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J. H. SEALS, )
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E. A. STEED, S
m SERIES, VOL. I,
THE TEMPERANCE BANNER.
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From tlie Knickerbocker.
— o —
II E It AIE.
“I met him in the cars
Where resignedly tie sat;
His hair was full of dust,
And so was his cravat;
He was furthermore embellished
By a ticket in his liat.
“The conductor touched his arm,
And awoke him from a nap,
M hen he gave the feeding flies
An admonitory snap,
And his ticket to the man
In the yellow-lettered cap.
“So launching into talk,
We rattled on onr way,
W itli allusions to the crops
That along the meadows lay—
Whereupon his eyes were lit
By a speculative ray.
“The heads of many men
Were bobbing as in sleep,
And many babies lifted
Their voices up to weep;
While the coal-dust darkly fell
On bonnets in a heap.
“All the while the swaying cars
Kept rumbling o’er the rail,
And the frequent whistle sent
Shrieks of anguish to the gale,
And the cinders pattered down
On the grimy floor like hail.
“When suddenly a jar,
And a thrice-repeated bump,
Made the people in alarm
From their easy cushions jump;
For they deemed the sound to be
Tho inevitable trump.
“A splintering crash below,
A doom foreboding twitch,
Vs the tender gave a lurch
Beyond the flying switch,
And a mangled mass of men
Lay writhing in the ditch.
“With palpitating heart,
My’ friend essay ed to rise ;
There were bruises on his limbs
And stars before his eyes,
\nd his face was of the hue
Os the dolphin when it dies.
* * * * 4*
“I was very u ell content
In escaping with my life,
But my mutilated friend
Commenced a legal strife;
Being thereunto incited
By his lawyer and wife.
‘And he writes tne the result,
In his quiet nay, as follows:
• hat his case came up before
A bench of legal scholars,
‘’ ho awarded him his claim
Os $1500!”
the sainted dead.
1 }me our treasures—changeless and shining
• ■ c.. -.'tt .-s. Let us look hopefully. Not lost, but gone
’ ‘ • Lost only like stars of the morning, that
j‘ avo faded into the light of „ brighter heaven. Lost
7 ‘ I ', ll i,IU 111,1 ° “■‘a When the eaith is dark,
<"‘(1 the h a vena are bright; when objects arcund
•’ n distin.i and invisible in the shades <>f night,
>bj(.< t, above are more clearly seen. So is the
’ 7., otlow and mourning; it settles dowii upon
1 •( .oiiely tn ilight at the graves of our friends,
■bin already they shine on high. While we
‘ Ley sing. \\ hilc they are with us upon earth,
■’ !ie u l'"n our hearts refreshingly, like the due
•! ■ ‘he flowers; wl on they disappear it is by a
,, an ’ above that lias drawn them upward, and,
tmmgh lost on earth, they float in the skies. Like
1 ■’ A that is absorbed from the flowers, they will
; out, like the flowers themselves* ♦e
1 ••• J't only u> bloom again in tie- Eden above.
■ ’ ‘ * Ola ie heavens have absorbed and
7 V bv the sweet attraction of their
ove made holier and lovelier m light, will draw to
!7‘ ‘' ca ' n I|,J 7 a ffinty, and rest on our hearts
7 7V 7 : ‘ty ore our treasures—loved ones—the
ainted dead .—Harbaugh'e Heavenly Recognition.
Alr&otdr to Crraprrancc, literature, (Central Jntcllignuf, ant) the a test linos.
I A BEAI Tin L STORY—BETTER THAN DIAMONDS.
I was standing in the broad, crowded street* #f n
Urge city. It was a eoid winter’s day. Then had
teen rain ; and although the sun had been sinning
brightly, yet the long icicles hung from tlu oaves of |
the house, and the wheels rumbled loudly as they
passed over the ground. There was a clear, bright
look, and a cold I tracing feeling in the. air, and a
keen, north-west wind, which quickened every step.
Just then a little child came running along- -a poor
ill-clad child ; tier clothes were scant and threadbare;
she had no cloak and no shawl, and her little bare
feet looked red and suffering, slje carried a bundle
in Iter band. Poor little shivering child, liven I,
who could do nothing else, pitied her. A s she pa.-s
----|cd nte her foot slipped, and she fell with a cry of
pain; but she held the bundle tightly in her hand
and jumping up, although she limped sadly, endoav
oretl to run on as before.
