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'0 :.'Ji ; i . fifflOTffl - tu& vv in MM..UI N. O. W AUL ACE, Proprietor. liCl AU IHC CuttS lOUa tiasi HI UB UIJ WUmrj B, UiJ nwa, Oilu nuiu a. 11 --;(. " .y. .j 1 Irn Wlrfl c.3 tJals tiQ tElf..SiiIyiS (a i5) diaUfl WD ! I h f f ! 1 9 . Established December 15th, TERMS. -OirTw Dollars for cne year, m;a- ricihly in advance. . . . - ' .' IC3S'iDgla copies, Ten Cents eac'o. . . SCP Advertisements inserted at One Dollar per square of Ten Lines or less for the first insertion ; Fifty Cents for each continuance. CO" A ' liberal deduction will be made to persons advertising for three, six. nine, or twelve months. (T Obituaries -and calls on candidates, Fifty Cents per square. ' , 07 The privilege of yearly advertisers is strictly limited) their own immediate and regular business ; and the business of an ad Ten ising firm is not considered as including that-of its individual members. CCro de viation from these terms under any circum stances. CO" Advertisements not marked with the Jjumber of insertions when handed in, will be continued until . ordored out, and payment eiacted. ' 05" No advertisement inserted gratuitously ICJ Advertisements of an abusive nature will tot be inserted at any price. Announcing candidates Five Dollars, to be paid ip advance in every case. OO" Job Printing of all kinds neatly done on New Type, and on as reasonable terms as any oCce in Tennessee. Fi-IcikIh of" Sliatlowlantl.' As I sit in the twilight they gather "Around me, my friends of the past, 'Those I loved ia the days long departed, "Whom I love, and will love to the last The forms of tho young and the tender, And those of the true and the brave, Gone from the world's cruel warfare, To a rest-life beyond the cold grave. There is one who comes closer beside me, And stays till the others depart ; A step like the fall of a rose leaf, It falls like a weight on my heart -A form light as cloudlet in summer, ' A shower of dark curling hair, And a hand as white as a snow-flake On the arm of my fireside chair.' Her eyes are more blue than the violet - ; -That looks thro' the dew to the light; The aaiile that flits over her countenance Fills my soul with unspoken delight "With" look that has lost all its gladness, And a brow that's moie earnest than stern, Sits one in th6 glory of manhood : lie reets 'mid the flower and fern! ? ; Thro' the land that the sun loves to shine on, Where the mock-bird trills out its sweet lay, He has passed to a clime that is furer, To a life that is more perfect than day. On his sw6rd loans a gallant young hero For all his brave battles are o'er . A tear in his brown eye is glistening, . And he smiles with the old smile of yore ; ' His form is as straight as an oakling, . -. IJis bearing as tearless and free, k "' For there never was spirit more dauntless Than that of young Charlie could be. And there, stepping proudly and queen-like, . . Another glides sweetly along, Liko a ray of the gay golden sunshine, . , Like a seraph's enrapturing song. Mid the mists and shadows of twilight . " Bests a face that has lived past its youth; But tLe dim eye looks kindly and loving From a soul that knows naughfsavc the truth. Tho' darker than storms of misfortune Grow the shadows that spread o'er the room; Oa (wo faces, both earnest and calm, ' I gaze through the gathering gloom. O'er the wide-rolling river of Death They crossed ere their lives were half spent, And the'lpok that their sad eyes .wore then Bests still on my heart when they went. Josh Billings says there is one cold, bliie, lean kiss that it al ways, makes him shiver to see: ?Twopcrsons, (ov the female peri guasion) who have witnessed a great many younger and more pulpy daze, meet in some public phtce, and not having seen each other for twenty-four hours, tha kiss immigiately. Then , they talk of the weather and the young man who preached yesterday an tha kiss immegiately; and tha then larf. and blush at what tha gay to each other, and kiss again immegiately. . This kind ov kiss- v ing clwas puts me in mind ov'tew ole flints trying tew strike fire." A Mrs. Chamberlain, of New Haven, Conn., dreamed the other night that her son, eleven years of age, was