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RICHARD MAUZY, Editor & Proprietor.
23F* The "Spectator" is published once a week, at
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quent continuance. Larger advertisements inserted in
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A liberal discount made to those who advertise by the
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Western Virginia &
MARBLE WORKS, M f
AT STAUNTON lilJB I
marquis & mm. MB
Staunton, April 7, 1858.
DR. W. B. YOUNG,
DRUGS, MEDICINES, PAINTS,
OILS, DYE-STUFFS. CHEMICALS, BURNING
FL UID, DA G UERREO TYPE MA TERI
ALS, ALL KINDS TOILET AND
ALSO, COAL- OIL. AND LAMPS,
Staunton, July 19, 1859.
R. JAMES JOHNSTON, SURGICAL &
MECHANICAL DENTIST, having been located
permanently in Staunton for the last four years, would
respectfully inform his friends and the public gene-
Tally, that he still continues to practice Dentistry,in all
its various branches, with the strictest regard to du
rability and usefulness.
Office on the south-side of Main Street opposite the
m l <51d Spectator Office.
Staunton, Nov. 29,1854.
& €. TEAKLE,
WATCHES, CLOCKS, JEWEL-HI
$j\ BY, SILVER AND Igl
mim PL.ATED r_A£,
OPPOSITE VA. HOTEL, STAUNTON, VA.
Staunton, July 17.1860.
ATTORNEY AT LAW,
WILL practice m the Courts of Augusta and High
I_T* He may be found at his office, adjoining the
Dec. 9, 1857.
J. M. HANGEE
ATTORNEY AT LAW, STAUNTON, VA.,
WILL practice in all the Courts held in Staunton,
and in the Circuit Courts of Albemarle and
ekingham. Office in the brick-row, in the rear of
Staunton, Dec. 80,1857.
. JOHN W. MEREDITH,
JEWELRY, CLOCKS, WATCHES, &c,
Main St., Staunton, Va.
J3F" Watches and Jewelry Repaired.
Staunton, Jan.l 7.
OCTOR JAMES 11. GILKESON—Having
located in Staunton, tenders his professionalser
vices to the public. He may be found, when not pro
essionally engaged, at the room over the Saddle and
Harness establishment of Mr. G. H. Elick, nearly op
posite the Post Office.
Staunton Feb. 8.1859—tf.
A. D. CHANDLER,
KEEPS METALIC CASES of all sizes, at Staun*
ton and Millborough Depot, at City Prices.
Staunton, July 19,1859.
ROBERT D. LILLEY,
WILL attend promptly to Surveying, Platting,
Calculating and Dividing Land, and Locating
Staunton, June 20, iB6O.
R. L. DOYLE,
Attorney at Law, Staunton, Va.,
-*TTTILL practice in the Courts of Augusta, Rock-
V V bridge, Bath and Highland.
July 29, 1857.
ENTAL NOTICE.—Wm. Chapman has re
moved his office to the old Bell Tavern, near the
Virginia Hotel, and opposite Brandeburg's Corner,
and adjoining Rankin's Daguerrean Gallery, where he
will be pleased to see his friends and costomers.
Staunton, Jan. 31, 1860.
DR. S. McDAJfIVALD having permanently lo
cated in SPRING HILL, offers his professional
services to the citizens and vicinity.
«_IAA AAA I* CASH FOR tf E
-S)JLUUfUUU GROESI-I will pay the M*
highest market prices for sound and healthy T»
NEGROES. My long experience in the busi- Jk
ness, and my facilities for selling will enable "■ ■
me to pay the very highest pricks.
I wish to employ some'good AGENTS to buy Ne
groes. I want businessmen of good moral habits.
Persons wishing to sefl will find it to their interest
to call on me by letter or otherwise, at Waynesboro',
Augusta county, Virginia. JOHN B. SMITH.
August 14. 1860—6 mo*
WANTED.— 1000 young and likely NE- Jf§
GROES, of both sexes, for the Southern
market. Tbe highest cash prices will be paid Jk
lor them. ~*»
Address WILLIAM TAYLOR,
July 17. —tf.—Yin. copy. Brownsburg, Va.
LASTER—The Staunton Steam Mill having
been repaired and put in working order, farmers
can now get supplies of GROUND PLASTER in any
desired quantities. E. T. ALBERTSON, Sup't.
Staunton. June 5,1860.
LOOK HERE I —The undersigned have receiv
ed a large lot of MILLER'S CASSIMERES
which will be sold at a reasonable rate.
MOSBY, MAYLOR & FULTZ.
Staunton, Sept. '25,1860.
rpo THE FARMERS.—2SO tons best Blue
_L Windsor PLASTER, fresh ground, at the Old
Mill, at $12 ; Rock at the Old Mill at $10. Call and
get your order trom P. M. POWELL & CO.
Staunton, Sept. 25, 1860.
P~~UMPS ! PUMPS !—Well and Cistern Pumps
of the most approved patterns. Also Cooking
Stoves for sale cheap. Call at B. F. POINTS.
Staunton July 24. 1860.
MILL IRONS, MACHINERY AND ALL
kinds of Castings made to order at the Staunton
Foundry, by A. J. GARBER &. CO.
"1A AAA LBS. WOOL WANTED—for which we will
lUjuUU pay the highest Market price in Cash or
Merchandise. TAYLOR & HOGE.
Staunton, June 19.1860.
HOOFLAND'S GERMAN BITTERS, and
all kinds of Patent Medicines, for sale by
S DR. H. 8. EICHELBERGER.
Staunton, April 3, 1860.
I/RUIT CANS.—We have just received a large
A? lot of Glass Fruit CAKS, which can be sold at re
duced prices. MOSBY, TAYLOR _ FULTZ.
Staunton, July 24, 1860.
BON RAILING—A variety of patterns, for
Yards, Cemet « cts, _c, made to order at the
Staunton Foundry. A. J. GARBER & CO.