“Stop, little girl,” said a sweet voice ; and a beau
tiful woman, wrapped in a huge shawl and with furs
around her, came out of a jeweler’s store close hr.
“Poor little child,” she said, “are you hurt v Sit
down on this step and tell me.”
llow I loved her, and how beautiful she looked !
“)h, 1 cannot,” said the child. “1 cannot wait -I
am in such a hurry. I have been tothe shoemaker’s
and mother must finish them to-night, or she will
never get any more shoes to hind.
“To-night?” said the beautiful woman, “to-night?”
“A os-,” said the child—for the stranger's kind man
ner made her bold—“v es ; for the groat ball to-night,
and these satin slippers must be spangled ; and—”
The beautiful woman took the bundle from the
| child’s hand and unrolled it. You do not know why
| her face Hushed and then tinned pale, hut I, yes I, look -
j cd in the bundle, and on the inside of a slipper I saw a
name—a lady’s name—written, but 1 shall not tell it.
“And where docs your mother live, little girl?”
So the little girl told her where, and then she told
her that her father was dead ; and that her little
brother was sick, and that her mother bound shoes
I that they might have bread ; hut that sometimes thev
i were very cold, and that her mother sometimes cried
I because she had no money to buy milk for her little
j brother. And then ! saw that the lady’s eyes were
full of tears; and she rolled up the bundle quickly
I and gave it back to the little girl; but she gave her
| nothirig else—no, not even a sixpence, and, turning
j away, went back into the store from which she had
| just come out. As she went away I saw the glitter
jof a diamond pin. Presently she came back, and
j stepping into a handsome carriage rolled off. The
j little girl looked after : era moment, and then with
j her little hare feet, colder than they were before, ran
j quickly away.
i I went with the little girl, and I saw her g>to a
i narrow damp street, into a small dark room ; I saw
j her mother—her sad, faded mother, but with a face
jso patient—hushing and soothing a sick baby. And
I the baby slept and the mother laid it on her lap ;
j and the bundle was unrolled, and a din. candle help
ed her with her work : for though it was but night,
yet her room was very dark. Then, after a while,
she kissed the little girl, and had her warm her poor !
frozen feet over the scanty fire in the grate, and gave
her a little piece of bread, for she had no more; and
then he heard her snv her evening prayer, and fold
; ing her tenderly to her bosom, bless and her, and told j
i her that the angels would take care of her. And
• the little child slept and dreamed—Oh! such pleas
ant dreams —of warm stockings and new shoes, hut
the mother sewed alone, and as the bright spangles
glittered on the satin slippers, came there no repining
into the heart ? When she thought of her child’s
bare, cold feet, and of the scant morsel of bread
which had not satisfied her hunger, came there no
! visions of a bright room and gorgeous clothing, and
| a table loaded with nil that was good and nice, a lit- |
| tie portion of which spared to her would send warmth |
l and coinfort to her humble dwelling?
, If such thoughts came, and others of a pleasant
i cottage, and of one who had dearly loved her, and
! whose strong arm had kept want and trouble from
I her and her babes, but who eould never come bank
—if these thoughts did not come repiningly, there
also came another; and the widow’s hands were
clasped and her head hoard low, in deep contri
tion as 1 heard her say, “Father, forgive me, for thou
does* all things well, and I will trust to thee.” Just
then the d'*>r opened softly, and someone entered.
Was ! t an angel ? Her hands were of spotless white,
and she moved with a noiseless step. She went to
the bed where the sleeping child lay, and covered it
i with warm blankets. Then presently a tire sparkled
j and blazed there, such as the lit'le grat had never
| known he tore. Then a lingo loaf wa • placed upon
* the table, and fresh milk for the sick babe. Then
she passed gently before the mother and drawing
i the unfinished slipper from her hand, placed there a
purse of gold, and said in a voice like music : “Blrt*
thy find, who is the God of the fatherless and the
widow”—and she was gone, only as hc went out I
heard her say, “better than diamonds—bett< r than
I diamonds.” What could she mean'’ 1 looked at
I the mother. With clasped hands and creaming
ieves. -he blessed her God. who had <mt an angel to
I comfort her. So I went too: and Iw<nt to a bright
I room, w here there was music ad dancing, and sweet
j flowers; and I -an young happy faces, and beauti
fully dressed, and sparkling jewels; hut none that
1 knew, until one pat> and m. w hose dress was of sitn
: pie while with only a row- ud on her bosom, and
I whose voice wa* like the sweet sound of a silver lute.
