The Union. [volume], September 11, 1863, Image 1

About The Union. [volume] (Georgetown, Del.) 1863-1866

Image provided by: University of Delaware Library, Newark, DE

                
25Ju WeffclB ^niGtt.
1^. W. WALLAZZ, Editor.
PUBLISHED EVERY FRIDAY MORNING AT
Qeorgetoton, Delaware.
TERMS OF SUBSCRIPTION :
One Copy, one year, (payment invariably
in advance,) -
One copy payment at the close of the year,
address,
address, payment in
$1 60
2 00
13 00
For a club of ten copies to
Twenty copies to
26 00
advance as above,
The above rates will be oarried out for larger
I we will send a copy of the
year to the getter up of a olub
clubs, and in addition
paper gratis for
of fifty.
THE EMPTY SEEEVE.
By the moon's pale light, to a gazing throng
song ;
i .11
Bing
tell one tale, let
'Tis a tale devoid of an aim or plan,
'Tie a simple song of a
Till this very hour I oould ne'
What a tell-tale thing was an
What a weird, queer thing is i
-armed man.
er believe
empty sleeve—
un empty sleeve.
It tells in a silent tone, to all
Of a country's neod and a country's call,
Of a kiss and a tear for a child and wife,
And a hurried maroh for a nation's life;
Till this very hour who could e'
What a tell-tale thing is an
What a weird, queer thing is an
It tells of a battle-field of gore—
Of the sabre's clash—of the cannon's roar—
Of the deadly charge—of the bugle's note—
Of the gurgling sound in a foeman's throat—
Of the whizzing grape—of the fiery shell—
Of a scene that mimics the scenes of hell.
Till thiB very hour would you o'er believe
empty sleeve ?
Though it points to myriad wounds and scars,
Yet it tells that a flag,' with the stripef and stars,
In God's own chosen time will tnko
Each place of the rag with the rattlesnake ;
And it points to a time when that flag shall
O'er land where there breathes no cowering slave,
To the top of the skies let us all then heavo
Oue proud huzza for the empty sleeve—
wjth the empty sleeve !
er believe
empty sleeve,
empty sleeve ?
What a weird, queer thing is
For the
ill IIK'tl
THE SWORD AND THE PLOW.
The Sword came down to the red-brown field,
"Where the Plow the furrow heaved and keeled j
And looked so proud in its jingling gear,
• Said the plow to the sword, "what brings you here?"
"Long years ago,
They doubled my grandsire up
To forge a share for you, and
They want him back," said the Sword to the Plow.
Tho red-brown field glowed a deeper red,
As the gleam of war o'er the landscape Bped ;
The sabres flashed, the cannon roared,
And side by side fought the Plow and the Sword.
I was born,
morn,
THE LOWLY LADY.
The sad but stately procession had
passed into the church, and even the aisles
of the venerable building were thronged
^ '.with' persons. One might have thought,
who looked upon the coronet, glittering on
the cushion of crimson velvet, and all the
other insignia of high rank, that curiosity
alone had drawn thither such a crowd ;
but a deeper interest was marked on every
countenance, aud the firm voice of the
minister had faltered, more than once as
he read the solemn service. Yet the cof
fin was that of a child—a- little tender
L. iufjuit who-hadjliad-ia ito-fir«t unconscious
I helplessness. Every one thought 6F the
W'' fattier, standing up among thctfi and look
ing so desolate in his grief. More than
fond mother wept, and drew her red
cloak closely round the infant on her
bosom, as she gazed around upon the
mournful pomp, and the little coffin, and
the young nobleman—childless, and worse
than widowed ! as he stood there, and fol
lowed with his eyes Sie movement of the
then placing the coffin of his child in
the shadowy darkness of tho open vault
below him. That church was a place^ of
agonizing recollection to the young Karl
of Derby. Often had he entered it a
happy husband; and, as he walked slowly
down the aisle to his carriage, he could
not help recalling the day when his beau
tiful bride had clung, iu trembling bash
fulness, to his arm, when he had there for
the first time, called her his wife. am
sick of all this idle pomp! he said to
himself, as ho entered the wide hall of his
_ magnificent residence, attended by his
tram of servants, aud met by the obsequi
ous bows of the men who had conducted
I am sick of all this
the funeral ;
mockery ! I will bear it no longer. Would
that I were a poor, hard-working peasant,
with some honest hearts to care for me
and love me ! Iam heartily tired of your
great people."