PENCILS.-For marking hn
en. Much preferable to the Indelible Ink.
Staunton, Sept. 18, 1860. P. H. TROUT A CO.
OAL OIL.—A lot of Portland Coal Oil, per
fectly transparent and inodorous at
I Staunton. Sept. 4. P. H. TROUT A COS.
APPLE PEARERS of the most approved pat
tern, just reed. by WOODS A GILKESON.
a_Mton, Aug. 28, 1860.
c PERRY DAVIS'
'We ask the attention of the public to this
long- tested and unrivalled
It has been favorably known for more
than twenty years, during- which time we
have received t/icjL&ajicLi. of testimonials,
shovjing this Jdedicine to be an almost
never-failing remedy for diseases caused by
or attendant upon —
Sudden Colds, Coughs, Fever and jlgue,
Headache, Pjilious Fever, (Pains in the
Side, P,ack, and Loins, as well as in the
Joints and Limbs; and.
oUi£urnaiLc. in any part of
the system, < ±oothache and in the
Head and Face.
jSs a SslcucjcL and jZFanlc.
for the it seldom fails to cure
(Dyspepsia, Indigestion, Liver Complaint,
JLcid Stomach, Heartburn, Kidney Com
plaints, (Piles, flsth
ma or (Phthisic, Ringworms, P>oils, Felons,
"Whit-lows, Old Bores, Swelled Joints, and
g@£ri£jLal oHelxiJitj4. of the gfttsiem..
It is also a prompt and sure Femedyfor
Cramp and (Pain in the Stomach,
Colic, _2__*/</_2_a, (Dysentery, _/2sm.-
-m£* Cholera J&orbus, Chol
era Infantum, Scalds, Pjurns, Sprains t
Ijruises, Frost F>ites, Chilblains, as well
as the Stings of Insects, Scorpions, Cen
tipedes, and the F,ites of (Poisonous insects
See Directions accompanying each bottle.
It has been tested in every variety of
climate, and by almost nallon.
krvautn. to fimericans. It is the almost
constant companion and inestimable friend
of the ffiL.s.&LCLnaJ i i£. and the I fin ti pile*,
—on sea and land, — and no one should
travel on our lakes or rivers without it.
•Wees, 121 cts., 25 cts., 50 cts, and $1.00 per Bottle.
PERRY DAYIS & SON,
PROVIDENCE, B. 1.
Sold by dealers every wheroi
Sept. 11, 1860.
PLAIN AND ORNAMENTAL.
OF EVERY VARIETY,
EXECUTED WITH KEATNESS — DESPATCH
JOB PRINTING ESTABLISHMENT,
Stone Building, Augusta St.,
LARGE STOCrToF JOB TYPE!
GEE AT VAEIETY OF NEW & FANCY TYPE!
BRONZE &> COLORED PRINTING i
will be done in a style equal to the best City Work.
HAVING made a large addition to the "Spectator
Job Officii," it is now one of the best in the
State, and all varieties of Job Work can be done in
the very best and most satisfactory manner on very
|gr It is furnished with a great variety of new and
far* We are now prepared to execute all kinds ot
Printing, such as
Posters, Sale Bills, Blank*, Circulars,
School Reports, Cards, Checks,
Notes, Letter Heads,
Cards, Wedding Cards, Invitations &c,
in the very best style, on moderate terms.
BLANKS.—CIerks, Sheriffs, Lawyers, Consta
bles, Merchants, and business men generally, are re
spectfully informed that every kind of Blank they
may need can be had, at the shortest notice, at the
Of Send in your orders and they will be promptly
GROVER & BAKER'S
SE Wi NG MACHINE.
THE undersigned Clergymen of various denomina
tions, having purchased and used in our families
"GROVER & BAKER'S CELEBRATED FAMILY
SEWING MACHINE," take pleasure in recommend
ing it as an instrument fully combining the essentials
of a good machine. Its beautiful simplicity, ease of
management, and the strength and elasticity of its
stitch, unite to render it a machine unsurpassed by
any in the market, and one which we feel confident
will give satisfaction to all who purchase and use it:
Rev. W. H. LANEY, Baltimore, Md.,
Rev. 0. H. TIFFANY, D. D., "
Rev. C. J. BOWEN,
Rev. JONA CROSS,
Rev. JOHN McCRON, D. D.,
Rev. W T. D. CLEMM, ■
Rev. W. H. CHAPMAN,
Rev. F. S. EVANS,
Rev. R. C. GALBRATH, Govanstown Md.,
Rev. J. McK. REILEY, Frederick, Md.,
Rev. T. E. LOCKE, Westmoreland co., Va.,
Rev. W. A. CROCKER, Norfolk, Va.,
Rev. JOHN PARIS,
Rev. J. F LANNEAU, Salem, Va.
Rev. C. HANKEL, D., D., Charleston. S. C.
Rev. C. A. LOYAL, "
Rev. A. A. PORTER, Selma, Ala.
Rev. J. J T WISE, Speedwell, S. C.
Rev. B. B. ROSS, Mobile, Ala.
Rev. J. L. MICHAUX, Enfield, N. C.
Rev. A. C. HARRIS, Hendersm, N. C.
Rev. C. F. HARRIS, ««
Office of Exhibition and Sale
181 BALTIMORE ST., BALTIMORE.
S_TSEND FOR A CIRCULAR. Jggk
May 8, iß6o.—ly.
MAIN STREET. CHARLOTTESVILLE, VA.
FREY & ROBINSON
HAVE opened a Store on Main St., (old Post Of-
where they will keep for sale, PIANOS,
FLUTES', VIOLINS, GUITARS, BANJOS, SHEET
MUSIC, STATIONERY, ENGRAVINGS, &c, <kc,
and respectfully solicit the patronage of their friends
and the public generally.