No spangled slipper was on her foot: but she moved
jaa one that treadeth upon the air. and the divine
j beauty of holmes-; had so glorified her face, that i
j felt as I gazed upon her that she was indeed an an
i gel of God.
PEMII.I), Ull SATURDAY, DECEMBER 8, 1X55.
turn r..
—o—
SV MISS H I.U ri.KASANTS.
—o—
The daughters of mv father’s house—
They were not over fair.
Hut one of them had loving eves,
And soft and shining hair.
Her cheek was like the pale blue rose ;
Her smile was like the si ;
Her brow, it was the fairosf thing
Y on ever looked upon.
.She Moated like a fairy sylph
Along the joyous dunce;
An angel's soul was on her brow,
And heaven was in her glance.
Her foot was like the tiny wing
That bears a tiny bird;
Her voice was like its carolling,
Among the myrtles heard.
I would that you had seen her, when,
The loveliest of them all,
She sported through the liappv band
That tilled my father’s hall.
She was the darling little lamb
Our mother most caressed,
And I—l loved her ns the soul
That sorrows in mv breast.
She was the jewel in the chain
That bound me to this earth;
That last sweet memory of the reign
Os childhood and of inirth.
The shrine whereon my spirit laid
Her frankincense and myrrh;
Ands can never love again
As I have worshipped her.
But die is sleeping sadly now
Where willow leaflets (all;
And long green grasses wildly wave
Around mv father’s hall.
HUMAN HO!
How little do wo realize of human wo by the hear
ing of the ear! Perhaps there is not a more awful
sight in the whole range of human suffering, than
the field of battle after the strife is over. In reading
th : details, wo enter into the excitement of tlio strug
gle, and are borne along with the rushing squadrons
to the point where men wrestle for victory. We
read of the dying and the wounded, but how little
do we hear of the shriek as the hurtling iron goes
rending through the quivering Hesh; the low wail of
the dying; the blood-choking gasp, and the low-mur
mu ring prayer, or whispering of the names of distant
loved om s; of the rnonn for water or aid as the crush
ed and broken soldier writhes under the heaps of
dead. How little do we see of the gaping wound;
the head lying open, or the broad chest, and the
blood spinning out in throbbing jets; the wild look
of agony, a : suffering wretches implore aid; the cold,
still, stark forms, the limbs lying as they were thrown
I out convulsively upon the sod, and the bloodless fca
-1 lures upturned to the sky; all those are not seen or
heard. We here die at home, ami our clay is laid
gently in the burial-ground. There, the strong forms
at morning throbbing with life, at eve are piled in
gory heaps mid consigned to one common pit. And
they all had friends to love them! In thousands of
homes, there is wo, and broken hearts who would
have thanked God to have looked but once upon the
pale soldier, and known where he sleeps after the
battle. God of mercy! how angels must weep over
the carnage of war. The laurel of glory takes root
among dead men, and In ars the red bloom of blood.
Th<- roar of cannon carries w oe to homes and hearts,
and the shout of victory is like an iron hoof, crush
ing out the joys and hop's of mothers, wives and
! sisti rs. (!n*/vga (thief.
COHL'N’DRI'MR.
“Talking of conundrums,” said Old Hurricane,
(retelling hitnself all over .Social Hall, and sending
out one of those mighty puff of Havana smoke
which had given him his name.
“Talking of conundrums, can any of you tell when
n ship may be said to he in love?”
“lean tell—-I can,” -napped out Little Turtle—
-1 It’s w hen she want to he manned.”
“Just mi--rd it,” quoth <>ld Hurri'-arc, “by a mile.
Try again. Who speaks fir”t v
“1 do, secondly,” answered Lemons, “ft’s when
; -he wants a mate.”
