P. mi. - Jaslac_arpt., Editor and Proprietor_
VOL. NINE.
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They parted in the spring -time,
When the winter had passed away,
She, with her bright eyes tear-dimmed,
Scarce dared a word to say ; •
For the sighs and tears came fast,
'4.rfid choked the utterance so,
That he heard not the mournful prelude
That he alone might know.
1.1. e pressed her to his bosom ;
But the jingling sword betrayed
The motive that prompted the parting.
"Ilis country he loved," be said,
' , As well as lie did his Euphie,
Who should give him a word of cheer,
Though her heart was given to trouble,
And trembled , twixt hope and fear."
And he tossed the auburn locks back,
And kissed the pale white brow,
While her anus twined closer ,and closer
sobhing, she whispered row :
George, will you ever come back to me?
The weary months will pass,
And scarcely I'll dare a note to read,
For watch thy coming at last.
"But snmethin,g seems to whisper
That we may nor.meet again ;
And the fearful thought it linunts me so
That it fills my heart with pain,
And the words that alas! I'd speak to thee,
In this our parting hour,
Are choked ere they come to the pallid lips
By a strange mysterious power."
• • •- • • •
They parted—sweet Endue and George ;
She to her silent room,
lie to the field, where bugle and fife
Sounded through gatheiing gloom.
And his maiden sword gleamed bright
As it flew through the misty air;
And all thro' the day, and all thro' the fight
Not a stronger arm was there.
But just as victory perched
In flashing aword7and gun,
And as our banners waviag high
Proclaimed a battle won,
A single ball went whistling by,
And mingling with the roar.
Eset.ped a groan—a smothered sigh,
And Death marked down one more
The morning sun shone bright and clear
0 4 er hill and rolling plain,
And shed its intern on the field
Where lay the heroes slain,
And comrades sad were busy then
With ambulance and spade,
And little mounds rose quick and fast
To mark where dear ones laid.
But one there was among them . all,
That scattered here and there,
Ddeasuied the earth as each one fell,
In smiles or wild despair,
Whose brow. though pallid, still betrayed
A lingering trace Of thought,
As though an angel spoke a name
Ere yet his life went out.
Swift spread the news on lightning wing;
Proin hearth to hearth it rolled,
And many a heart beat quick and fast
As the terrible truth was told ; -
And grief and sorrow reigned supreme=
Strangers they were till then ;
And many albright and happy dream
Burst ere its hope began.
But there was one—sweet Euphio Leigh—
Whose heart with sorrow blighted,
Still held the hope that heaven should see
Their love forever plighted ;
And, with a faith both strong and true,
She heard the tidings swell ;
And though her hopes seemed bursting too,
She murmured: 'fit is Well."
Car Governor S--- was a splendid
lawyer,
,and cPuld talk a jury out of their
seven senses. Ile was especially noted
for his success in criminal cases, almost
always clearing his client. Ile was once
counsel for a man accused of horse
fitealing. ge made a long, eloquent and
touching :speech. The jury:retired, but
returned in a few moments, and, to the
surprise of all, proclaimed the man not
guilty. An old acquaintance then step•
ped . up to the accused, and said—" Jim,
the danger is past; and now, honor
bright, didn't you steel that very horse?"
To which Jim. replied—" Well, Tom, all
along I've thought I took that horse;
but since I heard the governor's speecb,
I don't believe did
Arc a!6tptithtnt Valgsgitania *ant :
"I don't choose. I don't like Mr.
Galbraith. He is disagreeable in the
extreme. How could I possibly go
through life with a man with whom I
haven't the patience to walk a quad
rille 7"
And Eda Morton looked with a de
termined air about the breakfast-table,
as if ebe had thrown a bomb-shell in
their dignified midst, and was saying,
"There, now !"
"You had rather live in a third story
with Juan Gera, I suppose," said her
sister, sneeringly.
Eda's eyes Hashed fire.
"In an attic, ay, I would starve with
him, rather than live in Mr. Galbraith's
palace."
