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J. I». M'CrtJIOAK, Editor. PUBLISHED EVERT YIIIDAT IfORRiHO AT Georgetown, Delete tare TERMS OF SUBSCRIPTION : )kb Copy, osb tear, (payment invariably in advance,) - 3mb copy payment at the close of tbe year, For a club or ten oopibb to one address, rWBRTY COPIES to $1 50 1 0« IS 00 address, payment in » 00 advance as above. rates will be oarriod ont for la-ger ill send a copy ef the Clubs, und in addition paper gratis for one year to the getter up of a club of h fly. ' <£ttc Soft's (Povutr. the utind watch of been " dare 'taiu't I it's [ Written for the Union .] THE OLD ARM CHAIR By Cousin Willie. The old aim chair, the old arm chair, Il s been a living iminy a your; It'd rested many a i»o«r, tired man, Wh »'s bfcCï: home to a grave yard lund. Thu .Id arm uliair, it', joints du ortxk, And thut's a sign thut he is weak; The old la rudely tossed by life's rough aca. The old Is fading lust, like you, L tear; It s youth and beauty tied away, And you, like it, must die chair, thut n>»w you tain his the and, Wc with them 'em," I you, the chair, tho old arm chair, day. chair, lift» other chairs, The old Has had its burdens und it. And faithful proved, tilt Its Hummer. »Spring and Winter past. at lust, Lewe». Del., Dec. Uh, 1SÜ3. REQUIEM FOR THE BRAVE. lit L.RWIS C. Fiiikbely. Rest, soldier, rest! thy eo.Twad«» comes, With tender l ive and true, Freely to deck thine honored bed, Her banner o'er its turf to spread, And on thy in nuiuent to shed ory's pearly dew. For, at her need, in peril'd hour, Unswerving anti sublime. Thy fearless foot 'mid lightnings trod, Thy life blood fed the encrimsoned sod, Thy prayer To guard thy native clime. Rest, patriot, rest! yet cast behind Thy mantle from the sky; The pure, unselfish, heavenward aim, IJnbowod by gold, unthought by fume, Content for freedom's glorious claim, To toil, and dure, and die. Yes, lcavo it for our rising race, Soldier and patriot brave; That in the time of strife or wrong, They to their country's ark may throng, Aud in Jehovah's armor strong, Her life, her Union suve! ging God, oke the av " you of tain. sir," into men aud £flert Enlf. Hannah Turner's Birthday. "Something pretty, if you please, miss. It's for a birthday present for a lady. 1 dou't know myself what handsome ladies like to wear, hut you ought to, miss. The price isn't of any consequence. A broad-shouldered, weather beaten sea captain with » bronzed face, a mighty chest sinews of iron, and a hoarse voice, accustomed to bellow orders on bouTd of storm tost vessels when winds were roaring and billows breaking against the staunch, iron bound oak. Strangely out of place he looked amidst til ose dainty ornaments ranged on the counter of the jeweler's store, and he was obviously afrai 1 to han dle the glittering things, and doubtod whether even a close approach might not break them, for he kept his big br< wo hands folded behind his hack, and stood at a respectful distance from the spot where they ranged. The dead voice was smothered, also into a growl, out of respect for the pretty shopkeeper, and the expres sion of the huge features was peculiarly sheepish. You may have seen the same look on the countenance of a 1'aithful and unusually honest dog caught iu the act nt devouring a remnant of mutton suriepti oaily oil, »hui. or detected giving way to his natural animosity aud frightening the lauiily cat. There are queer creatures iu nature.— Fair-faced, golden-haired women, who have the hearts ot fiends, who murder in cold blood with cruel knife or deadly poison dropped into the cup with deceitful smiles. Men of society, always gallant and brillant and bewitching in the eyes of strangers, who are very demons at home, and lead their wretched wives such weary, miserable lives, that their nightly prayer is that tliuy may never open their eyes on next morning's light. And other men, rough, rude oi speech, uuga nly to .Ook upou, who have with a shell as rough as the fibrous coo >nu , just such sweet rniik at the heart. Captain Walworth was just such a one. Never a suiter tar saile 1 up m the ocean— never, when ashore, ro.led a mere weallur I,eaten one through tho city streets. A less "proper hero for a love tale" you could meet with n where, and yet th s stalwart seaman was, truth to tell, as scntimeutul as a girl. He loved poetry. Byron, aud Moore Campbell—aye miss Landou's works also—lay, well thumbed, at