Not many weeks after the funeral of
the heir of the noble house of Derby, a
solitary wayfaring man stopped at the
turning of a little foot-path, which led
down the sloping side of the hill
looking the village of H
been leisurely wandering on since the.
early hours of the morning, and had not
yet found the place where he would rest
for the night. Here, at least, is a happy
scene," he said as he looked down upon
the little village at the foot of the hill.—
^ hmp fifty or sixty persons were scattered,
in careless groups, about the pleasant
Some of them wer<i dancing be
over
Ile had
green.
ueath a venerable grove of elms—others
were crowding round the only booth which
had been raised in the rustic fair. " At
least, I may witness their enjoyment,
though I cannot share it," he said ; and,
in a few momenta, he was standing be
neath the old trees on the green.
, But, although he was not recognized as
the Earl of Derby, and disgusted by the
attentions paid to his rank and station, he
fbund the familiarity of vulgar minds and
low manners not quite bo agreeable as he
had perhaps expected. Quietly he turned
away from the noisy scene. He passed
the old 'bridge, which crosses the
clear and shallow stream, and turned down
lane, the bankB of which were overgrown
with wild flowers and straggling bushes of
over
grateful shade. A poor woman was re
turning home through the lane with her
children, her infant sleeping soundly on
her bosom, and a curly-headed urchin dis
tending his cheeks with puffing at a little
painted trumpet, the horrid grating of
which had all the charm of novelty and
noise to him The young mother looked
so hot and tired, and withal so good
humored, that the Earl could not resist
asking her if she could direct him to a
birch, sufficiently high and thick to meet
overhead, and form a perfect bower of
^^3
y
fite
%
iiii
6 1
U
4>
NO. 1.
GEORGETOWN, FRIDAY, SEPTEMBER 11, 1863.
YOL. I.
lodging. " Not in that merry village we
have just left," he said " for I am unwell
and tired."
The woman pointed to a little path, not
very far from the spot where they stood,
which turned suddenly out of the lane
into a wood, overhanging the river, and
directed him to follow it through a largo
corn-field, and up a very steep, sandy lane,
and then for about half a mile ower ; but
such directions are tiresome enough, when
one is obliged to listen to them to learn
one's own way—here, they would he even
Besides, I am not sure the Karl
attended to the poor woman, for he lost
his way. He walked on, wrapped in his
own melancholy thoughts, but soothed, in
every sense, by the cool fresh air, the
gurgling flow of the river, and all those
distant sounds which, in the quiet fields,
ou a fair calm evening, fall so sweetly in
distinct upon the ear. But the sun had
set before the wanderer awtike to the re
collection-of the purpose before him. He
looked around him; he saw green and
sloping hills, many stately trees, and the
same calm river flowing gently below, hut
uo house. At last, where the leafy shade
was deepest, he discovered a pile of old,
quaintly-shaped chimneys, opposed against
the glowing sky. He had not proceeded
far in the direction of the farm-house,
more so.
which now plainly appeared among Uhe
trees, when a light step seemed to ap
proach him, and then stopped suddenly;
and he heard tho sound of unrestrained
weeping. A hazel copse separated him
from the meadow whence the sound pro
ceeded ; but, on peeping through a little
opening, he saw that a young girl was sit
ting on the bank of the meadow on the
other side. For a little while she con
tinued weeping—only for
then clasping her hands together, she
raised her head, and her whole heart
seemed to look up to heaven in her meek
and steadfast gaze.
Still she sat there, almost without stir
ring, except that, once or twice, she looked
down upon the green grass, and her Hand
dropped, half forgetfully, and half play
fully, among the flowers that.grew in wild
luxuriance beside her, as if she was pleased
with, but scarcely knew she noticed them.
Just then the rich song of the nightingale
burst upon the stillnoss of the evening,
and stole away her ear; and though her
thoughts seemed yet to linger on about
the subject which made her weep, she lis
tened till at last she smiled—and so, min
ute after minute
little while—
;
_I'll away, mill jrwlu.-llly
jrfiu 1U1 '.'JL all "lier-iion.ift. Wrts*——Ttim
expression on her face was innocent fclacl
ness.
Let no one suppose that, in this fair
country girl, we have met with any maiden
0 p gentle birth, brought down to a low
egta t e by the hard uses of adversity ; nor
an y wom | er G f ) icr native village, gifted
w ,t)i talents of the highest order. Oh,
n0 ; Limy was none of these. What was
s i, c ? \ fair an( j happy maiden of low
LïrtH —if to be born of poor and honest
p aren t s be low birth ; of no nccomplish
a icnts or education beyond reading and—
],.{ me remember—yes, she could write,
g he rcad we n j f or } ler voice was full of
na t, ura l melody; and practice, aud genuine
feelings and, above all, piety, had made
j ier ver y per f cc t.
