Editor and InrcrprietcDr_ VOL. NINE. PUBLISHED WEEKLY AT ONE DOLLAR A YEAR, PAYABLE IN ADVANCE. OFFICE on Front Street, a few doors east NJI of Mrs. Flury's Hotel, Marietta, Lancas ter County, Pennsylvania. • TERMS, One Dollar a year, payable in ad vance, and if subscriptions be•not paid within six months $1..2.5 will be charged,' but if de layed until the expiration of the year. $1.50 will be charged. • No subscription received for a les.eperiod fhan six months, and no paper will be discon tinued until all arrearages are paid, unless at the option of the publisher. A->failure to noti fy a discontinuance at the. expiration of the term subscribed for, will tie considered. a new engagement. , ADVERTISING RATES : ORD square (12 lines, o'r less) 51) cents for the first insertion and 25 cents fur each subsequent insertion. Pro fessional and Business cards, of six lines or less at s3' per annum. Notices in the rending col 111111s, fire cents a-line.. Marriages and Deaths, he simple announcement, FREE ; but for any additional lines, five cents a line. A liberal deduction made to yearly and half yeaTly advertisers. Son PRINTING of every description neatly and capeditieusly executed, and at prices to suit the times. From the Philadelphia Spirit of the Man I %RIDER IF SHE LOVES ME DY JOIIN S. DU SOLLE wonder if she loves hie? 11'd give the world to knOw ! For though her looks still whispers Yes. Iler lips still niter No. Why .should she blush so-when we meet, If I'm not near her heart? Her tiny hand why tremble, when We undertake to Part ? I wonder if she loves me'? Last night we were alone, And I thought there was a coldness Unusual in her tone : Yet, toying with her curls, I stole Oh such a kiss ! and though She looked' innumerable thlngs, 'She 'did not bid me go ! I wonder if she loves me? To wake het woman's 'pride, I - feigned to love another once ! She neither spoke nor sighed : ' thongh.she sc:idied emotionless,_ 4 '` I watched her blue eye well, And I'm certain that a tear-drop 'From its silken lashes fell. I wonder if she loves me? • I'm sure I can't decide, For sometimes she's all. tenderness, And sometimes she's all pride. In vain I question of my hopes, My fears still weigh them down, Biiice even tier sweetest, sunniest smile lil'faatured by .a frown! From the Marietta Argos of 1844. I'III'CERTAIN THAT :SHE LOVES-Y011:' In answer to "I wonder 4f she lovas me." BY AN EX-MADIETTLAN „ . i'en - certairi that she loves ydu,z-- She'n'ever told me so ; • .130 all's not litter'd that is "thought, p r ” folt, or seen, you know ; She never did avow it, But once she breathed your name; She never would allow it To pass her lips again. I'm celled that she loves you,— The first timejthaGyou met, Those wordS„thnee kind attentions, She never can foiget fier wistful glance at muting,. ....040 , "ffertrembling - h - antl'extended The,tear suppressed ere starting, How meek, bow unpretended. I'm certain that she loves you,— The last time I was there, I saw upon her snowy wrist, A bracelet of your hair : She wore ppon :her finger; Your ill'atemping,and then .11er-eye@ wnuld often linger Upon that magic gem. I'm certain that she loves you,— I'll tell you hovel know it That blush, whorfe'er I speak of you, .She never can forgot it : Iferlook sp SWeetly beam lag, - Her bosom's.gentle swell ;, Her sighs, their rapid heaving, Their depth; 0, when ' ' I'm terlain that sheloves you,— PM , very sure she does : Or why. so pensive when )ou're gone 7 If 'tis not that she loves: - Why those smiles when you return ? Why that heartfelt4ladnesi 7 ' - And when you seem her love to spurn • Why that soul-sick sadness? 1 WONDER WRY? He pleased my hand, I can't tell why.— ,rov sum .1 wonder why he did it; I Antthcfc3, heard—oh, suet' a sigh! As quite alarmed me for a minute. / wonder ti;hy lie incised my hand— . I stondcr why, he sigh'd so sadly— I'm sure if I could understand ThO cause, I Would remove it gladly. Ile told me be had lost his heart, Ana whispered something about "Hope," I Wonder why it did depart— Or why hearts ever do elope— I'm rare, if I his heart had been, I ii,ver would have left his side, But a happy, joyous thing, And loved the place till-1 Ins&dicd. (4utpt6titt VtintsOimuia afournal : gebott. littraturt, Agrituiturt, EtiDS of tilt ga g , Natal c flttiligtittt, MARIETTA, PA., SATURDAY, MAY 23, 1863. FANNIE AND I. Na. • 'No, John Blaiklie, I shall `never marry you," I said, in a tone which I meant.should be particularly severe,— Let the conversation end here." Mr. John Blaiklie laughed in my face, which by the way, was just what he ought not to have done. The con sequence was that I grew angry in a, moment. 'You con .laugh as, much as you please,P I continued. 'There is a cer tain class of, people in this world that characterize themselves •by laughing at their own, folly. You have heard of them, haven't you.?' '0 yes 7' Again John Mahe laughed a good, natured, happy laugh, which did not testify very strongly for the depth of his anguish at my decision. Of course I grew more and more piqued I nothing more could have been expected of me. 