Juliet Morton was about to answer,
but her mother signed to her to be si
lent, A prudent woman was Mrs. Mor
ton, and had not the smallest notion of
"opposing" Eda into an elopement. She
changed the conversation, and waited
until breakfast was over and all had
left the room, before she gently asked
her eldest daughter to come with her to
her dressing-room.
Eda glanced at the diamond flashing
on her third finger, and the motto ,
graved around it, "constante per vita,"
with a flushing of the cheek and com
pression of the lips, that argued none
too well for Mrs. Morton's success, if
she intended a remonstrance—not that
she looked anything of the, sort. Per
fect serenity was enthroned on her still
handsome face, as she walked about the
luxurious dressing-room, chirping to the
bird singing brightly in the sunshine'
picking the dead leaf, straightening the
flowers in the vase, only glancing from
under her lashes at the silent flame
burning in Eda's clear, brown check,
and soft black eyes. Suddenly she went
over and sat down by the drooping fig
ure, drew the shining head down into
her lap, tipped the rounded cheek ca
ressingly with her white fingers.
"Come, Eda, my pet, tell me shoat
it," said Mrs. Morton, softly.
Eda was waiting for a storm, and was
waiting for it in the most Gibralter-like
spirit ; but tenderness, sympathy, she
was wholly unprepared for. She tried
to look defiant, to answer coldly ; but
the words would not come ; she looked
up, met her mother's soft, searching
gaze, crimsoned to the temples, and
with a quick, impetuous motion, hid her
face in the folds of Mrs. Morton's wrap.
per,
"What is it ?" urged Mrs. •Morton
again. "Does my Eda really love that
handsome young man, Gara ?"
"I never meant to. If I could have
thought such a thing possible I would
have avoided him," murmured Eda.—
"But he is different from all the other
men that come here. He looks so sor
rowful, mother---my heart aches for him,
'be loves me so. Our cold American
blood knows nothing of such Spanish
fire. Ire has told me again and again,
that he would kill me first, and himself
afterward, if I would prove false to him ;
and I believe he would, mother."
A dark cloud fell over Mrs Morton's
face—gone, however, before Eda lOoked
"Have you ever thought of the fu
ture ?'t she asked gently. " do not
doubt that you love each other; but
what can Juan Gara do to support his
wife ? His practice is not .too' exten
sive, I fancy. I notice that he spea4
as little as possible of the place where
he lives. There are signs .:of brushing
up, occasionally, in his dress. What
does he Propose to do with a 'handsome,
useless child like you, whose gloves and
slippers cost more than his 'whole in
come ?"
"I wish you wouldn't talk so," an
swered Ed; reddening. ' l We' have
never thought about it at all ; but there
is—l shall have money, you know."
"That depends on your father, my
love. You know what a stern man he
i s how hard to persuade I I have a
mother's heart. I can sympathise with
the romance and the passion of this love
of yours ; but your father is astern busi ;
ness-man. His first, question will be
about dollars and cents. He will care
more about bonds and mortgages, be
lieye me, thaeabout yuan's handsome
eyes, and he will only laugh at his talk
of killing himself. Whether he will
give a fortune to the daughter . who de
liberately makes a choice displeasing to
him in the last degree, - „you should know
as well as I."
"I didn't do it: deliberately—l could
not help it ;: i iind" if he Won't help us,
whxwe must get along as well ass we
can. I will woit—:give lessons—do
(I . ' tit . 71',111_ aTiiit
.i..114,4r
MARIETTA, PA., SATURDAY, MARCH 21, 1863.
WIRDOL
geboteb to "politics, Itittraturt, 'Agriculture, Delos of lc gag, local. aintelligente, &c.
anything. I tell you I love him. What
good would carriages and jewels do me,
if my heart was in mourning? And as
for Mr. Galbraith, I can't even think
of his red face, pungy fingers, without
positive horror."