PIANOS.—Our stock of Pianos is selected princi
pally from the well known and most reliable factory
of NUNS & CLARK, New York, whose instruments
have never been surpassed in tone and durability
since their establishment commenced operations
(thirty-five years ago.) We havemada
with other Factories for supplying us with Pianos, oc
casionally retaining thejprivilege, however, of return
ing them, if found unworthy our recommendation.—
Persons purchasing from us, therefore, will never run
any risk, as we have determined to sell only good in
struments, on most reasonable terms.
SHEET MUSIC.-A great variety of the latest
publications constantly on hand. Instruction books
for all instruments. The usual deduction made in sup
plying Schools and Music Teachers. Arthur's Pat
ent Elastic Music Portfolios. Music sent by mail.
Orders from the country, promptly attended to.
C. T. FREY, Prof, of Music.
July 26,1559.—tf. *
Ayer's Ague Cure.
DE FORREST, ARMSTONG, & CO.
DRY GOODS MERCHANTS,
80 _ 82 Chambers St., N. V.,
Would notify the Trade that they are opening
weekly, in new and beautiful patterns, the
Wamsvtta Prints, also the Amosheag, a New Print,
which excels every Print in the Country for perfec
tion of execution "and design in full Madder Colors.
Our Prints are cheaper than any in market, and meet
ing with extensive sale. Orders promptly attended
Jan. 31, 18^0—ly
ALL WHOM IT MAY CONCERN.-
. Take notice that our accounts are drawn off to Ist
July, 1860, and all persons knowing themselves in
debted to us either by account or bond will be expect
ed to come forward at once and pay up.
TAYLOR & HOGE.
Stouaton, Aug. 28, IB6o.—Via. copy. •
STAUNTON, VIRGINIA, TUESDAY, OCTOBER 16, 1860.
BT THE LATK T. K. HABYKV
There are who say the lover's heart
Is in the loved one's merged;
Oh never by love's own warm art
So cold a plea was urged I
No!—heaits that love bath crowned or crossed,
Love fondly knits together;
But not a thought or hue is lost
That made a part of either.
Expanding in the soft bright heat,
That draweth each to other,
Each feels itself in every beat,
Though beating for another;
It is their very union's art
The separate parts to prove,
A man first learns how great his heart
When he has learned to love.
The loving heart gives back as due
The treasure it has found-
As scents return to him who threw
The precious things around—
As mirrows show, because they're bright,
What shadows o'er them move—
Receives the light, and by the light
Reflects the form of love.
As he who rapt in fancy's dream,
Bends o'er some wave at even.
Yet deep within the sunlight stream
Sees but himself and heaven —
So, looketh through his loved one's eyes,
In search of all things rare,
The lover—and amid love's skies
Himself is everywhere.
It is an ill-told tale that tells
Of "hearts by love made one;"
He grows who near another's dwells
More conscious of his own :
In each spring up new thoughts and powers
That 'mid love's warm clear weathei.
Together tend like climbing flowers,
And, turning, grow together.
Such fictions blind love's part,
Yield up its half of bliss;
The wells are in the neighbor heart
When there is thirst in this:
There findeth love the passion flowers
On which it learns to thrive,
Makes honey in another's bowers,
But brings it home to hive.
Love's life is in its own replies—
To each low beat it beats,
Smiles back the smiles, sighs back the sighs,
And every throb repeat*.
Then, since one loving heart still throws
Two shadows in love's sun.
How should two loving hearts compose
And mingle into one J
From the Boston Olive Branch.
THE COTTAGE ON THE SEA SHORE.
BY FRANCIS A. COEKY.
I never loved but once. Then it was with
wild, mad love. I was young, handsome
wealthy then, and might have had my choice ot
the young ladies of my circle. But 1 could not
find one among them all that I could love. It
was this that found me at the age of twenty
five still single. For two years 1 dwelt beneath
the sunny skies of Italy, and, then with a beart,
whose greatest longing was for a being to revere
and love I sought my native land. One month
I spent among my city friends, and then, during
the hot month of July, I went to the seaside,
where I tound a quiet home with au old fisher
man and his wife, in their simple cot.
One day I was sailing alone on the bay near
the fisherman's cot. It was a calm, bright day,
and after sailing near the shore, I ventured out
into the open sea. I went on, and on, in my
little boat, impelled by some singular desire, un
til I was far out in the sea and the shore lay
like a vast bank upon the blue waters in the
distance. I had hardly noticed the gathering
clouds until a loud, long peal of thunder burst
overhead. I suddenly sprang to my feet and
gazed around. Overhead and before me, as tar
as the eye could reach, great masses of inky
clouds lay piled up, one above another, while
the sun still shone brightly as ever. The sea
was calm as I turned the head of my boat to
ward the shore, and scarce a ripple disturbed its
glassy smoothness. But ere I had proceeded
far, on my homeward route, I heard the wind
roaring and saw the mighty waves coming up
behind me like raving monsters eager lor their
prey. With an almost hopeless glance toward
the shore, I bent my hands once more to the
oars, and the boat cleft the waves bravely.
Itwasiu vain! The mighty waters were
coming swiftly towards me. As I felt a mon
strous wave dashing against the boat, I threw
down the oars in despair and clung to the seat.
Another, still another, passed me, as if to mock
my tears, but e»cb, thank God, bearing me near
er to shore. At last the storm burst more fu
riously. The wind shrieked, the rain tell in
torrents, and the wet spray dashed. I had
grasped with the tenacious hope ot despair.
At last there was a lull in the storm, when I
loosed my hold and raised my head to look a
round. At that moment a giant wave burst
over tiie boat, and a strange feeling came over
me. It seemed as though I was lilted by invis
ible bauds and borne up, I knew not how tar,
aud then dropped into a seething abyss below.
This is all I remember! I knew no more.
