -
"Oh, no," cried Lydonie, "do not force
him to look at me. If he has not curi
osity enough to see what kind of a wife
he has got, I'm sure I do
_not wish to
oblige him to look at me. I see how it
is," she continued, a sad expression steal
ing over her countenance. "Sire, you
have forced the Count into this union !"
The King coughed and 'looked very
guilty.
" Oh r' cried Lydonie, with anguish,
"he never loved me then—he will never
love me !"
"Why should you care V",
" Because I love him," answered ty
donie innocently.
" Love him
"Oh, so dearly ; that is why I married
him. I had loved him from the moment
I first beheld him. Now lam his wife
and he will not- look at me." .
Lydonie burst into, a flood of tears,
and sank upon a sofa..
" The King pitied her: sincerely, but
what could he do ? He had forced his
son to marry her, but he could not force
him to love her. He thought 'of the
Bastile. It would not hini love
liis wife to seed him there. "Well, well,"
he said, "you are his wife. I will make
him . aDuke, and' .I dare say you'll find
hini home - before morning." _
'With these words the King then'with-
drew
Lydonie was left alone with the sor
row. But she was not to droop long.—
She soon dried her tears and looked all
the better for them, like a rose after -a
shower.
Her old untie came in, .and together
they inspected their new home, which
Lydonie found entirely to her satisfac
tion.
The Count did not come home that
night.
A week passed by and he did•mot make
his appearance. Lydonie came to the
conclusion that he never would come.
She knew it was useless to appeal to
the King. He had made French Comp
te a Duke, bat be could do nothing for
her. She determined to ascertain what
her husband was about. She dispatch_
ed a trusty servant for intelligence and,
like all wives who place a spy upon
their husbands movements, she was not
at all pleased with the news she re- .
ceived.
The Duke was plunging into all kinds
of dissipation. He, was making love to
all the pretty daughters of the shop
keepers in th 9 Rue St. Antoine. In
fact for a newly married man his con
duct was shameful.
" To leave me to run. after such a 'ca
naile r exclaimed Lydonie.
She paused suddenly. An idea enter
ed her brain. She determined to act
upon it. .
While she is meditating upon it, let
us see what the Duke is about.
One night, about eight days after his
marriage, the Duke, plainly attired . and
muffled in a cloak, roamed through the
Faubourg St. Antoine, as was his wont,
in quest of adventures.
As he tutted the corner of one of
those narrow lanes that intersected that
quarter at that period, a piercing shriek
burst upon his ear, mingled with suffoca
ting cries for assistance. The Duke's
sword was out in an instant. Be was
brave to rashness. Without a moment's
thought he plunged into the lane.. .
Ile beheld a female struggling in the
grasp of a man.
The man fled precipitately at his ap
proach, and the girl sank into his arms,
convulsively exclaiming;
" Save me, oh, save me !"
The Duke sheathed his sword and en
deavored to calm her fears.
He led her beneath' the lamp that
swung at the punier.
' Why you are a perfect little beau
ty I" he cried rapturously, and in sur
prise. •
The girl cast down her eyes and
blushed deeply, and the Duke felt the
little hand that rested upon his arm
tremble. But she did not seem dis
pleased.
" Do you reside in Paris?"
" Yes ; but we have only been here a
short time—we came from Bellville—
mother and I."
"From the country, eh ! where do you
live, my, pretty blossom ?"
"In Rue St. Helene. 7
" Why, that is some distance from
here. Will you permit me to escortsou.
home ? .These streets are dangeous, as
you have found, to One as- beautiful - as
you are,"
"I would very much like to have you
see me home—if---if—" '
She•paused and seemed confused.
"If what ?" asked the Duke eagerly.
"If you would only be so good—as to
promise not to—to—try to—kiss me
again, if you please, sir," replied the
girl, innocently.
The Duke was charmed. There was
a simplicity, a freshness about this young
girl, which pleaied vim.
"I give you my word as a gentleman.
he said, frankly, that no action of mine
shall displease yon, if you accept of my
escort."
She came to his side and took his arm
in confidence.
"I am not afraid of ycin," she said,
with sweet simplicity; "I know you are
too good to Injure-me."
The Duke blushed for the first time in
—he could not remember h . ow many
years—he knew he was receiving a bet
ter character than he deserved.
"What is your name ?" he asked, as
they proceeded on their way. •
"Bergeronette," she replied.
"What a pretty dame ! And yon
live here in• Paris, all alone with yonr
mother," '
wir es! , •
"I dare say you have plenty of sweet
hearts ?"