drowned, and she was go impressed" thereby that' fihe tyouldnot allow him to go with Jier to South End by boat, but sent ; iiim in the omnibus. Soon after . Jiis arrival there he was drowned while bathing.; ,'-: - . . ' In a town in Northern' Berk shire, a bereaved .widower was re pently presented with a bill of two dollars for diggings wife's grave. f'What," says he, "two dollars for figging a grave in that goft spot? it rrivfiplf for a 1850. - FA YE The oracle of the beautiful , se questered little hamlet of Amber mead was an old . gentleman , of unobtrusive and orderly habits, whose peculiar ' taciturnity had obtained for him the familiar cog nomen of Two "Words. . Mr.' Ca nute, alias . " Two . Words, dwelt on the outskirts of the , village, tended by an ancient house-keep er, almost as chary of speech , as her worthy master. It was sur mised that Mr. Canute had seen better days; but though his means were straitened, his heart was large, and his countenance express ed, great benevolence. Notwith standing the brief mode of speech which characterized him on all occasions, the advice of Mr. Ca nute was eagerly sought on every subject whereon it was presumed advice could be profitable ; and the simple rustics of Ambermead per haps valued it the more, because, though delivered without a par tirtlfi nf Twnnnsitv. the terseness and decision of the words expend- ed left an 1 indelible impression which Inn f? sermons often failed to mnvev. Mr. Canute lived on terms or intimacy wnu me mmi- ly at tne oia iiaii an mumacy J k i l commenced by early associations, for Mr- Harwell and JUr. Canute had been school fellows; and when a painful and lingering illness at tacked the squire, his ancient friend and crony felt deep anxiety as to the ultimate fate of Mr.' Harwell's only child the good and i lovely Clara Harwell. , Tne disease was an incurable one; tnougn tne suffering might be protracted, there was no hope of ultimate recovery, and an air of gloom reigned over the village of Ambermead,., where once the sweet spring and summer tide brought only sport and glee. Ambermead wts noted for a pro fusion of rich red roses, exhaling delicious fragrance; and tor the song of innumerable nightingales, whose harmonious concert resound ed amid the umbrageous groves sheltering the hamlet on every side, and?. extending beyond the old Hall of Ambermead. But now, although the roses bloomed and the birds sang, serious faces look from the cottage doors; and while the younger villagers forgot their usual pastime, the , elders conversed apart in whispers, al ways directing their , glances : to wards the hall, as if the sufferer within those thick walls could be disturbed by ,their conversation. This sympathy was called forth not only by the- circumstance of Mr. Harwell being their ancestral landlord, the last of an impover ished race, . but from his always having lived among them . as a friend and neighbor respected as a superior, and beloved ad an e qual. , Their knowledge also Tof the squire's decayed fortunes ; and that, on his death, the fine old place must become the property of a stranger, whom - rumor did not report favorably of greafc ly" enhanced the concern .of these hereditary cultivators of the soil ; and many bright eye's - grew dim thinking off poor Miss Clara who would so soon be fatherless, and almost penniless; The ejstate of Ambermead was strictly entail ed in the male line, andlhe next heir was of distant kin to the Harwells. A combination of mis fortunes, and no doubt of impru dence in years ' lohg-by-gone, had reduced the present proprietor.' to the verge of ruin, from which he was to find refuge only in the grave. The Harwells had lived, for cen turies in Ambermead. They seem ed so much to belong to their, poor neighbors, who always sympathis ed most fully in all the joys and sorrows of-the "Hall folk," that now, when there . was & certain prospect of losing them forever as it seemed, the parting became more man a commuu uuc ucnyccii iPg of enteral friends. al Viyt T T E V I L L B , TENNESSEE: THURSDAY, AUGUST 8, .They watched and waited for Mr. Canute passing to and tro, as he did every day, and more . than once a day; and on his two words they hang,-as if