When I awoke to a knowledge of life and
passing event,-, I was in a large room, furnUhed
with an elegance which only a person of means
could afford. I knew I was near the sea for I
could hear it beating against the rocks nmier my
I had scarcely glanced at the elegant furniture
when I heard the door softly unclose and a lady
entered. She was attired in a morning robe ol
pink satin, with a collar of pointed lace clasped
by a bingle diamond around her neck. Her hair
was parted smoothly above her fair, white brow,
and allowed to fall in careless curls over her
neck and shoulders, and there was a proud light
in her great eyes, aud a queenly graoe in her
every movement, as she advanced softly towards
"Do you feel any better now, sir?" she asked
when she saw I was awake and watching her.
"Much ! Have I been very ill ?"
"Oh yes, sir! Very ill indeed! You have
been near to death, but now with proper care
you are safe."
"And if 1 recover, I shall feel that I owe it all
to you!" I said, grasping her hand and pressing
it between both my own.
She withdrew it coldly.
"I do not wish you to think so," she said. —
"If I have done you a service it was because 1
thought it my duty, and I would have done the
same to any one. Do not thank me, but God !
I am only an instrument in his hands."
"I do thank Him sincerely for placing me
where he did !" I said, impulsively.
"Do you wish me to leave you ?" she asked
"Oh no!" I cried. "But how long have I
"This is the fifth day."
"So long? It has seemed scarcely as many
minutes to me."
"It is because your mind has wandered."
"But how came I under your roof? It is a
mystery to me. Pray explain it."
"My servants found you, just five days ago,
lying insensible npon the beach, and brought
you here. That is all I can inform you. If you
wish to know more you mu9t question them.'
"I think I understand it all now."
"Then I will leave you awhile to yourself.—
You must try and sleep some."
But I did notl Her sweet low voice still
rang like merry music in my ear and her lovely
face still haunted my every thought! An hour
afterwards whon I heard her approaching, I
closed my eyes and began to breathe heavily,
for I did not wish she should know I had been
awake. When she saw that I was apparently
asleep, she approached the bed and bathed my
brow, with her soft hand. Oh what a sensation
came over me when I felt her band upon my
brow, and her slender lingers in the masses of
my hair! Afterwards I practiced the same de
ception many limes but at last spoilt it all my
self. For when she was bathing my brow I
foolishly exclaimad —
"How very soft and soothing your bands
"Are you awake?" she cried, springing back.
"Yes, and I have been every time you have
bathed my head so nicely. Do not go," I said,
as I saw she was about to leave the room.—
"You make my head feel so much better. Re
member it is a sick man who asks of you this
She staid; but that was the last time I ever
felt her bands upon my brow.
"Do you know," I a^ked,..while her fingers
were still running over my temples, "that 1
often wonder why you stay here ? I know tbat
you are wealthy, and with as much beauty and
grace as you possess you would shine tbe bright
est star in any circle."
I said this in the vain hope that she would
reveal to me something of her past life, but was
"I did once enjoy the world," she said, "but
I grew tired of it and came here."
"Then our cases are similar, for I too have
grown strangely weary of the world and its
I thought she appeared a little more interested
in me after I said this. The dajs of my sick
ness flew rapidly they werejjsuch happy ones. —
And soon, may God forgive and pity me, I
learned to love her with an idolatrous love. —
I knew nothing of her past history, not eyen her
name, only that she was very beautiful and that
my heart was all her own. I was, though 1
knew it not, rushing, with closed eyes, on to my
own destruction 1 And thus I loved on, madly
doating upon every word her lips uttered, and
every smile she bestowed upon me, until I was
entirely recovered. Then I had no excuse for
longer delay, and so, after gaining her per
mission to call upon her soon, 1 returned to my
home at the fisherman's cot. I staid there three
days, in fact till I could stay no longer. Then
I went to make my promised call, and it was
but little past midday when I rang the bell at
the door or the cottage on the sea shore. One
of the servants answered the summons.
"Is—is"—l hesitated from my ioability to
pronounce her name —"is the lady of the house
Mrs. CloyeB? Yes I Will you walk in sir?"
Mrs. Oloyesl Oh what does he mean? Is
she, the being I love so tondly—the ideal I have
sought alter so long in vain—is she found at last
but to be lost? Is she a wife? This thought
burned like fire into my brain, as I followed him
up into the gorgeous parlors.
She eat alone, by the window looking forth,
and the moment the servant had gone I stood
with clasped hands before her.
"Tell me—are you—mar —married ?" I gasped,
holding out my arms towards her. "I have
loved you so devotedly, so fondly, and are you
—can you be —lost to me forever ? No, oh no I
It must not, shall not be! Mrs. Oloyes ? Tell
me, is not this some dreadful mistake ?"
I stood, white and motionless, before her, a
waiting her answer. Sue must have thought
me wild—insane —but she did not say so.
"That is my name, but how came you ac
quainted with it?" She asked calmly.
"The servant told me at the door. Then it
is all too true! You ara lost, lost now and for
ever, to me 1" I said, with a bitter sigh.
"Mrs. Cloyes is my name, but I am not now
a wife," she answered, looking up trustingly in
to my face. "My husband is dead 1"
I seized her hand impulsively and carried it
to my lips.
"I must tell you something of my past history.
I had wished to keep it a secret, but it is my
duty to make you acquainted with it. I was an
orphan and wedded Athel Oloyes at a very early
age. I thought I loved him then but soon found
my mistake. He was wealthy, talented and
handsome, all that one could deeire in a hus
band, bat still I could not love him. We lived
together one short year, and then, I sometimes
think, he had discovered my want of affection
for him, took his departure tor Europe. On the
passage out the vessel was lost, aud every soul
on board perished, and 1 was h-ft a wealthy wid
ow, yet wholly alone in the world. I was
tired ot my city friends and sick of society, and
so I came to this place aud have lived here a
lone since then."