the bottom of his sea-cliest. He loved woman and children. The former gal lantly, as some great hearted knight cf old believing in there purity in a way that city youth, who see paint on every woman's lace and deceit in every woman's life would wonder at. He loved men also, though after a different fashion. He roared at them and ordered them about in true sea-o iptain fashion. He had no pa tience with want of skill or obedience ; but he was just in all his dealings, and generous almost to a fault ; and many a sailor could confirm the statement that to cue who lay id in their sea-tost hammoch the Captain's touch was as soft and the Captain's words as kind as those of any mother could have been. Had the inner man been as crusty as the outward was, Captain Walworth would never have stood, that bright Oc tober, evening before the counter of the glittering jeweler's store, asking for something pretty for a lady;" Strictly speaking, it was not altogether "* a jeweler's store. Fancy articles of all kind! were there—work, oxes, dressing vases, head-dresses, bows lor the neck, sashes for the waist, articles for the toilet table, flasks of eau de cotoyne, bottles of ottar of roses all costly and showy, glit tering with gold and precious stones and inlaid work. No - wonder the Captain was puszled. the a he at be to to # A JY ap» Y fee at L\ 1 lii K /V NO. 15. GEORGETOWN, DEL., FRIDAY, DECEMBER 18, 1863. VOL. I. When "Fut a lady? queried the damsel behind the counter, utind expense what could be nicer than a watch anil chain ? And otit came a drawer of fairy time-pieces, which might have been manufactcred for Cîucen Titania. " "They are. beauties to them as would dare touch 'em," said the Captain. " and 'taiu't the money ; but she's got a watch already, nesiùês hîf «»«ht-dny clock : and it's my belief," continued the Captain !" himself, " that she'd rather wear that old too for I Well, sir, if you don't my I a a a a to I it. to I of as for so til fashioned battered watch Tom Turner loft behind him than the shiniest of them litfle playthings. Ah ! dear me !" and the Cap tain heaved a great sigh, that sent one of his gilt waistcoat buttons spinning across the store. " Here is a set—pin. bracelets, car-rings, and, if you like, a lace collar and cuffs also. Wc keep everything." And gold links, mixed with rubies, and real Valancienties, with brilliant ribbons intermixed, were displayed in a twinkling. The Captain's eyes sparkled. " I'd take them in a minute if I thought she'd wear 'em," lie said : " but I cau'l remember if I ever saw her in red." " Red !" ejaculated the girl, you, that isn't rtdl the fashionable colti " Is it, indeed, miss?" »id the Captain, feneration. Bless It's Magenta color— this year." regarding the counter urhh " But you see I'm nfeurd to take 'em, be cause she mostly will wear black." " In mourning eh?" cried the girl. "Oh, you should take jet for a lady that's in mourning. Or perhaps you'ld like some thing different. There's a work-box." It was of rosewood, velvet lined, and glittering inside with silver and steel and the thimble and bodkin were ivory—aye of gold, so was the dainty necdle-casc. " She'll like that, I know," said the Cap tain. " What's the figure, miss?" The price was named, and the Captain spread a row of baukbills on the counter. " I'll give you your change in an instant, sir," she said. And the Captain, blushing, replied : " Never mind the change keep it for yourself, miss!" and eseaped with the dainty box beneath his arm. Bolling in the October sunset along Broadway, stopping now and then to gaze into shop windows, or buy fruit of ol i wo men on the corners, who having sharp eyes, charged him twice as much as they did anybody else. Eating liis purchases as he walked on, without a thought that the pro ceeding might not he genteel, aud pausing u..w uud then to stare iu admiration at fair promenadcr, all curls and leathers aud rustling silks, the Captain wended his way onward, taruing from the crowded thoroughfare at last into a cross street, lrom that into another plainer still, with shabby grocery stores at the corners, aud children e-boxes plentifully sprinkled on s as in pa ; a to the as Oc the for all of glit and was 1 is I it a some aud gar! the pavement. At one house, a two story frame dwel ling, oucc painted cream color, he pauïed, and, rapping with his kuuckles on the panels, (.there was uo hell, hut seafaring always iguore those