'You are very gentlemanly, Mr. Blaik lie,' I said, in a tone which I mean*. should be very sarcastic. 'And I am aware of that, too, my lit tle Bossy,' he answered, good natured ly. "Cousin Fannie 'admires you very much,' I said, significantly, for a mo ment forgetting my augur. `She does?' Ile grew suddenly thoughtful, and bent his large, honest blue eyes to the floor. Then as if a now resolution had suddenly become fixed in his mind, he arose, saying, `You are quite sure of this, •.Beesie quite s re.' `Yes, quite sure. If you wish to try your luck in that direction, you may be curtail, of success.' "l'hank you Miss Bessie ? - I will OE 'Miss Bessie In all his life John Blaildie had dever o.ddniesed mein that way before. I started at him in very surprise. lie did Lot appear to notice me, but went towards the door, saying, a littlesadly, • I thought, as he paused at the threshold : 'I h e'troubled sou, not hi-Torte . nately, Bessie, but because, until now, I been ignorant of your true feel ings. The future shall speak for itself. Good morning l' • `Good morning I faltered forth, still staring at him in blank amazement.-- For a moment I could not really believe that he had gone—not until his foot step, grafi faint in the distance, and looking eut of the window. I could hut dimly see his tall .figure through the, thick mass of shrubbery that lay be tween the house and the road ; then I drew ft long sigh, not of relief, I am sure as might have been expected from a lady who had suddenly found herself ridded of an annoying lover; but a sigh whidh puzzled my own heart to define. I do not 'know what first put the thought into my head that I should not marry John Biondi°. From my childhood, even, I had been 'taught to look upon,hirn as My future• husband.— Through the whole neighborhood our engagement had grown to be such a settled affair, and of such long standing, that the people forgot to tease us about it, and passed by us as indifferent as though we had been a married couple for years, instead of interesting, engag ed young persons. But somehow, as I said before, I cannot tell why it came to me, the ideq that marrying John Blaik lie was not the best way of settling my- 'self for life, after all ; and so, working upon this, I grew to believe that I did not love him—and not loving him, what could I do but assure' him that I should never be his wife ? And that assurance 1 gave him as I have already shown: But after he left mo that morning, I felt .anything but comfortable; indeed the tears came constantly to my eyes and though I tried as well as I could to keep thetn down they conquered me at last, and sinking dOwn in my chair, I gave up, and had a good hearty cry. I felt a little better after that, and tried to persuade myself; in my own mind, that 1 had done just the best thing I could do for the insurance of John's and my own happiness. But the worst was yet to come. The nest Sabbath • John attended Cousin Fannie to church. This was such a new and strange order . of things, it sot the whole congregation to staring. Cranston could not sleep un der anything so incornprehensible, and for that Sabbath, at least, good Parson Green preached to a wakeful set of hearers. But they could only conjee. ture as to the cause of the change, and conjecture they did without leaving but little time for any - other mental k:......,, . . . t . x tr e ',, ( , s ll t• . ..6.• . .. .5 , ... ? ..., t • ~..Tt: •,... . ..: ~,.., ~., k,...... • '•.'.- ct •.•,,:-. (01 •. . . . - . speculation. Some were ready to de clare that Cousin Fannie had supplanted me in John's affections, and that I was breaking my heart in a secret kind of way about it ; others said that the fault rested_with me, and that I was looking in another and higher direction for a lover. Bat I had the truth, and most sacredly did .1 guard it. It grew to be a very plain truth before the summer was gone. As time wore away, and I saw plainly into the depths of my heart I knew that for a childish, girlish whim, I had put the happiness of a lifetime away from me. But I could only wear a brave face, and keep my secret away from the prying, curious gaze of those who were searching for it. I did not often meet, John, and but twice during that summer were we thrown into each others company fora. sufficient length of time to exchange a dozen words. Once we met at a picnic. From the moment that I stepped upon the grounds I knew that he was inten ding to speak to me. Perhaps I felt it by the way he watched me as I went from place to place. When ho came to my side, it seemed that the whole par ty hushed voice, heart and soul to lis ten to , us. He smiled at this, and com menced talking in a pleasant way about the weather, appearing not to notice my flushed face and slightly disturbed man ner. 'Are you enjoying the best of health this summer?" he asked at length, with I thought, a faint touch of mischief in his face. 'The very best of health, Ir. Blaik lie,' answered, curling my lip. 