"tly dear child, you are exciting your
self uselessly. Do you think I would
endeavor to persuade my child to out
rage all her own best feelings 7 I tell
you frankly, I deplore your choice.—
Wiser than you, I see consequences
whilh you either know nothing of, or
despise. But it you really love Juan
Gara, opposition of mine is useless. The
only thing left for me to do, is to help
you as far as possible."
"You will do : that, mother! You
will really do that 1" exclaimed Eda,
radiant.
"Am I not your mother?_lf yon
had trusted in me earlier; you might
have spared yourself much pain. List
en, now. I must. see Mr. Gera, tell
him frankly what are your prospects, see
what:resources he has, and then make
the best of it with year father."
"But—but---I don't half like to have
you ask him about his resources—he is
so proud, and he may be angry."
"Trust me, Eda, I will not offend his
pride. Recollect he is a man, and he
will understand better than you, that.if
lam to do anything with your father, I
must proceed in a business like way.—
When is he coming bere nestl"
Eda blushed slightly.
"He is coming this morning. I fancy.
that is his voice now at the door."
"Tans mieux. Stay here, and I will
go below, and have these troublesome
matters settled."
Eda sat as in a dream. The soft
wrapper drew away from her ; the, glid
ing step ceased to sound on the stair
case. The heavy parlor-door closed be
low. She sat turning her ring round
and round, lost in delicious thinking.—
She had never dared think before that
she could ever hope to marry Juan;
but now that her mother had taken it
in hand, ehe felt safe; for who ever
knew her mother to fail in anything that
she undertook ? and how kind it was .of
her mother! Who could have dreamed
that she, of all women in the world,
would ever lend aid and countenance to
a love•affair? How could she ever love
her and be grateful enough.
The little clock on the mantel struck
just then. Twelve! It had been an
hour 1 What could they be talking
about ? Quarter past ! half past , She
grew uneasy. Should she go down
stairs? But at that moment her mothei•
opened the door, looking flushed and
"Well - ," asked Eda, eagerly.
"Idy poor child 1" said Mrs. Morton,
compassionately.
Eda started back, and flung aside - the
caressing hand.
"What do you mean ? What is it?"
"My dear Eda, Mr. Gara refuses you.",
"Refll3l3B ma 7"
virtually. I told him frankly
how small was the . hope of aid from your,
father, and that he must, rely wholly on
himself. He expressed, himself very
sorry ; but said in that case that it
would be quite impossible to marry you,
ss such a union would—be simple folly
and madness."
"1, don't believe. 1 never will be
lieve it, exclaimed Eda.
"He is down stairs now. Come and
hear him yourself; only pray be calm.
You know there is nothing so, absurd as
a scene. Do have, a little pride. He is
cool enough abonOt."
Useless admonishing. Eda did, not
even hear her. She went straight up to
Jaen, who had the grace to look slight
ly embarrassed.
"Is it true ?" she asked, seizing his
hands:
"My dear Eda, I am—"
"Is it true 7" '
"I am very sorry—",
"It is true, then," and dropping his
hands, she - sat down on a distant; sofa:
Relieved 'from the, immediate neigh
borhood of her deathly cheek and flash
ing eye, Juan took courage. ,
"Miss Eda, in this life we must , bave
a little - common sense. I love you; of
course. I should be very happy to mar
ry you; ityofirk father cotild be pirstiadel
to think favorably of it: If at any time
he should change his mind; my heart_ is .
always yours, as you know; hut as I
told your mother,: what will not support
one, certainly never could two, even if
I could be base enough to think ,for a
moment of taking you from this palace,
to such a 'den as my lodging-house.---
Believe me ; Miss Eda, it is better 14,4,
I, do believe lou-,-agree . with'
most fully, and can never thank my mo
ther sifficiently. think I should, 'pre
fer even Mr. Galbraith." •' -
"But-"
"You have said all that is necessary
have you not? Here is your ring; you
will send me mine, I presume. Good
morning, Mr. Gara."
That was the end of Edais love-affair.