conveniences,) summoned u verdaut Hibernian temule in a very dirty apron, who replied to his in quiries that Mrs. Turner was in, and that he would find her on tho second floor ; and the Captain, subduing his rough voice even tills unsophisticated Bridget, entered and asceudcd the stairs over carpet darned at every turning, and tapped liglitly at the door ot the nearest room. A lady opeued it—a fair, sweet-faced woman, with dark blue eyes, young still, hut not to young to be the mother of the rosy boy and girl who sat at the tea-table. She gave her hand to the Captain frankly and with a smile, and then placed another chair at tho table, wiih h the Captain took as a matter of course. A perfect giant the stalwart sea lneu iooke i as he sat LeLweeu that tiny woman and her t:uy children, noue of them ,uir niouiliiulls lor u moderate-sized ogre. Aud none but himself knew what a trial it to him to eat suia.l sugar cakes of nen was wa.ersize, and sip the amber beverage from the little tea-cups with lips far better used to jorums of rum and Nvater, aud great crackling sea biscuits. But, in courtesy, the Captain would have done more than tills ; tesides, there was a charm iu that little room for him that would have turned gall and w.-rniwood to nectar, talk much, but betweeu sips and bites he smiled, first on the children, then on their mother, and she smiled back upon him, as she might upon some good-natured uncle grandfather, with no thought in her heart of other meaning in his smiles than might have been in those of such a one. Not that he was old enough to be her grandfather, or even her father, for the matter of that, in years, but he was one of those men whom we seem to renumber as middle-aged all our lives : who are called old at forty, and are the youngest of old men thirty years after. Soon after the tea-things were put away, little eyelids grew heavy and little heads nodded drowsily, and the mother led them away into another room, whence the Cap tain bending his head devoutly, hoard the words of the " Lord's Frayer " lisped by baby tongueB, guided by the older voice that was such music to his ears. Then she came out again and sat by the glowing grate, close to him, with her needlework. " It is your birthday, Hannah ?" " Yes, my birthday." She smiled and sighed, thinking, perhaps, of différent birthdays long since past, and the Captain arose and brought the paper-covered parcel from the table where he had placed it. "I've brought you a present, Hannah," he said. " 1 don't know whether it's well chosen, but I know you will value it be cause I mcaut to please you." And the gorgeous work-box lay beforo her. lie did not or " How beautiful !—how delicate ! It is too grand a present, Captain Walworth." " As if anything could be too handsome for you," said the Captain in his softest growl. " But I'm glad you like it. You haven't too much that you like about you, I am sure Hannah." Sho lifted her fair face, and the dark blue eyes were full of tears. " I have only my children," sho said. " They are the only bright spots in my hard work-a-day life." " It's what I cause to speak of," said tho Captain, " what I've tried to speak of days and days ; but somehow couldn't. Sit down and let mc.talk to you, Hannah Tur ner. I'm in sea I don't know much about, and may run ugruunil any minute. I think I'm not boasting when I say I'm a good seamen, but, though I can navigate a ship, I don't understand making love to a woman." Hannah Turner started, and drew back a little, looking half frightened. " Yes, I'm going to make love to-night, Hannah," said the Captain. " I'm going to go hack a bit, and tell you something you never knew. When you were a girl, and I good deal younger than I am now, I fell in love with you. You never guessed it. I was sure of that, for 1 hadu't the faculty of showing what I felt. But I said to myself. ' I'll win her if I live.' I was only first mate Ihen, and had my way to make, and your father seemed to be a rich man, though ho left nothing behind him. I didn't dare to speak then, and I waited. You were so very young, I never thought of losing you as I did, when I sailed for England. I came hack from that voyage as hopeful as aman could bo. I had made money—I should bo master of my own ship now—and I thought I dared to try for what I pined for at last. It was just such a nigkt as this, in the middle of Oc tober, when I left the vessel to go to your house, and