'Perhaps you have been informed to the con trary, however,' I continued, more in answer to his smile than aught else.— 'Cranston gossips, have, I believe, giv en me the credit of bearing up under a settled heart'disease.' • 'They are inferior judges, Bessie. Do not class me among them. never have,' I answered, dryly. `No, I sippose not,' he said, smiling again. 'This is a-beautiful grove !' `Very!' I answered, feeling that it was my turn to smile now. 'Have you noticed the arrangement • made'for dancers 7' I shook my head. 'Come this way, then, if you please.' Be offered m•! his arm, which I took without thinking to thank him. For a little moment I forgot that the right of claiming his attention was not mine. It seemed so like old times to be walk ing. by his side, watching his face and listening to the tones of his voice.— Before I could help it, I found myself sighing long and deeply. If John no ticed it he was very forebearing, for by look or word he did not reply to it but I thought the silence was a little too long for an ordinary one, and so I made a bold push to break it. Again I for got myself. 'What a nice place this is r I said.— 'Do you remember, John, how crazy I used to be about dancing ! My father used to say if my heart would always keep as light as my feet, life would go easily with me.' `Yes, yes, I remember,' he replied, I thought a little sadly. 'Will you dance with me to-day ?' 'O, yes, certainly V, I tvas glad to have him ask me that. Of all persons in the world, I best loved to dance with him. I had told him so hundreds of times, too, so that he knew well enough what smile meant. We danced, together so many times that day, that the Cranston people—or at least all of the picnic—grew bigeyed with wonder. Noticing how close they watched, us, John said, as he led me to my seat the last time : 'We are saving our good townsfolk from a great deal of sin, Bessie;.be cause while they are speculating about such innocent sort of people as you and I, they cannot be talking about worse ones. We are getting famous 1' I was happier that night, after I ro twned home, than I had been for weeks before. But my happiness was of short duration, for after the supper was clear ed away, and while I sat by an open win dow, recalling the events of the day, my mother said to me : `Your Aunt Ilasting was here to-day, and she said that John Blaiklie was finishing his house on the hill. -- Did you bear anything about it at the pic nic V 'No,' I said, scarcely above a whisper. 'And said if Fanny was going to mar ry John, she kept it dieadful sly; for besides piecing ap a few Names of patchwork, she bad not made the first step towards getting ready. What do you think about it ?' `I - think she will be ready as soon as the, house is," I answered, turning my face towards the - window, that she might not notice the expression of my feature's: take it-altogether, Bessie, it's a queer piece of brisiness? I did not answer only let my forehead droop low upon the wiridowseat: See ing this, mother came up to me, and rested her hand upon my bead, and said "Poor child!" How from my heart'l blessed her for her quiet sympathy. The next two weeks that followed were sad and tedi ous ones to me: , Every way that I turned, news of John Blaiklie's approaching marriage with cousin Fannie was ponred into my ears ; and even Fannie herself, who had always been very prudent , about it, seemed pleased in telling me of the ar rangements that were going on up at John's new -house—of this piece of fur niture ho had selected, of the carpets which had been left to her judgement ' . e.;c - Clusively, and of the beautifully toned seraphim, that John's uncle had present ed him for the little parlor. "You will be very happy,' I said one day in answer to all this. Fannie looked up suddenly into my face. I thought a quizzical expression . drifted across her features. `How pale you look, Bessie,' She said. `What is the matter with you ?' `Nothing, I am sure,' I answered, with some little show of spirit. am glad of it ; but, indeed, you do look downright ill. Won't_ you go up to the new houSe with me to-night— perhaps that will make you foel better. I believe you keep too closely in the house. But yea need not shake your head; you will go, John will be there, r and we will have a pleasant time of it.' Ala I went in spite of myself, al though every step towards ,the house that was once to have been mine, -was like very torture to me. 0, what. e. pleasant house it was I and how simply and tastefully furnished, from the cun ning, neatly-grained kitchen to the well carpeted parlors ! Everything was just as I had planned it a hundred times, in a laughing jocose way to John. Had he indeed remembered it all on purpose to torture me with it, now? It seemed 'Do you like the house, Bessie 2' -he asked, as if divining my very thoughts. 'Very ranch, indeed,' I answered.— 'Everything is neat and tasteful. Is. it too early to wish you joy ?' I asked, feel ing that he was expectirkg me to say something. 