She was a little silent for a week or so,
refused one or two invitations, and un
deniably grew. pale; but she never re
ferred to Mr. Gara, even to her mother,
and in a month's time seemed the same as
ever. A close observer might have seen
that she seldom or never ',smiled with
her eyes, and that a hard mocking spirit
dictated all that she said. Altogether,
however, she behaved very well ; quite
in a common-sense way, as her mother
said. She met Juan Gera in society
and treated him with the most perfect
civility and serenity; she endured Mr.
Galbraith's attentions, and when that
gentleman proposed at last, accepted
him after this wise :
"I don't love yOu, Mr. Galbraith, I
tell you. that frankly. My heart is not
very warm, I don't think nove anybody.
If you choose to take me, knowing that,
I will become your wife. It will please
my father and mother, and I—it don't
matter much to me."
This last was sotto voce. I doubt if
it would have mattered much, though,
if she had spoken the words aloud.—
Mr. Galbraith' had determined to win
Eda Morton three years before. He
had a tortoise-like perservance of his
own, and no small confidence in the
power of -his will. He didn't expect
that she would love him ;, he wouldn't
have believed it, if she had told him so,
but he liked her pluck , and her candor,;
he considered that;she would look , well
at the bead of his table ; esteemed her
a sensible, aide-awake girl ; and, as he
elegantly expressed it, a deuced lucky
one in the bargain.
Her coldness never irritated him. I
am not sure but it pleased him. It was
another tribute to the power which had,
brought this handsome slave to his feet
and would make her, spite of her indif
ference, his for life.
The preparations went on swimming
ly ; the wedding was , .e. perfect .success'.
Eda never looked better.. 111-natured
people looked in vain into her serene
face for trace of discomposure or emo
tion. Careless people were dazzled - ;_
only a few tender hearts of men and wo
men sighed over' that fair, cold, young
face, while Mr. and Mrs. Morton con
gratulated themselves after this fash
ion :
"The best match of the yeas was Mr.
Morton's comment.. Galbraith is asol
id MAD: No flummery abotit him."
"It would never have come off, though
if you had had your way, "laughed Mrs.
Morton seftlY. They would have run
away and trusted to ybur forgiveness af
terward. Poor Eds.! I pitied her that
Gara was showing her all his meanness.
Such' a white, despairink face. I could.
have stabbed the Spaniard myself, then.
She is quite over it now, holvever.—
Girls get over the — se fancies easily
enough, and a little manceavering is so
much .better than scenes and scandal."
0 wise Mrs. Morton ?
cw - A jolly follow had, an office next
to, a doctor's. One day an..eidarly gen
tleman of theolel fogy school„ blundered
into the wrong: shop. "Dr. X— in ?
"Don't live here,” says who was
in the lull scribble over some important
papers,
~without looking up.
thought that this was his office." "Next
door."' "Pray, sir, can . you tell me, has
the Doctor many patients ?" "Not liv
ine." The old gentlernan was never
heard of in the vicinity, but the, story
was, and Dr. X— threatened to sue
P—for libel. However * , he came to.
think 'better of it.
itiar An enraged parent had jerked his
provoking son across his knee, and was
operating,onthe.exposed portion of the
urchin's parson with great vehemence,
when the young one dug into the pa
rental legs -with. his veunmous littlu
teeth: ."Blazebl whAt're you biting me
fore" 13Egin'und this
'era War-?"' '
cr. He who fishes in the sea.of
matri
mony need ` not trouble himself ,to .put
. •
any bait nprin his hoOk—if the hook is
gold.
as' If your dianer lies bard apon your
stomach from having been insufficiently
masticated, swallow a set of artificial
ciarb Marriage mast' be favorable, to
longevity for, an old maid never lives to
btmore,than thirty..
trouble` to brew - beer
but beer brews make much trouble.
- Mtalolilieci April 11_ 7 1.854.