"And you are free—free to love me and be my
wife?*' I asked eagerly.
"And you will?"
"I must tell you the truth. Ido love you I—
I have loved you ever since I watched over your
"Bless you ! bless you 1" I cried catching her
proud form in my arms and pressing her fondly
to my heart. I still held her till 1 heard foot
steps outside the door, and a man I never saw
"What is the meaning of all this?" he asked,
striding up to me and placing his hand heavily
upon my shoulder. "By what right, sir, do you
hold that lady in your arms?"
I felt the loved form tremble in my arms, and
saw her face grow palo and rigid as marble
when he spoke thus.
"Rather let me ask you by what right you
enter, thus rndely, a lady's apartments un
announced?" I sbid, shaking off his grasp, and
threatening him with a blow with ray disen
"Don't, Lynn, don't!" she cried,springing be
tween us, "for —he—he—i 9my hmband/"
She uttered these words in a strange, choking
tone, casting upon me such a look of pity and
love as I never shall forget.
Your husband!" I gasped, staggering to the
wall with a sudden faiutness.
"The sea has given up its dead!"
"Yes, and this is a strange welcome to give
me upon my return. Have you not a single
word of welcome ?"
" My Athel!" she answered, springing into
his arms, yet casting a yearning look upon me.
"Stella," I cried, "will you not come to
"No, no, I must not! We must part forever.
My duty is plain. Go! aud think of me ever as
one who wronged you, though unwittingly."
I left, but I felt that I carried her heart with
me. I afterwards learned that they went im
mediately to Europe. This mysterious event
has bent my form and silvered my hair before
its time! This has made the earth a place of
tears and sorrow to me! Oh Stella! Stella!"
I have again visited the cottage on the sea
shore! I walked up the graveled walk towards
her house. It was just such a July day as when
I first awoke from my long deep, years ago.—
The front door was slightly ajar. 1 pushed it
noiselessly open, and went up to the very room
where we last parted. There, at the same win
dow where she had sat, was a black robed fe
male form, with her head resting upon her
bauds. I gave one quick, sure glance, and then
opened my arms.
"-Stella r I cried.
"Lynn, oh, Lynn/"
Aud she sprang into my open arms and laid
her head upon my bosom. Thus I held her for
several minutes, forgetting that she was an
other's wife, aud that my love was only a tiu.
But at last the dread remembrance returned.
"Oh Stella," I said bitterly, "I have found
you once more but to lose you!"
"No, Lynn, not if you will keep me forever,"
she returned, clinging fondly to me.
"What can you mean? I asked.
"That you may love me if you will 1 With
my own hands I closed my dear husband's eyes
three years ago in Italy. He died blessing me,
and with his last words he bade me to wed you,
if we ever met, and yon loved me still!"
"And will you, dearest ? *ou find in me a
white-haired man, old before bis time. Now
will you be my wife ?"
"I will, and may God bless us!" was her an
I have come back but it is to return in one
month and claim ber as my bride. My faded
youth, with happiness, has returned. With
God's blessing, 1 know 1 shall be ever happy,
with my Stella, in our cottage on the sea
One of the Chicago editors gets off a good hit
at newspaper subscribers. He divides them in
to classes, which he says are capable of innu
merable subdivisions. According to his "book
tionary" the first class are the uprights. These
are men who take newspapers, pay for tbem and
read them. They do the thing by system.—
They pay first and then read. They are gene
rally intelligent men, and consider that they get
the worth of their money. It seems as fair and
just to them tbat the newspaper should be paid
lor, as a barrel of flower or a new coat. They
never entertain any other opinion. When the
year runs out tbey are on band again with tbe
pay. This class, the editor remarks, are near
and dear to tbe heart of the printer. Their im
age is embalmed in his affections, and they are
universally respected. Tbe second class are do
wells. They are in some degree related to the
first. They pay np duricg the first six months
—"intended to do so before, but forgot it."—
They never forgot it if they failed to receive the
paper onoe a week. But these patrons will do.
They won't let him suffer, if occasionally re
minded of their shortcomings. The third class
are the easy doers. They believe in newspapers
—always read. They take the paper without
urging. They come up like men and pay for
tbe first year. The next year rolls along but
they quiet themselves with the conviction that
they paid for the first year, and on the strength
of that, neglect the printer, till he begins to in
quire after the state of their health, pockets, Ac,
when they awake to tbe fact that they are in
arrears, and after a few weeks grunting and
grumbling, they come forward with fifty excu
ses, and pay the old score. There are many
such newspaper patrons. They never dispute
the printer's bill, however. They know that
books will tell better stories than treacherous
moss-covered memories. If the printer can
manage to beg his way till these wheel-horses
pay up, he may possibly get along after a fash
ion, but it's a hazardous dependence. The next
class are the down-billers. One of these will
take a paper because "wife wants it," or neigh
bor persuades him. When it begins to come he
spends no further thoughts upon it. In the
course of a year, if the constable visits him, be
may pay up, grudgingly, but witb growls and
with surly looks. An ordinary dun has no more
effect upon him than a bullet has on the tjide of
a hippopotamus. The printer can't live with
The fifth class are the nix cwm arovs*. They
never pay for the paper—nor anything else.—
They are always grumbling at the editor, too. —
They don't like his paper, it don't give no news
—never did like it—didn't want it in the first
place—told the postmaster so—sent back one a
year ago, and did'nt begin to take it for a long
time after it come—havn't had but two or three
numbers, and they hain't been read, and so on
to the end of the chapter.
Thus tbey talk, but the printer can read all
such like a "book." They have a niche in his
memory and through the columns of his paper,
to instruct them iv their duty and make better
men of tbem. .He finds it an uphill business,
howevet, and soon gives them up—as be should.