ask you to he my wife ; and I couldn't help sayiug your name over and over to myself as I walked along. I spoke out loud once or twice, I was so full of you, and tho Lord only knows what made me so vain ; but I thought you'd have me. Hannah, as surely as I expect to live un til the hands of that clock come around When I came to your father's again. house, it was lighted from garret to cellar, and I head music and saw people dancing through the turtain, and I felt sorry, Han nah, for I wanted to see you alone. But 1 went in, and found your father standing near the door, and he shook hands with me, end anid, Ï erm g-hrtl Ve- eew- yowj U' -l worth. I'm glad you came to-night. This is our Hannah's wodding-party. She was married an hour ago to Captain Turner.' I shan't forget those words if I live a hun dred years. I don't know how I got away, but I did it somehow, and found my way back to where the ship lay, and stood there looking over into the water. I meant to drown myself, hut God saved me from that sin, and i made up my mind after a while to try aud bear it. Youhad'nt jilted me. It was all my own vauity, aud Tom Turner though a boy to me, was more a match for you than I could have been. But I thought my heart was broken, and it would have been, Hannah, if 1 hadn't been so tough and salt. I didn't go near you again, and I made a voyage to the West indies before long, and kept away a good while. As the years went on, I heard enough to know that young Tom Turner was good to you, and thut he was master of the Olive Branch. W lien your first boy died 1 heard of it—read its death in a paper, Hannah—and I ain't ashamed to own thut the tears stood in my eyes, partly because it seemed as if I could see you crying over it, and partly because its name was William, like miml, and 1 won dered whether you thought of me when you called it so—though maybe that was vanity, too, for there are may Will, in the world. After that I was oft for three good years, and when I came back tho first news i heard was that the Olivo Branch was lost, with poor Tom Turner in it. And you were all alone and poor, Hannah, and i came to see you. Why shouldn't I ? You uever guessed I'd had any thoughts but those of a friend, and 1 believe you were pleased to see me. I've come oft' and on ever since, and I love you better now, 1 do believe, than 1 did even at the firs . Can you love me a little, Hannah ? Will you be my wife ?" She looked up at him sadly, with the great tears rolling down her cheeks, and put her little hand upon his arm. "I respect aud like no living friend more than 1 do you, Captaim Walworth," she said, "but I never loved and never can love any man save one—the husband I have lost," it of as of as by be the "I know that, Hannah," said the cap tain; "I've seen it in your eyes this many a day. 1 don't expect love—only like mo and let me love you." "Love some one else," she said. "You could make a wife very happy; you should have oue who could make you happy in return." "\ r ou are the only one, Hannah," said the Captain. "I'm rich; I could free you from all this hard work. I don't ask much, only to see you near me always. I ain't Tom Turner, and I know it; but a a handsomer and younger man would not love you half so dearly as I do, Hannah. Look here, my dear, ain't this a reason to do what I ask?" He put his arm arouud her waist, aud drew her into the room where the children's cribs were. "Look at them, Hannah," he continued, " so pretty and so helpless, and only your little needle between them and starvation; and I oiler you a home for them, and a lather, such as he is. Wouldn't Tom Tamer himself say, 'Take the old tar's öfter. Has nah, for the sake of those little chil dren!'" Hannah Turner shook her head. "It seems very strange," she said, 'I never can get mysetfto believe that Thom as is really gone. L am always listening for his step or voice, trembling at the sight of every letter. as if he could come buck again. Sometimes I fool sure he will. It is not as if I had seen him die, Oh! lib, I dare not become you know, your wife, feeling as I do." "Hannah," said the captain, softly, "sit down by the fire end think of it. Be memher, I'm content with liking; remem ber, that if you should work yourself to death, those babies would have no one left; and remember, too, the long years 1 have loved you, am&-ths joy it would be to me to lie safe in ^harbor at last after bat tling with tbe storta so long. I ask you to marry me for ydir own sake, for you toil hard and late fdb; a mere pittance now, and for tbe sake of^hose little ones that I'll be as goo I to, ^hanah, as I would be to my own; and, my)ilcar, I ask you to do it for the sake of tin rough sailor who may not tell his story stn ight, but who has love enough in his heart for you to fill a dozen books of poetry. 