L . featureg wore not beautiful ; but
^ innocent expulsion, was
better t h aQ mere beauty. Her liands were
not the whitest in thc worR though deli
cate , exquisitely shaped ; their palms
^ ,J ccn so / ter _ but) if it might
^ ^ ^ of h(jr as of the fair an(]
milkmaid, "she makes her hand
J with labor o it migh t have been well
added, "<and her heart soft with pity;"
for they who knew her say she was the
kindest creature that ever lived, and speak
of a gentle and winning courteousness of
manner that gave a charm to every look
and every word she uttered. But although
she was one of nature's own sweet gentle
women, and unaffectedly modest and pious,
she was only a poor uneducated country
girl. There was one, however, who soon
began to find new hope—new life, I might
almost say—in thc society of Lucy ; one
who, in spite of all the pride or aristoc
racy of his habits, and his prejudices,
began to feel it a privilege to be addressed
familiar friend by the pure-minded
maiden—who felt, in his inmost heart, the
influence of her modest, cheerful piety,
and paid her, from his heart, the homage
of respect and love that was the sweeter
from being half made up of gratitude.
He could not help smiling, when he
made his proposals, in due form, to the
relations of his sweet Lucy ; for they did
not choose to have their child thrown
away upon one who, for aught they knew
to the contrary, might be little better than
a beggar, or a sort of (they did not quite
say uie word) "vagabond." They doubted,
and questioned, and wavered, and ques
tioned him again, till the Earl began .to
feel uncomfortable, and to stammer, and
blush; and thus, in &ct, to make them
really suspicious—fof he had quite forgot
ten to provide against this most probable
issue of his suit to them.
ness.
and
road
to
and
aud
just
a
it
of
is
me
ed
he
of
i. ,
is
said an old uncle, at last,
" You see,
who. was the head of the family, aud the
best spokesman, you may be a very good
sort of a young man, and I have nothing
to say against you ; but you are, or at least
have been, till now, when you are pluck
ing up a bit, a poor, sickly, idle body ; and
suppose you fall ill, or take to no kind ot
employ, and having nothing coming in ot
of your own—why, Lncy s fifty dollars, and
the hundred that I shall leave her, when,
please heaven ! I die, will go but a very
little way. I tell yon what, he said,
"brother and sister, (turning to Lucy
a | parents, and; looking very wise), don t b
e
hurry to give ydur consent; Lucy,
though I say it, is as good a girl as any in
the land, and fit for a lord—yes ! I say it
again (though you seem to smile), young
mail—fit for any lord in the land."
Lucy had been very busily plucking the
withered leaves from a geranium, which
her lover had given her; but now she
turned round, paie und trembling, for sho
feared the effect of her uncle's harrangne
upon her father, who was apt to be as pos
itive as his brother. She trembled, and
her heart throbbed with .agitation, for sho
cared not if she whom she loved were pen
niless ; but sho felt that, without the con
sent of her parents (servants of God, and
kind parents, as they both were,) she could
not marry him. She turned—as gentle,
loving daughters will, on all such occasions
—to her own tender mother, and she had
not to speak ; her mother could read her
looks, and she could not resist the tears
which rose so suddenly into the Boft eyes
of her duteous daughter. Mothers, or
wives, I mean to say, lpive a winning way
of their own—particularly mild, subuiis
h as Lucy's mother; and
in .1
sive wives, sue
what with her own influence as a wife, and
her own woman's wit, or (in truer words)
calm good sense, it was soon agreed that
Lucy should marry her love oil this condi
tion ; that the answer to a certain letter,
to be written by him, for a character, etc.,
proved satisfactory.
In due time, to the very day, a letter
arrived, directed to Lucy's father. With
this letter the father and the uncle were
quite satisfied ; and now Lucy, who had
been, at times, unusually silent, recovered
all her cheerfulness, and went about the
house singing (so her mother thought) like
a nightengale. Thomas Clifford—for so
he called himself—was married to his
Lucy, and all the fair and modest girls of
the neighborhood were waiting round tho
church door to iiing basketfuls of flowers
in the little path, as Clifford led his bride
to their own cottage.
He heard the blessing of many poor,
aged creatures, who lingered about iu the
sunshine of the churchyard, upon his hum
ble, yet lovely bride. Every one who met
them on that happy morning, smiled upon
thorn, and blessed them.
"High rank, heaps of gold, could not
buy such blessings as this !" lie said to
but my sweet and pious Lucy
has won the love of every heart. These
people, too, have known her from her
childhood !"
himself ;
~
Wrts*——Ttim w-n'gnimr ! nnta
a
w-n'gnimr jtISct, mjreect ! nnta
Lury, as, toward the close of their second
day's journey, they approach an ancient
and almost princely edifice ; " but docs our
road lie through the park ?"
