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•(( r Wfr'.vpj ;w r fojv.'rWr^ ,J j £ J I.;iJ v £ jjii j J IjX :r -' ’ ! n, W W w—✓ w ww w w w w w w w W W W W SaJ w w w 013 J. H. SEALS, ) ni< > p.oitohv E. A. STEED, S m SERIES, VOL. I, THE TEMPERANCE BANNER. fl T’ ISIIFD CVri’Y s VTI'RDAV EXCEPT TWO TN THE VF AR f BY JOHN H. SEALS. T iMWI'.R bus h largo circulation, which i* daily in* creatin ’, atwt bids fair to become the most popular paper in the Soutl.. 1 1 .s offered, with confidence, (owing to its circulation be in4o ‘ :n*ral,> to Merchants, Mechanics, and Professional men, a*- an AP\ KlvTlt*! V( MF.DII M through which their business may he extended in this and adjoining States. TER MS OF SUBSCRIPTION. ♦!,on per annum, if paid in advance. *I,N) “ “ if not paid within six mouths. “ “ if not paid until the end of the year terms of \nvETmsr\e. 1 square, (eight lines or less,) first insertion, f 1 00 E tch continuance, ftp (’’•ofc” ‘Mial or Business Cards, not exceeding 5 lines, pr yr 5 00 s raxnixu anv i:rtisem e\ts. I square throe months, without alteration, .. .$ 5 tX) 1 14 six 44 altered quarterly, 700 1 14 twelve 44 44 44 12 00 2 squares 44 44 44 44 1$ 00 3 “ 44 41 44 44 21 00 * “ “ “ “ 44 25 00 Ji# Advertisements not marked with the number of insertions, will he continued until forbid, and charged accordingly. J# Merchants, Druggists, and others, may contract for adver tising by the year, on reasonable terms. 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.