“N’ot correct,” replied Hurricane. “The question
Ii- -till open.”
“\VI (■] die’s a ship of great size, (sighs,) modest-
I lv propounded Mr. Smoothly.
“When „he’s If.h'hr to a mim <f i/crr,” said the
l t'olonel, regarding the reflection of hi* face in his
j boot
i “Kvervtbiog but correct,” r<-ponded Hurricane.
“When she’s struck aback by a heavy swell,” sug
i m iitcd Starlight
“Nut as yet,” said Hurricane. “Come hurry
along I”
“When site e.t/cA of i f i*t n'iifor, fried
1 Sinahllpipo*.
Here there wa-’ a great groan, and Smashpipcs van
‘brown mi* of tin- window. When peace was re
-tored, Old Hurricane “propelled again.
“You might have said, ‘When she hog* the wind,’
lor ‘when she runs down for a smack, or‘when she s
alter a- on-ort,’ or something of that sort. But it
wouldn't h v been rigiit. The real solution is—
When she is attached to a buoy. ‘
“That's it, is it V “ said Sinashpipes, who had mys
t teriously re-appeared. “That'b what I just mopped
, out to tell the ladies. Novi sour of mu till mv
’ when a ship is beloved?”
“AV hen the carpenter rc-guard th M
ter Karl. “Smnshpipc- you must find the ci .u ”
And Smashpipes brought out his lu \ I’,, .. ,
and behold there came a great cloud pvt rSoc ; .d Hall.
ADVICE TO EDITORS.
An old lady in Skaneateias, N Y , writes ns that
there is a deficiency in the .a.liimn of the lhoovune,
which is the only obstacle to its attaining a hundred
thousand circulatio Tin.--, she says, consists in the
scarcity <>t murders, and the entire absence of elope
motifs and seduction cas -s. Wo shall take our cor
respondent's communication into consideration, for
if a well digested murder, a rascally elopement, or a
barbarity of any kind, will have a tendency to rarifr
the moral atmosphere of Skaneateias, it would be
highly censurable in us to w iti.hokl it. The other
day a lady took us to task for our remissness in not
supplying recipes for succotash and t'rieaseed cucum
hers, while a Mrs. Snivy. rs, of Washtenaw, suppo
-ing us to he omniscient, writes us for the lust me
thod of cooking a yaller rabbit which her William
Henry has just shot. Th“ letter bears a postscript,
like every other woman’s letter, which rends, “Write
quick, or the critter’ll spile afore we git the letter.”
Another correspondent thinks the I’ie.ny imr should
devote a regular column to teaching polite deport
ment, as his N\ ithclmina, the young lady he sets up
with, is a subscriber, and she recently told him he
was “a blamed fool.” The young genth innn looks
to us for a rebuke to bis “limin'.” An individual
who was taken in hy five silk II nnres and pearl co
lored gaiters, and was done out of a doubloon, at
Williamsport, wiites to request ns to advocate the
propriety ol putting all showy-looking passengers in
a baggage train !
Who wouldn’t be an editor after this? Art r )~„rl
Pietiffuna.
VVASHIMiTOIV’.S STY I.U OF 1,1 VINE.
Washington, hy his marriage, had added al.yve
SIOO,OOO to hi-- already considerable fortune, and was
enable) to live in ample and delightful style. IJis
intimacy with the Fairfaxes, and Ids Intercourse with
brother officers of rank, had perhaps their influence
on his mode of living.
He had Ids chariot and four, with black poMillions
in livery, for the use of Mrs. Washington and her
indy visitors. As for himself, he always appeared
on horseback. His stable was well (Hitd and admi
rably regulated. Him stud was tboron -h-bi i ,m<|
in excellent order. His household ho ks contain i.-
gisters of the names, ages and mar k- of hi- favorite
horses such as Ajax, Bluoskiii, Valient, \i n. ‘ ,
(an Arab), Ac. Also, his do;-s, chit ll\ foxhound
Vulcan, Singer, Itiugwood, Mwc-tlips, F-m-isi. r. Mu
sic, Rock wood, Truelove, Ac.
lb- was an early riser, often before i|:m brt-nl,, in
the winter, when the night wen lon/ On -ueh
occasion- he lit his own lie and wr it >or t i ‘ lt>
candle-light.
lie breakfasted at seven in summer, and -de m
winter. Tw o small cups of t< a and Hu e -r four
cakes of Indian meal, called hnc-eni,. ■
frugal repast Immediately aft,<-i hrrakfn <1 lc ■
cd bis horse and visited those parts ol ttc c mu
where any work was going on, ( teeing to ever, thing
with Ilia own eyes, and often aiding with hi.- oo o
hands.