"Not exactly through the park," htf re
plied ; " but I thought my Lucy might like
to see these fine grounds, and the house
and gardens. I have known thc gardener
aud the house-keeper for years ; and I am
sure wc shall find them very civil, and
willing to show us any little attention in
their power, and we have time enough,
though the sun is getting low, for we are
just at home."
Lucy was delighted,
seen a nobleman's house before, she said.
all
is
She had never
" Well ! all these largo rooms, and the
pictures, and all the fine furniture are very
grand," said Lucy; "but my eyes ache
with looking at them. I like this garden
a great deal better. What a beautiful one
it is ! But may we sit down in this arbor
(He so near the house ?"
of honeysuo
Lucy sat in silence for some littlAimo,
gazing round her at the venerable house,
and the trees and gardens ; at length she
said :
It
"• I wonder if the lord of this grand place
is happy ? Is the Earl of Derby a good
man, dear husband ? Is he a married
? she added, looking with a smile of
peculiar sweetness iu her husband's face.
" llow many questions you have given
me to answer, Lucy! Let me consider.
Yes, he is a married man ; he married, not
many months ago, a young country girl—
such another as yourself, deaV Lucy."
" Poor thing !" said Lucy, and she sigh
ed from her very heart.
" Why do you sigh, my own dear wife ?"
Do you envy that poor
he demanded,
country maiden ?
" Do I envy her ?" she replied, in a voice
of tender reproach ; "what a strange ques
tion ! Do I envy any one ?" and, as she
said this, she drew more closely round her
the arm which encircled her slender waist;
"would I exchange my husbaud with any
she added, looking tenderly and
I sighed in pity
v>
one :
lovingly into his face,
for the poor young lady (for a lady she is
now ;) such a change is enough to turn
her head !"
"Would it turn yours, Lucy?" he said.
" Perhaps it might !" she replied, in the
simplest and most unnatural manner. "But
is she really happy ? Does she love him
for himself aloue ?"
" My sweet Lucy," ho began, and, as he
spoke, his wife thought that he had never
seemed so tenderly respectful toward her ;
"my sweetest Lucy, you alone can answer
these last questions. You' smile ! I see
you look amazed upon me ; but I repeat it,
you alone !!*
"But first," said Lucy, very artlessly,
"I must be lady here ; you must make me
Countess of Derby 1"
She had scarcely said this, when, from
one of the castle turrets, a bell began to
toll. Clifford rose up instantly, aud, with
out saying a word, led liis wife to the cas
tle. They entered the chapel there, in
which the servants aud the tenants had all
assembled, and the chaplain was preparing
to commence tho evening service ; then
leading the wondering Luey into the midst
of them, ho presented her to them as their
future mistress, the Countess of Derby, his
wife.
Lucy did net speak—she could scarcely
stand; the color forsook her face, and she
looked as one about to faint. Sht stared
first at her husband, and then at the do-
mestics around her, and at last g$H began
to comprehend everything. Eagerly she
seized her husband's hand, which she had
dropped in her surprise, now affectionately
extended to her; then, with an efort that
was very visible, but which gave uew in-
terest to her in the eyes of all pri ent, she
regained somewhat her natural an modest
self-possession, and, raising her jjanocent
face, she courtesied to the ground.-Viid met
the respectful greeting of those around her
with smiles, which, perhaps, spil: more
at once to the heart than ilie boriFwisdoui
of words. The Earl of Derby led ps wife
to his own seat, and placed her bos : le him.
- Lucy knelt down upon a cushiv^ of em-
broidered velvet, with the sculptured es-
cutcheons and stately banners pf tli 1 house
of Derby above her; but, perhajv, of all
the high-born dames of that ancien family,
none ever knelt there with a purer heart,
or with an humbler spirit, than tff^t LOW-
LY LADY.
ed,
do
to
do
(Hie ïntlii's gejiartmfiift
A MAIDEN'S LOVE.
I would that I could utter
My feelings without shame, \
Aud toll him how I love him,
g my virgin fame. V
are
the
of
Nor
Alas J to seize the moment
, When heart inclines to bean,
An«l press a Suit with parsjon
Is not.a woman's purt.
comes not to gather
where they stnud,[
ley faile aiming the foliage ; .
They cannot seek his hand.
Tin
Girl» who want IIu»ban<l».
Girls, you want to get married, do i't you?