life or death were involved in that short bulletin. "How, is the, squire to-day?" said one. ' "No better," replied Mr. Canute mildly, without stopping. "And. how's Miss Clara?" in quired another with deep pity in ms iooks. "Verv patient." responded the old man, still moving slowly on with the aid of his stout staff. "Patient !" repeated several voices when he was out of hear ing. "Yes, patient enough; and Master Canute means a deal when he says patient. Bless her young sweet face! there's patience in it if ever there was m mortals. Mr. Canute's patience was sore ly taxed -bv questioning at all hours: he. was waylaid first by one, then by another, on his way from his own cottage to the Mall . . it n , ' a a but with unfailing eood nature and promptitude, he invariably of his humbler neighbors in his ownauaint way, certainly never wasung worus, yek pmieuuy uu aersioou. l mi " The summer-tide was waning into autumn, and the .squire of Ambermead faded more gradually than, autumn leaves, when late one evening a waylarer stopped at Mr. Canute's cottage, which was on the roadside, and reques ted permission to rest, asking for a draught of water from the well Before the porch. " ; f 'Most t welcome," said Two Words, scanning the . stranger, and pleased with his appearance, for. youth and an agreeable coun tenance are, sure . passports; per haps, too, Mr. Canute, discerned gentle breeding in his guest, des pite travel-soiled habiliments, and a dash of recklessness in his air. At any rate, . the welcome was heartily given, and as heartily responded to; and when Mr. Ca nute left his dwelling, in order to pay his usual evening vit at the Hall, he . merely said, addressing his young visitor, '.'Soon, back;" and turning to Martha, the care ful housekeeper, and added, "Get supper;". while stepping over the threshhold, second thoughts ur ged him to return and say to . the young man, "Don't , go." "No, that.I won't," replied he frankly, "for X like , my quarters too well. i 1 11 wait till you come back, governor; and I hope you won't be V long, for my mouth waters for the supper you spoke of." , .Mr. Canute smiled and walked away more brisjkly than usual; and after : sitting for some time beside the sick man's, bed, and bidding "good night" and jobless voa'5 to Clara Harwell, he retraced his: steps; homeward,' and found supger ready, and the handsome stranger so obviqusly ready to do iustice to the frugal fare that Mr. Canute jocularly, remarked, "Keen air j .to which the stranger re plied in the same strain "Fine scenery :" pn which the host add ed, '.'An artist?" when the youth laughing outright said, alter; a pause, and sunenng his , mirttr to subside, he continued "Areyou always so economical - in words, sir ? ; ; : Don't f you. sometimes ... find it difficult to carry on a conver sation in this strain?" ,. , . "You don replied Mr. Caaute smiling, and imperturbably good natured; " ' ' . "Not T? cried the youth, "and Lwant to ask yeu a half a hiin dred questions, j Will you answer me?" - "111 try," replied Mr. Canute. ; "I've not long to stay, for I'm on a walking tour with a Jriend; but I diverged to' Ambermead, as I was anxious to see iti - I've had a curiosity to see it for a long while ; but my ' mend is waiting ... , , u (miles o, J tbink, ssd.I baU strike across the country when the moon is up, if you'll give me rest till then." "Most welcome," said' Mr. Ca nute courteously. "Ah ah!" quoth the stranger, "if : that's the way you pursue your discourse, I don't think I shall learn much from you. I hope, however, that I may get a wife who will follow your exam ple a woman of two words, in short; she'll be a rare specimen of her sex 1" "Ah ah!" ejaculated Mr. Ca nute. " .. .. - "But come, tell me, for time presses," said the young man, sud denly becoming grave ''tell me all about Ambermead, and the squire how long he's likely to last. For, in fact, the friend I mentioned, who is with me during this walking tour, is vastly inter- terested in all that concerns the place and property." "The heirr whisperd Mr. Ua- nute mysteriously. "Well, well, suppose we say he is, he's not altogether a bad fellow, thoogh he is considered a .bit reckless and wild. But he has heard