Dinner was nerved a< 2 o’clock, lie ate In artily,
but was mi epicure, nor critical about In. loud, lb
beverage was small-beer or cider iiliu Iwo gl:. - .of
old Madeira. He took tea, of which be Wa very
fond, early in the evening, and retired (in the night
about nine o’clock.
If confined to the house hy bad tv oath • r he Look
that occasion to arrange Ins paper -, po up his ac
counts, or write letters—passing part of the time, m
reading, and occasionally ri ading aloud to the family.
He treated his negroes w ith Undue , attended to
their comforts, ws particularly careful of them in
sickness, hut never tolerated idleness, and exacted a
faithful pei formalin of all allotted tasks.
Washington delighted in the chase. In the coun I
try, when he rode out early iri the morning, to visit
distant parfs ol his estali. where uoik was going on,
he often took s* me cf Ms dugs w ith him, for the
chance of starting a fox, which he often did, though
hi-wa net always ucee, fill in killing them, lb
wie a hold rider, and an admirable horseman, though I
he never claimed the merit of M ing an accomplished I
fox-hunter
MO.VT ■il’tAK HU CROSS,
“Don’t sp'-ak so cross,” said one little hoy yt >o r
day in the street to another. “Don't, speak -o cross,
there’-, no use in it.” IV happened to lie p.is- ng m
the time, and hearing Idle injunction, or rather < \
hortation, for it was uttered in a hortatory manner,
we set the juvenile speaker down as an embryo phi
- )o<jp|ier. In .-.'nth, touching th- point involved in
ithe boyish difficulty which made occasion for there
i marks, he inig t property lie considered at maturity,
i What more could Solomon have said on the oce
1 - ion? True, lie has put it on record that “a soft an*
I swer tumetli away wrath,” —and this t.eing taken as
; true, and every body knows it to he ,o -it is evi
deie e in favor of tie- superiority of k indue ,s over that
:of wrath. But our young atree 1 philosopher -aid
pretty much the same thing substantially, when li
■ said, “Don’t spi ak so cross—there’s no use in it.”—
On the contrary, it invariably does much harm. Ts
’ a man angry? it inflames his ire still more, and con
firms in his enmity him who by a kind word and a
gentle and pleading demeanor might he converted in
to a friend. It is in fact an addition of fuel to the
■ flame alreadv if-miie.i > ■- 1 1
VOL PL-IMIR 49.
Nothin and .n a ole, cert inly, unliv . d-cm and, strife,
contention, hatred, malice, and all michariubleness
Is dsi ruble The boy spoke the “words of truth
and sohernc.-s,’’ w hen he said, “Don't speak so cross
there's no use in it.” Prtrhyleriiin.
■ ►-
WHO Silts. ROBINSON IS HER StNOUHR HISTORY.
Many <if our exehangi s seem to regard the pre
i pm alien of the Biography of this singular woman as
, a hoax. We have, however, the lust reasons for
I knowing that it is a verity. W e have now on Our
lalile sumo two hundred pages of the proof sheets,
which show that the work is not only written, hut a
lai'K> pin tfit is stereotyped. It Is written hy lion.
• D. Wilson, author of “Jane McCrea,” Ac., and it is
tube published by Miller, Orton A Mulligan, of New
York and Auburn. We have rend what is before us.