And, what a natural thing it is for yAing la
dies who have such a hankering for ti c stern
! It is a weakness of woman, and for
this reason she is called the weaker sex.—
Well, if yoU want to got married, d *n't for
conscience sake, act like fools about it. Don't
i see a
er
go into a fit of the nips every time y<v
hat or a pair of whiskers. /
Don't get the idea into your.be;^ you
young
T*
of
of
or
a
Now, girls, let Nelly give you a piece ol
her advice, and she knows from .experience
that if you practice it you will gain *the rep- |
utation of becoming worthy girls, and stand
a fair chance of getting respectable husbands. I
must^put yourself in the way of e «y t
man in the neighl>orh(s>d, in order,'/%ttract
.»b-b-'T 'Bvrv. ■
Mark that. _
p^nfruu utter von,
A husband-hunter is tho most-dtteStitble of
all young ladies. Sho is full of starch and
puckers, sho puts on many false airs, and she
is so nice that she appears ridicule»» in the
eyes of all decent people. She maybe gener
ally fourni at meeting, coming in, of course,
about tho last ono, always at social parties,
invariably takes a front seat at concerts.—
She tries to be tho belle of the place, ami
thinks she ip. Poor girl ! You are fitting
yourself for an old maid, just as sure as the
Sabbath comes on Sunday. Men will flirt
with you, and flatter you, simply because they
love to do it ; but they have no more idea of
making you a wife than they have of commit
ting suicide. If I was a young man, 1 would
have no more to do with such a fancy than I
would with a rattlesnake.
It is well enough that you learn to finger the j
piano, work embroidery, study grammar, &c., I
but don't neglect letting your graijdma or 1
dear mother teach you how to make Dread or j
get a meal's'victuals good euougk foi\a king, j
No part of a housekeeper's duties slAmld be i
neglected ; if you do not marry a (Wealthy !
husband you will need to know how to do such j
work, and if you do, it will be mi advantage |
for you to know how to oversee a sériant girl, !
and intrust her to do these things, as you
would have them done. In tho nett place,
don't pretend to he what you are not. 1 Allée
tation is the most despicable of actomplish
ments, and will only cause sensible people to
laugh at you. No one but a fool will be
caught by affectation—it has a transparent J
skin, easily to bo seen through. Dress pltfin,*j-A'efc
but neatly. Remember that nothing gives aTl
girl so modest, becoming and lovely!appoar- j
ance as a neat, plain dress. All tie flura
mery and tinsel work of thc dressmaker and ;
milliner are unnecessary.
If you are roally hand&ome, they d'| not add
particle ; if you a e home
Gc utlemen
Finger-rings and folderols may <1< well to
look at, but they add nothing to the ralue of j
a wife—all young men know that, j If you l
know how to talk, do it naturally, ai*l do not '
to spoil jail that
is
;
it,
to
in
all
to your beauty
ly, they only make you worse,
don't court your facos and jewelry, Hut your
dear sehffis.
be so distressingly polite
If your hair is straight, dfm'jt put
you say.
on the curling tongs to make peopbj believe
that you have negro blood in your veins.
If
your neck is very black, wear a lace collar,
but don't be so foolish as to daub oh paint,
thinking that the people arc so blind as not
to see it; and if your cheeks are rosy, don't
apply pink saucers for deception, and bcoome
tho gossip of the neighborhood.
Finally, girls, listen to the counsel of your
mothors, and ask their advice in everything.
Think loss of fashion than you do of) kitchen
duties—less of romance than you
realities of life—and instead of trying to catch
a beau, strive to make yourself wor|h being
caught by them.
of the
The Nectar of the I.tps.
A "knowing" piece of calico indulges her
self in the following provoking and tantaliz
ing strain :—
Well, we reckon some folks would really
like to know what wo thought of kissing.— j
Let's see. In the first place, we thought what j
an absurd idea it is in a man to ask a lady to j
kiss him just as if he, the senseless beirfg j
thought the poor little trembling creature were I
going to do it. The idea of a man asking for
a thing so easily obtained Î Why it is ridic
ulous ! and a man with the least particle of
brains would hoot at the idea. She'd say
"no" till doomsday. And you, poor unbe
liever, would forego the happiness of drawing
nectar from the rose-bud mouth, simply be
cause you were ignoramus enough to ask for
what you might have taken. There are ten
thousand ways to kiss a girl without asking
the pleasure. Direct her attention to some
thing on the table ; ask for a book you know
to be there, and while she is there, go with
the affected purpose of helping her to look for
it ; be particular to get to her left side—do
you need more telling ? If you do you do uot
deserve tire kiss that you might so gracefully
have taken. A man who would ask a kiss of
fair maiden ought to be tarred and feather
ed, as a craven-hearted monster, Don't you
do it—don't, for goodness sake aRk the girls
to kiss you. Kiss them if you. want to, hut
do it like gentlemen. Kiss them if you can.
Modesty and Prudery.