DIVORCE CASE.—The New York cor
, respondent of Forney's Press gives the
following cause for a divorce, about 'be
ing made in that city : ''The party
about to invoke the law's most delicate
office in this case is a gray-haired mer
chant, of considerable affluence, whose
handsome young wife has sinned beyond
forgiveness. The merchant bad a friend
whom he trusted, and who had known
his wife from childhood. It was on the
strength of the last mentioned fact that
he indulged, under his own eyes, a de
gree of intimacy between wife and friend
which has finally culminated in the rank
est treason tohimself. For along time
after the intimacy, bad assumed - the de
cisive clandestine turn the merchant re
fused to be suspicions, when, finally,
suspicion was the least exercise ofjudg-
Inept dictated-by his common-sense, he
took the time honored method of satisfy
ing himself., lie pretended that homes
going away fora few days—going-to
II Philadelphia; returned of course late
that night, was privately admitted by a
suborsed servant, and proceeded. directly
(to his wife's, chamber. What he saw
there was sufficient to remove' his last
doubt. Noiselessly hr deposited his
hat and overcoat on a chair near the
bed, and "gli'ded" as noiselessly to an
other apartment, where be retired for
the remainder of the night. In the
morning he arose at his usual hour, read
his morning paper, and despatched a
servant to call her mistress to breakfast.
The servant came back, looking strange
ly puzzled, and reported that the lady
did not feel very well and would take
breakfast by-and-by. The husband felt
so much concern at hearing this, that
nothing would do but lie must see his
sick wife at once. Calmly he repaired
~up stairs to her room, coolly be over
ruled all her objections to admitting him
"just yet.'" With stone-like, impenetra
bility of manner he entered ; it took
but a minute to master the whole scene
before him ; without the least show of
excitement or violence, - he withdreto the
second occupant of ,the pitnre from the
_
room; then : he turned to the distracted
woman, who was.on her knees wildly im
•loring his mercy, andpolitely, but firm
y, told her that he must hays have com
pany at breakfast. She besought : him
not to kill her. He heard. her not; she
really. MUST come to breakfast. And she
came. The merchant • despatched, his
meal in silence,
,though in_ apparent
good temper. Then he politely, but
firmly, saicl, Ahat his wife must consent
'to be locked in her own room until din
' ner time.- From this- time forth, for
more than three weeks, the same scene
transpired at•evefy meal—"cneiely this,
and nothing more."' The~ nearly mad
dened' woman - was aliowed to' go; in al)
• hersharne, to the home from - whihly tier'
husband - had taken' her it marriage . ;
and then the merchant put his - case in
the hands a well-known law firm h in
Nassau street.
A TRAIT OF THE SEIC-..--Sceng—Mar
ket boy' adiniring a very little .dog fol
lowing a very ugly looking lady—Boy
my ! isn't that a beuty, neither.?"
Lady, (who _appropriates the speech to
herself,)---"Well,- really; these -country
lads have; more taste than the Londo
ners. I have walked. from Kensington to
WhitecEapel without having.such a cora
pliment paid - me."' - •
The chief secret of comfort lies
in not suffering trifles to vex us,,and in
culiivating un undergrovth of, small,
pleasures, since very few great ones,
alas are let on long leases.
Cr A Tennessee paper says that,
Floyd, "far.from being discouraged, is
all animation." Then, if- we catch him,
he may tarn out to be a_case of suspen 3
ded animation.. . -
4Eir The rebels likened ' - the - MonitOr
to a oheeseboi. 'lt proved itself;
ever, to_ be more like some cheeSa=
strong and mitey;
da. The .poor `man's 'purse purse mity be
empty, but Much gold' in the
snidieet, , and ns'inuth silver in the tn'Oon.
as any body.
eir Sleep is called "death's counter
fait," and. this is the case which the
counterfeit is preferred to the.genhine.
or As the pearl ripens in the obscu
rity of its shell, so ripens- in the tomb
ell the fame that is truly preeious. •
Jihr A false friend is like the shatlow
on the sundial,.appearing in the sunshine
bnt vanishing in shade.
ggr Falsehood used to travel in seven
.
league boOts'; ndwit - has - kicked off its
boots and travels by telegraph.
NO. 34.