The sixth and last class is tbe scape grace.—
Everybody knows what a scape grace is. One
of these fellows never tails to take five or six
newspapers. When he thinks they have come
about long enougli for the publisher to want his
pay, sends word to u stop it" or decamps for
parts unknown. He never intends to pay for it
and don't. It doesn't take many such fellows to
starve out the printer.
Such are the varieties of mankind who "take
Things that nkyeb Die.—Dear Children: —
In this world, vvnich we love so much, and
which is so beautiful, we find one thing which
makes us sad : it is death. Everything around
us dies, and we must die, too.
But there are some things that never die.
Kind thought* oan never die. If you keep
them in your heart, they are like the fragrance
of the rose or hyacinth ; they shed a happy in
fluence over yourself and speak in your gentle
Kind words never die. "When yon sleep they
live in the hearts of those who listened to their
music The frost king may como, but he can
not injure so sweet a flower.
Kind action* never die. Let me tell yon of a
kind action which I saw not long ago:
For many months, at the door of the Sunday
School hall—where I am a teacher—every Sab
bath afternoon stood a little carriage just like
your baby sister's, only a little larger. I won
dered what small child was brought so regular
ly to Sunday School. What was my surprise
the other day, as I came to the hall, to see tbe
same carriage coming, drawn by two little fair
haired brothers, and in it was their lametieter,
bigger and older than themselves! She could
not walk so far. So these dear little brothers
drew her to school every Sabbath afternoon. I
was so glad to see this kind action, that a tear
stole down my cheek, and I thanked God there
were hearts so sweetly tuned to a brother's and
Are you cultivating a spirit so heavenly, so
pure.V Remember the little brothers and their
lame sister. I wish I could send yon a picture
ot these fair children. You would like to see
them. lam not sure but you would wish to
carry the picture in a locket, aud look at it often
so that you might become like it. Make a pic
ture of it on your hearts, and write there these
Kind thoughts, kind words, and kind actions
A Seemon.—One morning Nasser-Eddyn-Ef
fendi a-ceuded to the pulpit to preach, and ad
dressing his bearers said:
"O, believers! know ye what I am going to
They replied that they did not.
"Well, theu," rejoined he, "since you do not
know, do you suppose that I am going to tell
Another morning he again appeared in the
pulpit, and said:
"O, believers! know ye what I am going to
tell you ?"
They replied they did.
"If you kuow it, then," said he, "I need not.
tell it to you ;" and descended from the pulpit,
and went his way.
His auditors, puzzled what to do, at length a
greed that if he again made his appearance,
some of them would say that they knew, others
that they did not.
And again Nasser-Eddyn-Effendi mounted in
to the pulpit, and said :
"O, Mussulmans! know ye what I am going
to say to you ?"
To which some replied, "We know;" others,
"We know not."
"Good!" returned he; "let those who know
tell those who do not."
A master, in illustrating why the fingers are
not of an equal length, made his scholar grasp
a ball ot ivory, to show that the points of Lis
fingers are equal. It would have been better,
says Sir Charles Bell, had he closed his lingers
upon his palm, and then asked whether or not
they corresponded. The difference in the length
of the fingers serves a tbouaand ends, adapting
the form of the band and fingers to different
purposes—as, for holding a rod, a switch, a
sword, a hammer, a pen, a pencil, engraving
tools, etc., in all which a secure hold and free
dom of motion are admirably combined.
Leaves are light, and useless, and idle, and
wavering, and changeable; they even dance;
yet God has made them part of the oak. In so
doing he has given us a lesson not to deny the
stont-hearteduess within, because we see the
The Late Slave Murder Case.
At the term of the Circuit Court of Mecklen
burg county, Va., Charles Hudson was tried for
the murder of his slave woman Jane, convicted
of murder in tbe second degree, and sentenced
to the Penitentiary for eighteen years.
The Tobacco Plant says very truly that it is
one of those cases which thoroughly vindicate
Southern character against the aspersions cast
upon us by our enemies at tbe North. It devel
opes what is as true ot us as of any other people
on the civilized globe, that we utterly detest and
abhor cruelty and barbarity, whether to whites
The evidence in the case was that on the
morning ot the 4th of July last, at 8 o'clock, one
of the hottest days of the past Summer, Hudson
stripped the woman, naked as she came into the
world, tied her to a persimmon tree, and whipped
her tor three consecutive hours, with occasional
intermissions of a few minutes, until he had
worn out to stumps fifty two switches, and until
the bark of the body of the tree was rubbed
smooth and greasy by tbe attrition ot the body
of the victim. The ground around the tree for
seven or eight feet, though it had been freshly
plowed, was trodden hard. One witness testi
fied that he beard distinctly, at the distance of
six hundred yards, both the noise ot the switch
es and the screams and entreaties of tbe woman.
The poor creature was buried the same afternoon
only some ten inches beneath the ground, in a
rough box, without any shroud. The overseer
suggested that the neighbors bad better be sent
for to see the body before burial, but Hudson
The body was exhumed on Friday, two days
afterwards, but was in such a state of decompo
sition that the external marks of violence were
well nigh obliterated. But the testimony of the
physician, who dissected the body, and of sev
eral other physicians, who were examined as
experts, was distinct and positive that the vio
lence used was sufficient to produce death. It
was also in evidence that, after the protracted
punishment, Hudson untied the woman and sent
her to the creek, some one hundred and fifty yards
distant, to wash herself, accompanied by a ne
gro boy, with instructions to bring her back to
him ; that she complained of great tbrist, and
was seen to go down to the water's edge; that
she remained there about fifteen minutes; that
on her return she stopped two or three times,
and complained of having a severe colic; that
finally she stopped and could proceed no farther,
when the negro boy, at the command of his
master, took hold of one hand and Hudson of
the other, and dragged her towards the tree.