"No, I haven't one."
"None," replied Bergeronette, quite
sadly.
"Would you not like a sweetheart 7"
"Perhaps."
"You must be particular in your
choke, or yon would have bad a sweet
heart.
before now. What kind of one
would you like?"
Those sparkling gray eyes were lifted
to his for a moment.
"I would like one, if you please, like
—like--"
"Like what 7"
" Like you !"
" Phew 1" thought the 'Duke, " I am
getting on here'. Now, is this cunning,
or is it simplicity ?"
They walked en sometime in silence.
Bergeronette checked the Duke be
fore a little .cottage, with. a garden in
front. There was a wicket gate leading
into the.garden. . •
"Here is where 1 live," she said.
She took a key from her girdle and
unlocked the gate.
• '" Will she invite me to enter
thought the Duke, and the thought was
ftirther to the wish:
" Good night sir," said Bergeronette,
.'•snd many thanlkkfor your kindneis."
" She :fit a' was the .-Duke's
mental reflection.
" 3hall I never halls the pleasure of
Established April 11. ; 1854
seeing you again ?" said the Duke.
" Do you wish it ?" she said, earnestly
" Most ardently."
" I'll ask my mother."
Au oath arose to the Duke's lips, but
he prudently checked it.
" Will you receive me to-morrow ?"
"You may come, if my mother is
willing--yes."
"I shall be here, sure."
"You will have foiotten me by to
.
moirow."
"I shall not forget you !"
" I have heard my mother say the
men always protest more than they
mean."
"Your mother is—" The Duke paus
ed and bit his lip.
"What is she ?" asked Bergeronette,
archly.
She is—right. But I mean what I
say. As sure as the morrow comes, so
will I."
"Come. Good night."
She turned from him and was about to
enter the garden.
'Bergeronette,.' he said quickly, 'one
kiss before Igo. Surely my forbearance
deserves it.'
She made no answer, but she inclined
her head gently towards him. For a
moment she lingered in his arms, and
then tore herself from his embrace and
passed quickly through the gate:
. -The Duke determined to follow her.
When he placed his hand against the
gate he found it securely fastened. Ber
geronette had prudently locked it after
So the Duke went to his lodgings—
he had taken bachelor apartments. on
his wedding day—to dream of Begaron
etp,
The next day he went to the cottage
in Rue St. Helene.
He-was received by Begeronette tim
idly, and introduced to her mother, a
fine matronly dame, who sat quietly spin
ning in the corner, and allowed the
young couple to rove about the garden
at will.
The Duke thought she was a very sen
sible old woman.
The Duke departed at the end of three
hours, more in love than ever_
He came every day fora fortnight, and
every day he pressed his snit. But there
was only one way in which Bergeronette
could be won—an honorable marraige.
The Duke was in despair and at his
wit's end. He had a stormy scene with
the King, who threatened to send him to
the Baptile if he did not return to the
So he came toJiergeronette, on the
fourteenth day, to-make a final effort to
obtain her. They were alone together
in the garden. • . -
Hear me, Bergeronette, he cried,
when he had exhausted every argument
and found her still firm. !I swear to you
were I free, this instant would I wed
you. I will confess to you. I have told
you am a'Dnke de French° Compte,
and—l AM MARRIED:
'MARRIED r echoed Bergeronette with
a smothered scream.
was forced into this union by the
King's command. I do not lore my
wife. I have never seen her face. I
left her at the alter's foot, and we have,
never met'since. She possessess iny title
but you alone possess my heart. Ply ,
with'me. In some distant' land we may
dwell in happiness, blessed with each
other's society. Time may remove the
obstaele to our union — death may be
friend us, a diirtirce may be obtained. and
then I swear to you by- every saint in
Heaven, you shall become my Duchess.'
Were you free, would, yon really
make me your wife ?'
'I have pledged you my word.
believe you.'
'Yon will fly with me.'
'I will.
'Dear Louis,' she murmured, for. so:be
had taught her to e,all him. 'I also have
something to impart to you—my ,name
is not Bergeronette, and I am not what
you take me to be'
'What do you mean ?'
have - a title eqtial to your own.'
'Then this old woman ?' -
'ls not my mother, bat my 'nursed'
'And the man who assaulted you?'
'Was my lacky, instructed for the
purpose.
The Duke looked bewildered.
'And like you,' she continued, 'I ant
MARRIED.'
`l'll cut your husband's throtut,' ex
claimed the Duke wildly.
' I don't think you will when you know
him.'
'Who is he then, and who are you?'
I ani Prionie, D'nehpsa de Franehp
COmpte, and you are he.