QUEER THINGS*—We know lazy, shift
less, trifling devils, who never paid a
dollar of taxes their lives, who are howl
ing twelve out of twenty four hours
about "the enntherous taxes we are bur
dened with? •
littidknow men, the seat of whose pan
taloons display the flag of distress at
half-mast, who could not buy the toe
nail of a nigger if able-bodied slaves
were selling at a dollar a dozen, who fly
into a passion if they hear of an "attack
upon slave property."
We know men who never did a day's
work in their lives--save when borrow
ing or stealing was 'impossible—who are
howling like wolves against "nigger com
ing to Obio.to compete with the labor
of poor white men."
• We know men who never had an en
tire dollar in their lives, spend honrs in
expatiating upon the dangers, of a paper
currency.
There are queer people in the world.
Nine•tenths of all the talk on the above
topics is done by the classes mentioned.
—Ohio Buckeye State.
TURTLE EGO BATTER.—One of the pe
culiar productions of Brazil, described
by Mr. Fletcher, was "turtle egg but
ter." There are innumerable turtles on
the sand bars of the Amazon, and the
natives make a business, at the proper
%season, to collect their eggs, which are
deposited in the sand. These are thrown
into a 660, and when a sufficient van
ity,has been collected, they are tramp
led by the feet of the Indians, After a
short time an oily substance rises to the
surface and is skimmed off, and this is
"turtle egg buttar." Many millions of
eggs are used in this way every year,
and the article is largly consumed.—
But Mr: Fletcher confessed that al
though-he had partaken among strange
dishesin the coarse of his travels, and
had learned to relish them, he could
never taste turtle egg batter. He
didn't like the manner of churning.
' A CUTE WIDOW.-It is related that a
man on his death-bed called his wife to
him and said • : "I leave my horse to
my parents, sell him and hand the mon
ey you get forhim over to them. But
my dog / jeave to you_; dispose of
him as you think best." The wife prom
ised to obey. So in due time after the
death of her Lord she started to find a
market for her animal. " ow much do
you ask for your horse 2" inquired a
fartiier. "I cannot sell the horse alone,"
8111 replied, but I will sell you the horse
and• dog together at a fair price for
bo'tla. Give me $lOO for the•dog and $1
for he horse and we'can trade on these
tertis; 'and the 'cute widow conscientious
ly Paid to the parents the $1 she had
received-for the horse, and had to herself
the $100) for the dog. -
Cr A humorous young man was dri•
ving a horse which was in the habit of
stopping at every house on the road
side. Passing a country tavern, whets
were collected together some dozen
ceirntryinen, the beast is usual ran op.
posits tl a .door, and then stopped in
spite of theloung mien, who applied the
whip with,:all his might to drive the
horse on. The men on the porch com
menced,a .bearty laugh, and some in
quired if he would sell the horse. "Yes,"
replied - the: young man, "but I cannot
recommend him, as he once belonged_to
a butcher, and stops whenever . he-bears
the calves bleat." The crowd retired
in Vilence.
.An ,eating-housekeeper, who kept
a '.'Rest-y,opr,Aunt," as the French call a.
cook-shop, and who prided himself on
his ability to get up the best dinners
to be had anywhere; wishing.to give the
public the full benefit of his knowledge,
perpetrated: the following sign : "Try
- my dinners—lhey can't be beat." In
an evil -hour, -however, a wicked wag
came along, and dexteriously painted
Over•the-initial letter of tte last word.
The annottneement then- was, "Try my
dinners—they can't be eat."
44 - There is a sentiment as-beautiful:
asit just in the following lines: "He-
Whiyforgets the fountain from which he
drank, and the tree under whose shades
he gainholed in the days of his youth, is
a stranger to the`sweetest impressions
of the human heart."
ow "What is it that sticketh closer
than a brother 2" said a Sunday School
teacher . to one in , his class.
. .
A po4-olEce stamp-:-by gunt,7,,said
the young incorrigible.
tkr A young_ lady being asked by a
feminine aCquaiatatice whether she had
any original poetry in her album ; re
plied : "No ; but ionie of my friends
have favored, me with original spelling,"
10