The main argument of the defence was based
upon the idea that the woman went into the
creek, remained there fifteen minutes, drank to
great excess, aud that this, in all probability,
brought on a congestion of the vitals and pro
Such is an imperfect account of this horrible
transaction. The jury hesitated much between
a conviction for murder in the first and murder
in the second degree. But finally they agreed
and ascertained the term of imprisonment in the
Penitentiary at eighteen years—the longest term
known to the law. Hudson is now sixty-eight
years old, and there is scarcely a probability that
be can survive his confinement. Indeed he is
already exceedingly prostrated.
On Monday morning, the last day of the
Court, Judge Gholson pronounced sentence upon
him, as follows:
"Charles Hudson—You have been regularly
tried for the murder of your own slave. You
have been defended witb great ability, and a
jury ot your own country have found you guilty
of murder in tbe second degree, and fixed the
term of your confinement in the Penitentiary at
eighteen years. In this verdict this Court en
tirely concurs. I will not go into the details of
the shocking deed. You tied and stripped a
female, who dared not raise her hand against
you—whose only protector in this world you
should have been. For three hours did you, in
one of the hottest days of the summer, cruelly
whip and torture this helpless woman; until, in
the .language of counsel, 'the angel ot death
delivered her from the hands of her tormentor.'
You have thus committed a great crime against
both human and divine law. You have out
raged the feelings of the community among
whom you lived. You have enabled their ene
mies to fan the £ame of fanaticism, by charging
against ihem the enormity and cruelty of your
hard and unfeeling heart, although that com
munity cordially loathe and condemn cruelty
and oppression towards black or white.
"But, if your orirae has been great, your pun
ishment will be heavy. You are an old man.
In all human probability, before eighteen years
have expired, you will be dead. The remnant
of your days are to be spent within prison walls.
The labors of the day will never be followed by
the pleasures of home and friends —but night af
ter night, until the last night of your earthly
existence, will you be carried to your narrow
cell, and hear, as the prison house keeper de
parts, the harsh grating of the heavy key that
keeps safe the door of your dungeon. From
man you have nothing to expect. Your doom is
fixed. A murderer, you are now a convict and
prisoner for life, and your sentence is just, nay
merciful. Nor is there hope for you beyond the
grave, unless you truly and deeply repent.
"It you will sincerely repent yourself ot this
horrible deed and your other sins—if you will
bow your head to this deserved punishment, and
pray Almighty God to pardon your sins, and
soften and regenerate yonr heart, there is hope.
Yes—if your repentance is sincere, it is certain
tbat Cod will pardon you—-for rest assured that
the same power which translated the criminal
from the Cross to Heaven, can and will save
alive the penitent convict. Desolate and dreary
beyond description is your present condition. —
With a bard and unfeeling heart, human blood
resting upon your head, and your limbs fettered
with a felon's chains, whenever weary and tired
you may ask: 'When shall I be tree?' this
verdict ef eighteen years will answer —'Never'
"Then I trust you will, with deep humility
and sincere repentance, feel and confess your
crime aud sins, and that this sentence may
prove the means of saving your soul."
Plea fob Ou> Maids.—A woman at the age
of thirty-three and a third years, who has nev
er been married, is considered patsee, is called
an "old maid," and the tei m is most unjustly
used in derision. The very fact ot being an old
maid is prima facie evidence of the possession
of purity, prudence and self denial, and these
are essential to the character ot a perfect wite;
without them no woman is worth having. Be
ing an old maid implies decision of character;
neither sham, nor shows; nor courtly manners,
nor splendid persons have won them over; nor
tair promises, nor shallow tears; they looked
beyond the manner and the dress, and finding
no cheering indication of depth of mind and
sterling principles, they gave up the specious
present for the chance ot a more solid future,
and determined in hope and patience and resig
nation to "bide their time."
It is well for us that we are born babies in
intellect. Could we understand half what most
mothers say and do to their infants, we should
be filled with a conceit of our own importance,
which would render us insupportable through
lite. Happy the boy whose mother is tired ol
talking nonsense to him, before he is old enough
to know tbe sense of it!
It is a proof of our natural bias to evil, that
gain is slower and harder than loss, in all things
good; but, in all things bad, getting is qicker
and easier than getting rid of.
Man without religion is the creature of cir
cumstances. Religion is above all circumstan
ces, and will lift him up above them.
Be not under the dominion of thine own will:
it is the vioe of the ignorant, who vainly pre
sume on their own understanding.
Friendship is love, without either flowers or
A good name is better than bags of the finest
Horrors of the Druse Massacre*.
May God grant I may never again see such a
sight as I witnessed three days ago at I)eir-el-
Kamar! and such would be tbe prayer of toy
man who has been in that town since tbe mas
sacre. Although the place was under tbe spe
cial government of the Sultan, no effort what
ever has been made to bury the dead, even at
this date of two months and a half after tbe
tragedy. What has been done to hasten tbe
disappearance of human bodies has been effect
ed by the dogs, and wolves, and jackals of the
surrounding districts. It was a fearful scene.—
Here stood, ninety days ago, a thriving town of
80,000 souls and upwbrds, and when tbe trou
bles in Lebanon broke out, nearly two thousand
Obri&tians from various places had sought refuge
in the place. Where are now those images of
God? Where are the comfortable homes, the
thriving trades, tbe rich silk crops, the produce
of grapes and of olives, the hundreds of working
silk looms that this population possessed ?—
Where are tbe wives and daughters of these ti a
dersand landowners; where the happy chil
dren, the hearty welcome whioh all strangers
received, the wealth in dress and jewels with
which the matrons were adorned ?
The men of tbe place—ay, and some of the
women too, for I counted ng less than a dozen iv
one spot—the men are here; these corrupting
masses of putrid skulls are all that remains of
them ; their booses are all burnt or pulled down ;
their property all plundered or destroyed ; their
women beggars in the streets of Beyront; tbeir
male children hacked to pieces try the knives of
the Druses. Amongst so many horrors it was
difficult to select one place more fearful than an
other, but the maronite churob, and the Turkish
Governor's divan, or receiving room, exceeded
all I could have believed possible. The former
is surrounded by a small courtyard, the door el
which was shut. When we opened it the stench
was something hardly to be conceived.