Women that are the least bashful, are not
unfrequcntly the most modest ; and we
are never more deceived thur^whoo wo would
idfer any laxity of principle from that free
dom of demeanor which often arises from a
total ignorance of vice. Prudery, on the
contrary, is often assumed rather to keep off
the suspicion of criminality, than criminality
itself, and is resorted to to defend the fair
wearer, not from the whispers of our sex, but
of her own ; it is a cumbersome panoply,
and, like heavy armor, is seldom worn, ex
cept by those who attire themselves for the
combat, or who have receivod a wound.
Helicon, DHoralsi, gelle lettres.
Silent Preaching.
Years ago in our Western country a young
couple were united in marriage. They at
once entered their humble abode, containing
w*- •»"«««. "!—-**• :fèrp-g a?. .nAih-Kw.JscS.
dining-nr,-and tho other as sleeping apart
ment. Thc bride was a simple-hearted child
of God, hut the husband Anew of religion
only by the hearing of |hf ear. It was not
long before the latter discovered that at a
Certain time every morning his wife disap
peared and was nowhere to bo found,
mystery was soon solved. This was her hour
of seeret prayer. Here was a new and no
welcome revelation. One in affection, one by
ordinance of God in bonds which only crime
or death could sunder, between them yawned
a gulf wide us betweuu heaven and earth,
To the wife was open a world of hopes and
joys to which the husband was a stranger.—
While he was engaged in such reflections
every day the silent sermon was preached,
At length he could endure It no longer. By
Divine grace he #as drawn step by step to
faith and repentance, aud ere long lie found
himself by the^sido of his companion at the
same mercy seat, aud at the same communion
table. *
A Christian patriarch relates of his own
The
11i t i II
history; When a young man, I was
guished for profanity and ungodliness. 1
married, however, strange ns it may seem, a
young woman of exemplary piety, and we
went at once into our humble home, lull ot
anticipations of huppiness. As tho first day
of our residence in our new abode drew to a
close, the supper table I*eing removed, my
wife, without saying a word, placed a little
table by my side, laid a Bible oil it, aud sat
dowfi upposite to me in evident expectation
that I would conduct family worship. W hat
could I do? I was spellbound. I could not
disappoint her. She probably know nothing
of my profanity and wickedness. And yet
how could such a wretch as I kneel before
Ahnighty God and utter words of devotion ?
I did. I read and praypd. But oh Î as
took the name ol Jehovah on my lips, a
terrible sense of guilt and hypocrisy stung
my soul. I rose from my knees in anguish
of spirit.
Another day rolled by, another sunset
camo. Aga^n the tea-table was spread and
removed, and before I was aware, there at
my side was thc samo stand with tho dread
ful Bible upon it, and my wife seated in full
expectation of tho evening devotions. Ilav
ing yielded once, I was less able to resist
j again, and again I yielded. A new horror
l now came on me—a dread lest, like Uzzah, I
' should perish iu my sacreligious act. The
sins of a life-time stared mo in thc face; my
soul and Satan bade me curse God and die.
Morning brought only a deepened sense of
guilt, and all day long I could do nothing but
brood over tho gall of bitterness within me,
and the bonds of iniquity which bound mo.
Tho third evening dréW nigh, and with 4t
the inevitable table with its sacred furniture.
To yield again was impossible. Increasing*
horror took hold upon me. Ar I sought no
aid from Heaven, Satan volunteered his. My
mind was made up. I resolved on suicide.
A rope hung from a tree in the orchard, with
which I purposed to terminate, as I madly
dreamed, the horrors of my soul. We took
our third, and as I believed, our last supper
together. I lingered in the*room until I saw
the dreaded moment at hand, took a last
look at my bride and my home and withdrew.
I hastened to the orchard ; every step in
creased my anguish. I ran ; my reason
seemed to reel. I passed the orchard, and
Over
found myself in the woods beyond.
powered by my emotions, I fell prostrate on
the ground. IIow long I lay I know not; an
eternity seemed crowded into that period ; a
horror of great darkness passed over me in
view of my sins. But in the thickest of the
darkness, and when despair seemed ready
to settle down in endless night, light broke
upon my soul. There
fulness of the Godhead. I sprang to my feet
the happiest of men. From that hour 1 have
known scarce a moment of doubt
of
of
Jesus in all the
fear.
What sermons tvere these, without an ut
tered word! AVhat Christian living near to^
God cannot thus preach ? Would to. God'-all
the Lord's people would become preachers by
a holy, consistent life.
to
1«
A IScautifiil Sentiment.