'No; not too early, but it may be too late.' I looked up, into his face. Its expres sion puzzled me. do not understand you very clearly,' I said. 'But never mind,' added, no ticing that Fannie had gone from the room. '1 have a wretched headache to.night, and hardly know what I j am saying. Headache I when all the time it seem ed as if my heart was breaking 1 - 'Where is Fannie ?' I asked, a moment after, seeing that she did not return. 'Gone home l' he answered, in the coolest tone imaginable. 'What, and left me here?' 'Yes, and left you herel Are you frightened ?' 'Not much—my poor head—l will go: 'Wait a moment,, if you please,' he said, detaining.me. 'I ' have something to say to yon.' Something to say to me I Did ho know that every kind word that he spoke to me, pierced my heart like a barbed arrow 7 'This house is yours, if you wish it, Bessie,' be began, in a slightly embar rassed way. am afraid you have made a hard decision in casting me off for ever. It seems to me that I know your heart better than yen know it yourself.' I looked up into his face. It seemed to me that I was dreaming. I told him 80, between my sobs and tears. 'God forbid he said, taking both my hands in his. 'But. tho past summer has been a. wretched reality of doubt and despair to me. Tell me, Bessie, is it ended here ?' I could not answer him in words, only to go closer to his side, and nestle my hands fondly in his. 'This shall bo your home, then,' he said, kissing me. 'But remember, my dear, I cannot allow my house to go withodte.a.o encumbrance, as the news papers say, Doe,s that idea plfire'yOu ?' '0 yes l':l.l,:onewered. And John be lieved me. Why ehonldn't ? A/Dril 11, 1.85%1. A,Gopd Camp Story, A correspondent of a Philadelphia paper, attached to the Army of the-Po tomac, ,writesithe following : •• .'. l'o; show you how rumors will, spread in the army, I will illustfate an incident. The lady friends of our fifth corporal sent him a box ; among the many 'good things in the said box was a -- life-sized doll, dressed in full Zonave uniform, which they won at a soldier's fair in your city. The corporal, after getting the box, was taken sick; the boys started` the rumor that the corporal was a woman, and• gave birth to a - boy: The rumor spread like wild-fira';' hundieds flocked to our quarters to see the won derful phenornenona new born - babe--; but we guarded the • tent with zealous• care, only allowing pryers to catch a' passing glimpse of the supposed mother and babe. We could find a number of men to swear that they had 'seen both. But the cream of the joke was -to come off; the corporal received a ten days' furlough ; all thought that it was the mother going home with her babe—some had it, she was a rich heiress escaping, from a tyrant father; but hundreds be lieved in the mother corporal and yotag recruit of Company I, of the Zonaves d'Afrique. " The English Language. The words of the English language are a compound of several languages.-- - - The English language may be looked upon as a complication, both in words and expressions, of various dialeets.— Theirorigin is from the Saxon language. Odr laws wore derived from the Norman, our military terms from the French, our scientific names from the Greeke and our stock of nouns from the Latin, thro' the medium of the French. Almost all the verbs in the "Eaglish Language are taken from the German, and nearly every other noun or adjective'is taken from other dialects: The English lan guage is composed of 15,734 words—of which 6,732 are frem the Latin, 4,312 from the French,-1,665 from_ the Saxon, 1,669 from the; Greek, 691 from the Dutch, 211 from the Italian, 106 from the German, (not including .verbs,) 90 from the Welch, 75 from the Danish, 55 from the Spanish,.so from the Iceland ic, 35 from the Sweedish, 31 from the Gothic, 16 from the Hebrew, 15 from the Teutonic, and the remainder from the Arabic, Syriac, Turkish, Portugese, Irish, Scotch, and other languages- THE BENEFITS OF POVERTY:ShfillS peare most have had the , following ideas in his mind when be wrote "Sweet are the uses of adversity :" "Yeti wear out your clothes. You are not troubled with many visitors. You are exoner ated from making calls. 'Crossing sweepers do not molest you. Bores do not bore you. Sponges' do 'not haunt your table. Tax-gathers •hurry past your door. Itinerant bands do not: play opposite your window. Yon ale •not persecuted to stand godfather. No one thinks of presenting you with a te,sti monial. No tradesman irritates you by asking; 'ls there any other little article to-day, sir?' Begging letter writers leave you alone. Imposters know it is useless to bleed you. You practice temperance. Yon swallow infinitely less poison than others*" Flatterers do t.ot shoot their rubbish into your ear. You are saved many a debt, many a deception, many a headache. And last ly, if you have a. true friend yin the world, you are 'sure, in a very short Space of time, to learn it I" EVILS OF lOLENESS.