The Duke was thVaderstruck.
NO. 4.
Lydonia knelt at his feet.
\\
Forgive me for this little plot,' she
ple ded ;it was to gain your love. If
it h - succeeded I am happy—if it has
faile with my own lips I will sue the
king f our divorce.'
'Up up to my heart;' cried the Duke,
joyfully, as he caught her in his arms,
`you hay'? insured our mutual happiness.
Ah, none are so blind as those who will
not see. Little did I think when I stood
blindfolded by your . side at the alter
that I was rejecting such a treasure.'
They passed_their honeymoon in the
little cottage. and the Duke was not sent
to the Basilic.
From the Christian Advocate and Journal
A RIDDLE
There is now in this one—a prophet
perhaps, we might call him—whose gen
eration runs back further than that of
Adam ; ono of his ancestors was with
Noah in the ark ; another with Christ
jest before he was crucified. He knew
not his father, and was never nursed by
his motbei ; he goes barefooted like a
friar, be wears no hat, and his coat is
not dyed, spun, knit, or wooed ; it is
neither silk, hair, linen, nor wool, yet of
very fine texture and gloss. He walks
boldly in the face of his enemies, with
out gun, sword, or cane, yet with such a
weapon as man never had wherewith to
defend himself from his foes. He is often
abused by wicked men for their diversion
but takes it patiently. He lets all men
enjoy their religion. The Protestants
are his greatest6nemies, but the Papists
occasionally use him mercifully. At
certain times his voice is heard by all
nations ; he declares the day of the Lord
is at hand ; as he prophesies, the doors
fly open and his sayings are found true.
He takes but little rest, and is admired
by all for his vigilance. He does not
sleep on 'a bed, nor in a chair, bat is
always standing or crouched ; neither
does he put off his clothes. His nature
does not incline him to eat flesh, and
he drinks nothing stronger than water.
Though sometimes appearently proud
he cares not for the pomp and vanities
of this wicked world. He denies no
article of the Christian faith. _ His voice
is shrill and, piercing, and, on one occa
sion, it was so convincing to a certain
man, that it datw tears from his eyes,
and he was not easy until he repented.
APPOINTMENTS OF REAR ADMIRALS.-
The President has commissioned the
following named Captaine to Rear•A d
mirais on the retired list, under the re
cent act to establish and equalize the
grades of line officers of 'the Navy.—
Chas. Stewart, George C. Reed, Wm.
B. Shubrick, Joseph Smith, Geo. W.
Storer, Francis Elia A F. Lavallette,
Silas H. Stringham, Hiram Paulding.—
And the foybwing named Captains to
be Bear-Admirals on the active list
David G. Farragut, L. M. Goldsborough,
Samuel F. Dupont, A. H. Foote.
The law provides that the Rear-Ad
mirals shall be selected by the President
by and with the advice and consent of
the Senate, from those Captains who
have given the most faithful service to
their country.
CONCLUSIVE EVIDENCE.—SeveraI years
ago, and soon after the "anti-license
law" came into force in the Green Moun
tain State, a traveler stopped at a ho
tel and asked for a glass of brandy.—
"Don't keep it," said , the landlord ; "for.
bidden by the law to Cell liquor of, any
kind." " The deuce•you are," retorted
the stranger, inereduously. "Such is the
fact," replied the host: "the house don't
keep it." "Then bring your own bottle,"
said the traveler, with decision ; " you
needn't pretend to me that you keep
that face of yours in repair on water."
The liindlord laughed heartily, and
brought his private bottle.
A- SPY-GLASS FOR WAR TIMEs..---The
schoolship Massachusetts arrived at
Hyannis OD Friday last, and sailed for
Nantucket on Monday morning. 'The':
citizens `of Hyannis were invited to-visit
the ship, and many improved the oppor- '
tunity. 'One old lady, after looking ail'
Emir a nicely polished brass-Cannon,
marked, My Lor, what a hig spy-glass
that is."
MaTALITY TS. PLUMS.—A Western
paper has - the following attrOsitilis
vertisement ;".I'o Rent-LA , 'llettati ;oh'.
Melville avenue; locatelf - 'llniaiortatey
alongside of tir fine pluth-orchard t iVein4
which* au tibiindant Supply Of the - 4161;1 2
delicious fruit maybe stolen during'the
season. }tent lo the greater part
taken in plums." • •
VERiParfic!"What," said Marga
rita;to Cncilliihat, dearest, do you
thiuk is really the food of Cupid ?" And
Cecilia answered ".Arrowroot."