of Clara Harwell's beauty and goodness from his cousin, ' Lady . Ponsonby, (she's Clara's cousin, too, you know;) and he is really quite sorry to think that such a lovely creature should be turned out of the old Hall to make room for him. He wants to know what will become of her when old Harwell die?, for all the world knows he's ruined. It's a pretty place this old Amber mead a paradise, I should - say. I know what I'd do, if I was ever lucky enough, to call it mine." The youth rubbed his hands glee fully. "I should be a happy dog then!" ' "And then?" said Mr. Canute smiling. "Why, then, I'd pull down the rickety old house up there, and build a palace fit for a prince; I'd keep nothing but the -old wine; I'd have lots of. prime fellows to stay with me; and I should sport the finest horses and dogs in the country." ' The speaker ; paused out of breath. "And then?" said Mr. Canute quietly. "Why then la hunt, and shoot, and ride, and r drink, and smoke, and dance, and keep open house, and enjoy life to the full feasting from year's . end to year's end the feast of reason and the now ot soul,you know,in old Ambermead!" s "And then?" . ."Why, then, I suppose that in time I should grow old, like other people, and cease to care : for all these things, so much as I did when " strength and youth were mine." - . . . . "And then?" said Mr. Canute more slowly. "Why, then, and the stran ger hesitated "then, I: suppose, like other people, in the course of nature, I should have to leave all the pleasures of " this life, and like other people die." "And then t" said Mr. Uanute, fixing his eyes, glittering like dia monds on the young man's face; which flushed up, as he exclaimed with some irritation : ' ' "Oh, hang your 'and thens !' : But the moon is well up, I see, so I'm off. Good-night, and thank you. Ana witnout luriner par ley he started oil on his -walK o- ver the hills;' and Mr; Canute si lently watched his guests retreat ing figure, till in the deep shadows of the surrounding groves, he was lost to view. In the moonlight, in the darkness, in the valley, and on the hillside, these words haunted the wayfarer, and he kept repeating to himself, ''And then?" Thoughts took possession of his mind that never before had gain ed entrance there, or at least they arranged, themselves in a sequence which gave them quite, a new sig nificance His past life presented to him fot the first tim? as a co herent chain of events, exempli fying cause and effect; and if his plans for the future did not at that moment receive any determinate change, he still kept repeating anxiously and inquiringly,, as he wandered on in . the moonlight, the two strangely suggestive words "And then?" , It proved a long and toilsome night's journey for that belated traveler ; for he had left Mr. Canute s cottage so hasti ly, that he omitted to ask for certain landmarks on the hills leading to the place whither he was bound. In consequence, the stars faded in . the sky, and the rosy morn broke through eastern mists, ere the weary man, from the summit of a high hill which he had tortuously ascended, beheld afar off, down in the valley the shining river, the bridge, and the church tower of the town where his friend, in some anxiety, await ed his reappearance. During all his after-life, that young man never forgot the solita ry night walk when he lost his way beneath a beautiful spangled sum mer sky ; the stars seemed to form the letters "And then?" the soft night-breeze seemed to whisper in his ear "And then?" It is true he had gained the intelligence he sought respect ing the inmates of Ambermead Hall ; but he laid bare his folly for the inspection of Mr. Canute ; and in return, he had' listened to no reproof no tiresome lecture vouch safed from prosy age to ardent youth, but simply two words had penetrated his heart and set him to thinking seriously. Mystic lit tle Vords! "And then?" For nearly three years after Mr. .Harwell's decease, the old Hall, contrary to general anticipa tion, remained . untenanted,' save by domestics left in charge. Miss Clara had found shelter with her relative, Lady. Ponsonby, though her memory was still fresh and warmly cherished among the hum ble friends in her native