—Nine tenths of the miseries and vices of manhood pro ceed from idleness;; with men of quick minds, to whom it is especially perni ciouS, pis habit is commonly the fruit of many disappointments, and schemes oft baffled ; and men fail in their schemes, not so much for the want of strength, as the ill direction of it. The weakest living creature, by concentra ting his powers on a single subject, can accomplish something; the strongest, by dispersing his over many, may fail to accomplish anything. The, drop, by continued -falling, bores its passage through ,the hardest rock—the hasty torrent rushes over it, and leaves no trace behind.' A very pious old gentleman told his sons not to go under any eireumstan- - °es, fishing on the sabbath : but if they did, by all means bring home the fish. a - Eve plucked but one apple from the tree of knowledge. Many a daugh ter of hers flatters herself that she has robbed the whole tree. NO. 43. spook no bad Words. "How is it I don't seem to hear yon speak bad words ?" asked an "old salt" of a boy on board aman-ofwar. "Oh, 'cause I don't forget my cap tain's orders," answered the boy bright ly. "Captain's orders I" cried the old sail or. "I didn't know he gave any." . "He did," said Jem, "and I keep 'em safe here," patting his hand on his breast "Here they be," said Jem, slowly'and distinctly : "1 say unto you, Swear, not at all ; _neither by heaven, for it is God's throne ; nor by the earth, for it is his footstool ; neither by Jern• salem, for it the city of the great King. Neither shalt thou swear by thy head, because thou canst nbt make one hair white or black. But let your com munication be, Yea, yea ; Nay, nay ; for whatsoever is more than these corn _ eth' of evil." "Them's from the good old log-book, I see," said the sailor. LETTER OF Da. FRAzimx..—The fol lowing characteristic letter of Dr. Frank lin is said to be -inedited. The ipgen - ions manner in which he makes the commencement of his letter convey the temporary impression that he lent with a parsimonious reluctance, is inimitable: "ArRIL 22 1684 "I send ,yon herewith a bill for ten Louis d'ors. I do not pretend to give such a sum. I only lend it to you.— When you shall return to your country you cannot fail of getting into some business that will, in time, enable you to pay all your debts. In that ease, when you meet with another honest man in similar distress, you must pay me by lending this sum to him ; enjoin ing him to discharge his debt by a like operation when ho shall be able, and shall meet with such an other opportu nity. I hope it may thus go through many hands before it meets ith a knave to stop. its progress. This is a trick of mine for doing , a great deal of good with a little money. lam not rich enough to do muck in good works, and so an► obliged to be cunning, and make the most of a little. WICKED EfORSES.—In the year 1763, Mr. Quinn had a famous racer, who en tered into the spirit of the course as much as his master. One day, finding his opponent gradually passing him, he seized him by the legs, and both riders were obliged to dismount, in order to seperate the infuriated animals, who were engaged with each other in the most deadly conflict: they were got apart with mach difficulty. Forrester had won many a hardly con tested race; at length, over-weighed and over-matched, the rally had com menced. His adversary, who had been waiting behind, had been quickly gain ing-upon him ; he reared and eventually got abreast they continued so till with in the distance. = They were parallel ; but the strength of Forrester began to fail him. He made a last desperate plunge, seized his adversary by the jaw to hold him back, and it was with great difficulty he could be forced to quit hie hold. Forrester, however, won the = MANNER OF SHAKING HANDS.—Bul wer thinks a man's nature is shown by the way be shakes hands ; that he may have the manners of Chesterfield, and smile very sweetly, but who chills or steels your heart against him the mo ment he shakes hands with you. But there is, he says, a cordial clasp which shows warmth of impulse, unhesitating truth; and even power of character-1, clasp which recalls the classic trust in the - "faith of the right hand." HUSBAND AND WI - rm.—Addison has left on record the following important sentence :—"Two persons who have cho sen each other out of all the species, with design to be each other's mutual comfort and entertainment, have, in that very action, bound themselves to be good-humored, affable, joyful, forgiving and patient, with respect to each other's frailties and imperfections, to the end of their lives." 42- Ail that Leigh Richmond was, he attributed to the simplicity and pro priety with which his mother endeavored to win his attention, t;;: , l store his mem ory with religions trails, v:linn yet al most an infant. ez- A laqy, in speak-lag of t ;nth ering of lawyers to dedicate a new court house, said she supposed they hail gone "to view the ground where they must shortly lie," 1, 8. F 2,
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