It unfolds a career at dnoo the most inten ding, ro
mantic and sorrowful. ft show s its suliject to be of
o;m;, nt parentage, and to have enjoyed all the sorinl
and intellectual advantages which wealth and high
social position could pv, She formed an early, sin
cere, and ardent attachment to a young man, but his
po >f.i('n in life was too humble to phase the proud
family of the devoted girl. She itherefore, brought
home from the seminary, where she had been for
two years, and in the vicinity of which the object of
her idolatry resided. A union more gratifying to
family pride is fonsitmmated, and the reluctant
daughter made to sacrifice tier young affections upon
Ilia! hated altar. Sim sets out with her distiugulah
i cd husband, whom she could not love, for Ids home
in Kngland. All the charms of wealth, elegance, and
refinement surround her. But she ’ unhappy.—
They travel; but her affections are on ttiis side of the
Atlantic, and be M comes daily, more and more mis
erable Her lilisband, though kind, and tile father
of tier children, i mi object us abhorrence. Her res
olution i tal-.'-n: She w ill no longer endure the ob
ject ol her aversion. She will seek her paternal
home, and accompanied by ber maid, proceeds to ex
ecute her resolution. The news of her departnre
however, reaches her parents before her arrival; and
vhen the sorrow stricken and almost despairing
daughter reaches the paternal threshold, she is in
dignantly spurned from that home in which she had
so t mdlv Imped to find rest for her disquieted spirit.
No words ol'e /'.m.ition no interview is permitted.
Her mean an- nearly exhausted. She easts about
for employment, and decides promptly to seek it in
the s t miliary in which she had been educated. But
while pron-eding to do so, she is ensnared in tho net
of tie-deceitful fowler. H r have not room to pnr
,ie Hie story. It is replete with interest, is graphi
cally to?d, free from improprieties of language, and
replete with lessons of w arning to those parents who
n- di-.p< and, r ‘ ‘tdli-c-: ul consequences, to force the
affections into unnatural and repulsive channels.
l'roy Tinnt.
JOHN RANDOLPH “HEADED.”
(it Hte many amusing anecdotes of this eccentric
in.hi lit Roanoke, we do not believe the follow ing was
ever in print.
He wo traveling through a part of Virginia in
bich was unftei|uaiuted ; meantime he stopped
tin- ni rlit at an inn near the forks of the road
lii’- innkeeper was a fine gentleman, and no doubt
of one of tb ; first lain dies in tlie Old Dominion.
Knowing who his distinguished guest was, he en
deavored during the evening to draw him into con
vetv.alion, but tailed iu all his efforts But in the
morning when Mr. itamiulph was ready to start, he
called for ins bill, which, oil being presented, was
paid. The landlord, still anxious to have some con
versation with him, began as follows:
“Which w -1 are you traveling, Mr. Randolph?”
“,-':i f” haid Mr. Randolph, with u look of displeas
ure, “JlaVi I paid my bill?”
“Yes,”
“I>o ( owe you uny thing more?”
“No.”
“Well, I'm going just where I please—do you un
derstand ?”
“Yes.”
I The landlord by this time got somewhat excited,
and Mr. Randolph drove off. But to the landlord’s
surprise, in a few minutes the servant came to in
quire fur his master which of the forks of tho road to
take.
Mr. Randolph, not M ing out of hearing distance,
he apoke at the top of his voice: “Mr. Randolph,
you don’t owe mo one cent; just take which road
you phase.”
A 0001) EXCUSE.
Sheridan being on a visit t a friend’s in the coun
ti v, an elderly maiden set her heart on being hi*
ooriijwinion in a walk. ’ He excused himself at first
on account < fth” bad ‘.feather. Soon aftei wards, how
| ever, the 1-idy surprised him in an attempt to escape
without her. “Well,” said she, “it has cleared up,
i | ee.” “Why, yi s,” he answered, “it ha* cleared
i up enougli for one—but not for two.”
WS till pool soon becomes stagnant. A m.v
’ chine withont motion becomes rusty. A man—
great glorious, majestic in hi* creation—without ac
, lion, still, lifeless, dead, becomes an icy weight—a
common nuisance—whom e very body fee Is disposed
to kick out of the way. We live in stirring times.—
It becomes every man to do something—to exert
, himself for the common weal —to be zealous, active,
and push ahead. What better are you than a man
’ of- now, which the children laugh at and pelt till it
is knocki and over and lost, while you fold your arum,
tie your feet, and sit still day after day, gazing with
a vacant stare above and around you? Arouse, or
j JAMES T. BLAIN,
( I'niriKK.