Shortly before the departure of the la
mented lieber for India, he preached a sermon
which contained this beautiful illustration :
Life bears us on like a strei
uf a mighty
Our boat at first glides down the mir
river.
row eliarrtiel—through the playful murmuring
of tho little brook and the winding of its
grassy borders. The trees shed their 'blos
soms over young heads, the flowers on the
brink seem to offer themselves to the young
are happy in hope, ami we grasp
—but the
hands,
eagerly at tho beauties around
stream hurries on, and still our hands are
empty. Our course jn youth aud manhood is
alone a wilder and deeper flood, amid objects
more striking and magnificent. We are ani
mated at the moving pictures and enjoyments
and industry passing us ; we are excited at
some short-lived disappointment. The stream
joys and griefs are alike
may he shipwrecked, but
gh or
smooth the river hastens to its home, till the
roar of the ocean is iu our ears, and the toss
ing of the waves is beneath our feet, and the
lund lessens from our eyes, and the floods arc
lifted up around us, and we take our leave of
earth and its inhabitants, until of
, and
bears us
loft behind us. AVo
rhuthcr
cannot he delayed ;
future
ro there is no witneBB save the Infinite
voyage
and Eternal.
Change ol Color in flic Hair.
-1>- Waÿ*m. in-a uf
the ITenrf, relates sonie eases of the sudden
chan
struck,
upon
head of hair had turned almost white during
her transit from Varennes to Paris,
Duchess of Luxembourg was caught making
her escape during the terrors ot the trench
revolution, and put in prison; thc next morn
ing it was observed that her hair had become
white. A Spanish officer, distinguished fi
Ins bravery, was in the Duke of Aha s camp,
and an experiment was made by one of tin*
authorities to test his courage. At midnight,
tho Provost Marshal, accompanied by the
guard nnd a confessor, awoke him from his
sleep, informing him that by the order ol the j
Viceroy he was to bo immediately executed,
, , l i l.ij '
and had only a quarter of an hour to make Ins
•' 1 . n iii r .. xA '
. After he bad confessed, î
4 of the hair from black to white. A
ho was deeply grieved on receiving the
holy,
intelligence of a great change in her worldly
and who had a very remarkable
cdtidki'
quantity of dark lmir, fourni on the following
morning, the whole of her hair had become
of a silver white. Some striking instances of
this kind are narrated by historians.
Madame Cam pan, "with the
isfortune had wrought
"I was
says
astonishing change
Mario Antoinette's features; her whole
'I 1,0
;
Repentance hath a purifying power, and
every tear is of cleansing virtue; hut these
penitential clouds must be stUI kept dropping:
oue shower will not suffice, for repentance is
not one single action but a course,
offensive,
An exchanoe comes to
rith Heav
peace
lie said that he was prepared for death, but
declared his innocence. The Provost Marshal
at this moment broke into a tit of laughter,
and told him that they merely wanted to try
Placing his hand upon his
his courage,
heart, anil, with ghastly paleness, he ordered
the Provost out of his tent, observing that he
had."done him an evil office;" and the next
morning, to the rvondcr of the whole army the
hair of his head, from having been a deep
black color had become perfectly white.
Who are the Happy î
Lord Byron said ; " The mechanics and
workingmen who can maintain their families,
are, in iny opinion, the happiest tiody of
o.n poverty is,
Poverty is wretchedness, lint
perhaps, to he preferred to the heartless, un
meaning dissipation of the higher orders. —
Another author says : " I have no propensity
to envy any one, least of all the rich and
great ; but if I were disposed to this wenk
the subject of my envy would be a
ness,
healthy young map, in full possession of his
strength and faculties, going forth in
to work for his wife and children, or
a morn
mg
bringing them home bis wagos at night.'
Loud
Profane language is abominable,
laughing is impolitic. Inquisitiveness is
Tattling is mean. Telling lies is
contemptible. Slandering is devilish. Ignor
ance is disgraceful, and laziness is shameful.
with a notice
that "Truth" is crowded out of this issue.—
This is almost as bad as tho up-country editor
who said, " For the evil effects of intoxicating
drink see our inside."
*
®be ^celtia Pinion.
X^. W. WALLAZZ, Editor.
PUBLISHED EVERY FRIDAY MORNING AT
Gcoryctoicn, Delaware.
TERMS OF ADVERTISING :
One Square, (10 lines or less) oue insertion, $0 40 *
One Square twice inserted or two squares
0 70
2 60
is no
Two Squares, one month,
" " six months,
.26 00
one year,
Larger advert Ismen ts filling
three-fourths
lower rates, and must be rnado the subject of special
arrangement.
-fourth, one-half,
a whole column will be taken ut
Editorial Small (Talk.
A
The first attempt to arm Neoroes.
correspondent of the Memphis Bulletin shows
that the first attempt to arm
them in the field as soldiers, was made by the
oos and put
rebels. He copies from the Memphis Appeal^
and the Memphis Avalanche of May 9th, 10th
and 11th, 1801, the following notice:
Attention Volunteers ! Resolved by the
Committee of Safety, that C. ltoloab. lb R.