1 ou are kind-hearted, Hannah; don't tell I ini he must pass his age, as his youth bai been passed, without a living messmate, u Let the old ship cast anchor in the harbtor of home, aud may God bless him for if, as He will." There was a pause. The clock upon the mantel ticked loudly, keeping time to tho tiny voice of tliq watch at the widow's belt. Something else heat loud and fast, also—the big heart under the sailor's rough blue vest. Teu minutes were counted ere Hannah Turner spoke. "Captain Walworth," sho said, "I have been trying to understand my duty, trying to see which path l ought to take, if 1 did not respect you. nay, if, in one sense, T did not lore you, -wen the thought of my children's future could not influence me; but you are my dearest living friend, and I would not grieve y*u for the world.— But listen—think;"! tell you solemnly that the romantic litre of my youth I have not in my heart for you or any other.— Knowing this, eould you be content?" "My dear!—content?" "Hush! I have pbt said all yet. This is not a thing to la 1 done hastily. Y'our ship sails soon, I tbS'nk." "In a fortnight, launah." "On that day » will say good-bye for — ïès, 1 outs ^wr, Hear Beflcct upon what I have told you, weigh your own thoughts well, and when the next October brings my birthday come to me. If you still feel in the same mind, I will do what I can to rnako your life happy." "Oh Hannah—a year? What may hap pen to you—what to me? My mind can't change, my dear; my heart points to you as the needle points to the north. Marry me now, Hannah, and if you like, I'll never sail again," so the sailor pleaded. But Hannah Turner shook her head. "Something sectqed to put the thought into my mind," she said. "There may be meaning iu it—1 think there is. To peo ple of our age, what is a year? If God wills it, you will meet me at its end; if not —Amen!" She was firm—her resolution was not to he shaken—and so, when the fortnight Was over, Captai u'-Walworth kissed Han nah Turner on the forehead, and said— "Good-bye until next October." II. It was August,, and tho Plover sailed under the burning sun of the tropics— her sides blistered by the heat, hei crew clad as lightly as civilization would allow. On board, stowed away in the mysterious receptacles of .a sailing vessel, were stores of spices and candied fruit in wicker-cov ered jars, jellies like gold or amber in their hues, preserved ginger, pine-apples and bananas, und mighty oranges thick of skin and plenteous of juice. They were homeward bound, and as Captain Walworth paced the dock, lie thought of Haunah Turner and October—only two months more—and he had lying against liis heart a kind letter written by lier hand. The ship would find a harbor before long. And so, in tho hush of tne moonlit-ocean mid night, the Captain, looking outwardly more like a rough blue bear in his mighty sea jacket, than any other living thing, paced the deck and thought of Hannah Turner, as Byron with all his passionate romance uever thought of any woman in all his life. Bough-handed, rough-voiced, coated with roughness all over, like some rare nut, even she whom he loved so never quite under stood tho heart of William \\ alworth. Those were rare days; bathed in golden sunshine, with a heavy fragrance in tho tropical air that predisposed those sailors from the temperate climate of New York, and Ma ne, and Massachusetts, to slum bers filled with dreams like opium trances. Activity scorned a sheer absurdity, aud every one longed to be idle, to lie prone upon the deck bathed in golden sunbeams. As for a storm, that eeemed impossible; ono might as eahily have expected snow in summer. But in these regions tempests come quickly, without the slow gathering of clouds and rising of winds that mark them here. A line of white foam on the horizon, a lurid light in the sky, scarcely time to furl the sun-bleached sails, and a tornado was upon them. Such a storm ! Lips that never blanch ed with fear before grew white that day. Men who had Dot called on God since they knelt little