village. Mr. Canute, if possible, more sileat than ever, still remained the village oracle; perhaps more' cherished than of yore, inasmuch as he was the only memento remaining of the beloved Harwell the old familiar faces now seen no more. He would listen, and they would talk, of days gone", by; he felt the loss even more than others, for he mourned a friend and compan ion in Mr. Harwell, -and Clara had been to the good Two . Words as an adopted daughter. At fength it was rumored that Mr. Selby, the new proprietor was soon ex pected to take possession of his property in due form ; moreover, that he was on the point of mar riage, and that his young bride would accompany him. Ill re ports fly quickly ; and it had been circulated in . former times th? t Mr. Selby was wild and extrava gant, careless of others, selfish and profligate. Indeed, Mr. Ca nute had not : contradicted such reports, so it was generally opined that they were . too true, 'and had a legal- foundation. ' With heavy hearts, the inhabitants "of Ambermead commenced their . ru ral preparations for the reception of the squire and his bride ;green arches were erected, and wreaths of flowers were hung .on the spreading branches, beneath which the travellers' road ; lay. It ; was the season of roses and nightingales when Ambermead was in its glory; and never had the rich " red roses bloomed so profusely, and never had the chorus of the groves been more full and enchanting, than on the summer evening when the old and young of the hamlet, ar rayed in their holiday t attire, waited to greet the " new comers. Mr. Canute Btood at his cottage door; the bridge just beyond over which the route conducted to the Hall throughavenues of greenery, was festooned with roses; and a band of maidensj in white lined the. picturesque 'approach; 'The 1867. i 1 sun was sitting when a carriage ' KJ - drove quickly up, slackened its pace as it crossed - the bridge and stopped at Mr. Caiute's hum- hie gate, xwo worofi nimseiiy bareheaded, stepped : forward on seeing a lady alight who in an other moment, threw herself in his arms, exclaiming, "Our first greet ing must be for you, dear, dear, Mr. Canute ! I need not introduce Mr. Selby he is known to yoh already. Speechless from astonishment and emotion, "the old man could only say, "Miss Clara!" as he gazed from one to another, recog nising in the gentleman the way faring guest who had departed so abruptly on his walking expedi tion over the moonlight hills. Seizing the hand which Mr. Ca nute silently extended Mr. Selby said with deep feeling : "It is to your instrumentality that I owe my present happiness." "How so?" was Mr. Canute's reply, looking with pleased sur prise into the open face which on a former occasion had won his con fidence and admiration. "Two words spoken in season wrought a change in.me, which all the preaching of friends and guardians 'had failed to effect," re-' turned Mr. 'Selby,. "and without which Clara ' never would have blessed me with her hand. These years of probation have proved my sincerity; and Lady ronsonby (a severe and scrutinizing judge) pronounced my reformation complete-ere she permitted me to ad dress Clara. Those little words, "And then ; enigmatical to the uninitiated, convey a deep and mystical meaning to my heart; and they are of such significant import that by inserting them whenever ! paint the future, I trust to become a wiser and a bet ter man.' ' ' Clara gazed proudly and con fidingly on her husband; and the news of her arrival having spread through the village, a crowd col lected whose joy and surprise found vent in tears and blessings, to say nothing of the numerous asides, purporting that Miss Clara never would have espoused a bad man; ergo, Mr. Selby must, be a worthy successor of the ancient race! ' : The prognostication- proved correct; and the pathway strewn with bright summer roses, over which Clara trod in bridal pomp on her way to the ancestral home where she was born, was indeed emblematical of the flowery path which marked her future destiny. The . old Hall of Ambermead is still extant a fine specimen of venerable decay surrounded by ancestral groves still famed for sheltering innumerable nightin gales