On the pavement in front of the church, to
which a large portion of the inhabitants had ev
idently fled for shelter, the dead bodies lay lit
erally heaped in dozens, one upon another as
they had been murdered and flung down. The
steps up to the church are wbite, and down
them was a broad, purple mark of twenty or
thirty feet long, from the interior of the altar
rails out far beyond the door, which told but
too plainly the tale of murder. The body of the
Church is about the size of the Lock Chapel, in
the Harrow-road, the court-road is broader,
but about half its length. But in no part of
that church, on no inch of that "court could any
man, put he his steps ever so nicely, walk with
out putting his foot on some part or other of a
dead man's body.
The skeletons are, with few exceptions, per
fectly naked, for every survivor ot the massacre
that I have questioned—and more than a a hun
dred have related tbe same tale to various par
ties in Beyrout—say so cold-blooded were the
Druses in their murderous work that, before
butchering a man whose clothes were all good,
they first made him undress himself, and tbeu
hacked him to pieces with their long knives,
thus preserving his garments uncut and unstain
ed with blood. For some reason or other,
however, they appear not to have taken the
Maronite priests' clothes, as I observed many of
the corpses still clad in the black, coarse gown
of the monks. The church and court yard were
strewn with torn church books and broken
church ornaments; but here, as everywhere
else, all that could be turned into the slightest
use, even to the wooden lintels of the doors and
the frames of the windows, had been taken u
way by the marauding hordes of murderers.
But even more than by the sight of the Ma
ronite church was I astonished and sickened on
going into the Turkish Governor's room in the
far interior of the Serai. Here the great slaugh
ter seems to have taken place. Here—two and
a half mouths after these murders—the ground
of the room was still discolored and fat with
human blood. Here still lay about fragments of
torn dresses and clothing, bearing witness to
many fearful deeds of blood. And here below
the large window of the room, lay heap upon
heap, and pile upon pile, of corrupting human
bodies, a seething mass of advanced putrefac
tion. Here, too, were torn mass books and
gospels in numbers, and also many pages of a
well-printed edition of "Fenelon's Life," in
French, showing tbat in this, the government
house, no doubt some of the better educated
Christian community had sought a refuge, but
had found a grave. My very soul sickened, at
all I had seen, and I left the town sooner than
I otherwise would, had I remained to see every
thing that bore witness to the bloodthirstiuess
ot the Druses, or the iniqaitous treachery of
the Turks. On both may the sentence come of
"Whoso sheddeth man's blood, by man shall his
blood be shed."
The Paris catacombs, once visited by all the
strangers who came sightseeing to the French
oapitol, aad afterwards closed to the public as
unsafe, are, as most people are doubtless aware,
old quarries, extending under a portion of the
Faubourg St Germain—the streets of Laharpe,
Saint Jacques, Yaugirard, and others, and also
under the Pautheon, the Observatory, the Odeon
threatre, and other large buildings. The roof
or crust of these vast vaults is, as may be imag
ined from the weight it supports, of great thick
ness and solidity, but in certain places it is com
paratively thin. It was about 1785 that the
catacombs first received human remains. A
quantity of bones were removed thither from
the charnel house of the Innocents. During the
revolution of 1789 they served as burial places
to numerous victims, and from 1792 to 1811
large quantities of bones were deposited in them,
taken from churches that were pulled down and
from cemeteries that were closed. Three stair
cases lead into the catacombs. Great precau
tions have, of course, been taken to prevent any
falling in of the ground, and the place is watch
ed and kept in repair. Two days ago a M.
Katery, one of the guardians, wishing to have
a lock changed in one of the galleries, went
down with a locksmith, his apprentice, and aa
architect. Carrying a lighted candle, he con
ducted these three persons to a distance of more
than a quarter of an hour's walk from the en
trance. Incredible as it appears, the candle wae
unprotected by a lantern, and none of tbe party
had matches. They had scarcely reached the
spot where they were to work when a puff <;f
air extinguished the light. In the dark therj
was little hope of retracing their steps, for the
tarns and windings were numerous. It wad
more like they would get deeper into tbe laby
rinth. Nevertheless, Katery, judging that from
the point where they were it was impossible
anybody could hear them, bade his companion j
follow him, and sought bis Way out. But after
groping for several hours in profound darkness it
was a hopeless case, so he called a halt, and the
four men strained their lungs in shouting for
help. Hour after hour passed, and no succour
came, or sound replied. At last, towards 2 o'-
clock in the morning, when they had been for
11 hours in this immense subterranean grave
yard, when they were exhausted by fatigue and
hunger, and tormented by the fear of being for
gotten, they suddenly heard a voice inquiring
what they were doing there. Some matches
were thrown down to them, and the cacdle was
lighted. They found they were just below the
street of Duguay Tronic. It appeared tbat a
compositor, going to his home in that street at
the still hour of 2 A. M., heard faint cries, which
seemed to come from beneath his feet. In the
noisy daytime tbey would have been inaudible.
Unable to account for the phenomenon, he hur
ried off to the nearest police station, whence
some sergens de ville accompanied him to the
spot. These men knew tbat the catacombs
passed under that street, and it was through &
draughthole nearly opposite to the compositor's
bouse tbat tbey were able to communicate with
Revile not with words him whom thou hast
to correct with deeds : the punishment which
the unhappy wretch is doomed to suffer is suffi
cient, without the addition of abusive language.
Let not private affection blind thee in another
man's cause; for the errors thou shalt thereby*
commit are often without remedy, and at thi
expense both of thy reputation and fortune.