children at their mother's knees, tried to remember loDg-forgottcn prayers. In the Hock abysses of the*« the ed tle tea for a at " breaking waves each sailor saw his open f rave. And Captain Walworth, lifting is eyes to the clouded heavens, uttered one petition : " Spare me to meet Hannah Turner on her birth-day." He ha I uttered that prayer so often that with his firm belief in heavenly mercy, he could not doubt but that it would be grant ed. And surely God walked upon the waters and held that vessel in his hand. Through that fearful storm it lived, and with the breaking of another gorgeous tropical day all danger had departed. Yet the gallant bark had suffered, and all were busy in repairing her injuries as best they could. "And God send us fair wind and weath er lads," said the Captain, " for wo must be in harbor at New York before the tenth of next October, if it's to be done." New York ! It was the name for home with many of those sailors, and they work ed away with a will, keeping time to one of those chanting choruses heard nowhere save upou the sea. Meanwhile, Captain Walworth took his glass and looked out upon the ocean. The storm had drifted them out of their cour.-o, and he did not expect to see that little line of land lying amidst the waves. He looked again assuredly—it was an island. Captain Walworth called to the first mate —"Hawkins, come here," aud handed him "It's an island," said the mate, "and if j so be there's water on it. I've a notion we couldn't do better than to fill our casks, for this hot weather don't sweeten water, and there's not too much aboard anyway." It was a good idea, so said the Captain, and the next day the ship lay within sight of the green oasis in that watery desert, and Captain Walworth, with the mate and two hands, went in a boat to explore the island. A beautiful place ; white pebbles and rare shells upon the shore, tangles of glossy shrubs and gorgeous flowers, slender trees, crowned with feathery-like foilago ; birds scarlet and blu: and orange, flittiug like scattered rainbows around tho branches ; wild fruit and berries, which the salt-fed sailors plucked by handsfull. There must be a spring somewhere, aud looking for it they wandered on. Suddenly they came upon a sort of cave, hedged about with piled up sand and branches—the den of some cunning beast or the habitation of a savage, for nature had never formed that barricade. They n irtu, but 1 L*>y ur lifielr. little and spoke low. "That's been done by hands lads," said the Captain, "and freshly done, too.— Thero are people on this island, small as it is." He stooped down as he spoke, and peered into the entrance of the cave,-and at that moment something stirred within. A form, half-naked, with bits of fur about it, and long-tangled hair and heard, came crawl ing from the hole, and with wild gestures arose and stood before them. The first mate, an impulsive fellow, gave a cry, and drew a pistol from his belt.— "Stand back !" he cried; "stand back, or I'll fire !" And at that instant Captain Walworth, pale as a ghost, and shaking like an aspen leaf from head to foot, sprang between them. "Don't fire, Hawkins ! Don't lift your "It's llan finger against him !" he cried, nah's husband—it's Ehen Turner ! my God ! my God !" One wail for his last hope. Tho first and last went up to heaven in those words; the next he grasped tho hand of the man whom lie had recognized despite the lapse of years, the marks of anguish and priva tion, and the nakedness and soiled neglect of savage life. "Eben Turner,'* lie cried, "don't you remember William Walworth And there, upon the grass, the ship wrecked man flung himself down, and wept and uttered wild thanksgivings. " I thought to die here," he cried ; " I never hoped to see my fellow-man again. I have not spoken for so long a time that [ wonder I have not forgotten the use of words. God bless you, William Walworth, for saving me from this wratched living death." "God brought me here," said the Cap tain ; "it's no way my doing. Thank Him, not me." "And you spoke of Hannah," said Eben Turner. "She is living—well ?" "She was the last one I spoke to before I left New York," said the Captain.