when the Ambermead roses exhale their, delicious fragance. In the old churchyard on the green hill-side, a white monument gleams in the sunshine, whereon may be traced the name of John Canute, specifying the date of . his happy death, while below is engraved this inscription of two words "And Then."' " - When a steel pen has been used until it appears to be spoiled, 'place it over a flame (a -gas light for instance) for, say, a quarter of a minute, then dip it into wa ter, and it will be agjin fit fouse. A new -pen, which is too hard to write with, will become softer by. being thus heated. - Iazt. Greeley'cays there are one hundred thousand people in New York today who, if they had. been placed in the Garden-bf Eden where Adam was, would have soon starved to death for want of some one to pluck the fruit and put it jn their mouth3. . , 1 " ,, m ., III I LL I The rage for divorces is so strong in Chicago that a negro sued for a separation from a. woman ..with whom he lived, but to 'whom1 he had never been married. ' ' ' vol; XIV-XO. 25. Pa does itV : - "You, Tommie, my son, what's that you are saying?" "La me! I just said confound it.:. -:- . : "Why, my son, mother's aiton ished to hear you talk so. That's' naughty." :. - "I say worser things than that' sometimes. I iust cusses rfehi m o out like anybody. - You know all men cusses ! "Ah, my son, gentlemen do not curse. -LOw tniang men curse. but gentlemen of good sense and manners don't." , , "Well, anyhow, my pa does it." "Run along to play, Tommie: and be a little ntan. . Don't sav such naughty things." Enter Father "Pa, are you a" gentleman?" "Yes, my son, I try to be one : but what makes you ask such strange questions, Tommie? Who says otherwise?" ; "jXobody, sir. but I was think ing somebody, told a story you or ma, one. "Thomas, what do you mean V "I just mean, pa, that voucuss es, and ma says gentlemen don't And you know you do, cause I heard you cuss the carnage-driver the other day; and I've been saying it ever since. "Peggy, put the boy to bed : - A Centre Shot . , Henry Ward Beecher, in a ser- mon delivered in . Plymouth Church, Brooklyn, recently, pro- " duced the following picture : ., Men seem ashamed to labor, and often you will find men who havo' made themselves respected' by la bor, have built a business and a- massed a fortune, who turn to their sons and say : "You shall never do as I did; you shall lead a (lif erent hie ; you shall be spared all ;his." Oh, these rich men's sons. They aim to lead a life of emascu?-. lated idleness and lariness. Lit a rthepolypus that floats useless and nasty upon the sea, all jelly, all flabby, no muscles, no bones it shuts and opens, and sucks in and! A squirts out again, of no earthly ac count, influence, or use. - Such are' these poor fellows. Their parents' toiled and grew-strong, built up' their forms of iron bones ; but de nying all this to their sons, they turn them upon the world boneless muscles, simply gristle, and soflr at that. A : farmer in ' Northampton? county,' Pa., has a team of four hor ses whose aggregate ages amount to ninety-six years. , One is twenty-six, another is twenty-four, and' ;he other two are each twenty ihree years old, ' ' '. "; ... J "W I ll'T ': Begging has been reduced to G science in St. Louis. The latest application was from a little girl on the street corner, who'earnestr ly pleaded for a "chaw o terbac-; cer for her sick and dying mother." Brigham Youner ungallahtlv said to the wife of Joe Smith, tho Prophet, that she was the "d desfe liar ho knew." Thi3 was part of a Sunday afternoon sermon' uponf tne smun iamiiy, - A Parisian chronicler uavs tha the Emperor of Russia" proposes to spend in Paris 5,000,000f. Sup--" posing him to stay ten day?, as expected, that will be $100,000 day in gold. ..: Tho Hartford ' (Ct.) Courant speaks of "the Commissioner of Internal Revenge." .We suppose if is some U. S. officer to be sent "down South," among us heathens The late John-qark, of Balti more, left the greater part of hi estate of $730,000 to St. John' Methodist Church, of that r city, to be expended in. charity." . Hay, -Is :selluig at AUenicwtf V&i for 12 a'ton. . A few. week ago it brought from 35 to 1 V 2 L it r r r