Cook and William A^ireenlaw, bo authoriz-
ed to organize a volunteer company comp
of our patriotic free men of color, of the city
of Memphis, for the service of «»ur common
defence. All who have not enrolled their
names will call at the office of W. 8. Green-
F. Titus. J President.
law & Co.
F. W. Forsyth, Secretary.
The Winstead (Ct.) Herald thinks the fel-
x who wrote the following note, uot consid-
ering it any disappointment to postpone his
wedding, is a philosopher. The note was lid-
dressed to a Winstead clothing dealer:
--, Dear Sir: I do not care
for the velvet collur, so you may do as you
please about putting it on.
disappointment, only 1 should havobeen mar
ried if I had received the goods."*«^
Won't stand the test. —Many proverbs
admit of contradiction, as witness the follow
ing: "The more the merrier." No so; oiflT
hand is enough in a purse. " Nothing but
what lias an end.
for it is round. "Money is a great comfort,
Not when it brings a thief to the gallows.—
''The world is a long journey." Not so ; the
sun goes over it every day.
way to the bottom of the sen
but a stone's cast,
in adversity." Not so ; for then there is none
to be found. "The pride of the rich makes
the labor of the poor." Not so ; the labor of
the poor makes the pride of the rich.
Family puilosopiiy. —An emperor of China
making a progress, discovered a family in
wjiich the master, with his wives, children,
grand-children, daughters-in-law, and ser
vants, all lived in perfect peace and harmony.
The emperor admiring this, inquired of tho
old man what moans he employed to preserve
quiet among such a number of persons. The
man, taking out a pencil, wrote only these
words : " Patience, patience, patience."
1«
It was
> seri
N
; a ring has none,
It is a groat
Not so ; it is
"A friend is best found -
The following curious question and unswer,
throwing a strong light upon tin
of the subject* of the Pharaohs, has been
translated fri
ini habits
• i i i t ,t . .
There is a bachelor who says that alL ho
,. . J , . *
should ask m a wife would be, a good temper,
,, . .
health, good understanding agreeable phsiog
' b • . 2ÎA. .• i i
oniy, figure, good connection,xHncstic habits,
resources of amusement, goon spirits, conver
sational talents, elegant manner^— money!
The unreasonable rascal! Isn't there any
thing more he eau think of?
sonic lately discovered hiero
tdy ph ie^ _
YVhy w an Egypt it
filial affection ?
refflrlamd f?>r mS
To which is appended the answer—
Because after tho decease of his pappy ho
takes such care of his mummy.
As a party of gentlemen were taking sup
per at a country inn, one of the guests found
the poultry rather tough. After exercising
his ingenuity to no effect, in trying to dissect
an old fowl, he turned to the waiter and asked :
,vder
" Have you any such thing as a po
flask?"
"No, sir, w® have not; do you want one?"
" Why, yes. I think the shortest way would
be to blow the fellow up."
'Why, Uncle Dewlittle, lmw dew you d*>w?
Dew come in ami rest a little, dew? How
dews aunt dew, and what is she dewing
ami dew tell us about the news.
v?
Cioino dew sit up to the tab!« and dew as wo
do dew; dew' help yourself, and dew talk
some, and dew not make me dew all tho talk
ing, for I shan't dew it. Now, dew say some
tiling, dew.
A very siiui pattern of a man lately so
licited the hand of a tine buxom girl,
no," said the fair lady, "l can't tliiuk of it
for a moment. The fact is, Tommy, y
affittle too big to put in ii cradle, aud a little
too small to put in a bed."
A rural editor was recently married, and
previous to starting ori liis wedding tour, prom
ised his readers that he would givo them a
"minute detail of all he sate and did !" No
doubt there will be a call for au extra edition
" No,
are
of his paper.
" Mr. Brown, why do you wear that had
hat?"
" Because, my dear sir, Mrs. Brown vows
slio will not go out of the house with mo until
I get a
; one."
A fellow out West gets off the following
"Ono who knows
definition of "widows
what's what, and is desirous of further infor
mation on the samo subject.'
WniPPINO tho devil round the stump," is
" liis Tophetian majes
now rendered thus :
ty is being flagellated about the inearthed
remnant of a fallen tree."
There is a rivalry relative to army corres
pondence in a Western city. Tho pewspnpor
that has the best of it so far publishes " Lot
ters from a dead soldier."
women are liko two haud
Kisses betwt
some unmatched gloves—-charming things
with their proper mates, but gwd for nothing
in that way. •
Ladies are seldom troubled with tjie d«mb
ague, but are very subject to tho kind that
makes tho jaws chatter.
{Some say there are but two sexes, the male
and female, but vou have only to get into
Massachusetts to lind a Middlc-se