— "Keep a good heart ; you'll see your wife and children soon, and Hannah Turner will be a happy woman. I—" and some thing arose in the Captain's throat and choked him ; for after all, good as he was, lie was hut a man. Oh, a ■ They took the shipwrecked sailor on board the Plover, and fed and clothed him, and brought him back to the likeness of his old self. A handsome fellow still, ten years younger than Captain Wal worth, when refreshed, and washed, and trimmed into a civilized man. So grateful to tho bronzed sailor who had rescued him, and who knew his wile. He talked of her ineossantly, breaking off sometimes with a sort of apology—"You've never been in love, perhaps, and don't quite understand what my wife is to me, or how I feel when I think of her. Maybe it don't seem manly to you ; but you'll forgive it ?" And once the Captain answered— "P'raps I've never been in love, lad, and p'raps never having had a wife, I can't know how a man feels who has one ; but I understand enough about it to know you are right in thinking as you do of Hannah Tarne», " .- me When gallant knights of old Conquered fierce opponents and slew them, tnen ap plauded. There were uo human eyes to watch the conflict in the rough seaman's heart. But when he struck his lance into the breast of that strong, beautiful, pas sionate love which, to his upright sight, had grown to be a crime, I thiuk the angels smiled. For if ever angels watch ed with any man in hours of trial and temptation, they wen with this weather beaten unlearned sailor, and bad been through the five-and-forty years of his earthly pilgrimage. October. Again the golden sunset lay along the streets; again the red loaves crowned the branches and were whirled earthward by whispering breezes. It was Hannah Turner's birthday, and in the same little room where we last saw her, she sat amongst her children. The ket tle sung and danced upon the fire. The tea table was spread with homely dainties. All was ready tor the expected guest.— For she knew that if he were living, Wil liam Walworth would como to her that evening. She waited for him as one waits for a cherished friend, but not as & woman watches for her lover. When she had said that she had uo love left for any living man, she spoke, or thought she spoke the truth. Six o'clock—the dusky twilight gathered over the city; deepening with every moment ; lights begau to glitter in the shop windows; the tramp of home ward-going laborers made the pavement, ring—Hannah arose and lighted her bright lamp, and drew the curtains, and just then a knock came at the door. lie site looked for was come. Bising, she went towards him and gave him lier hand. He took it, held it one rnomont, and then sat down, and she saw something in his lace that awoke her wonder, almost her fear. '•When I went away, Hannah," he said at length. "I said good-bye till next Octo ber. Through storms and dangers God heard my prayer that 1 might live to see this day, and 1 am happy here. I'm very happy, Hannah—don't think but i. liat I'm happy; pray don't, my dear." Wondering, she looked at him, but did not speak. "There are two ways of being happy," continued the Captain. "1 planned one out for myself, but God has given me another, if I didn't feci as thankful asl ought at first, I do now. Bless him for it. I've brought you back a present, Hannah Turner. One you'll value moro than the shining sewing-box 1 tried to Die use you with last year—Shall 1. tell you what it is and where 1 found it. She said ''Yes," and stood before him pale to the very lips. "It comes from a place you know of, Hannah," said the Captain; "that part of the ocean where the Olive Branch wont down years ago. There's a little island there; a green place far from any other land. Tho i'lover touched there last Au gust, Hanuah." Trembling more and more—her hand upon his arm now, her lips apart—her eyes striving to read his very thoughts. " A shipwrecked sailor might live there years and years, Hannah," continued the Captain : and might watch in rain for help, for vessels only come near it by chance. What if 1 were to tell you one had been thero five long years ; that I, of all man, Hannan Tumor, was led there by the hand of God, that I brought him with me to Now York, and that he stands outside this very door even while I speak, nah Turner, I didn't thiuk when I said ood-bye until next October, what I should ring with me when I came." But she did not hear him. She had plucked the door open—caught sight of the form standing in the dark entry, and with a wild cry of joy, lay fainting in her husband's clasping arms. And the Captain whispered huskily— " You'll be better alone, my lad ;" and stopping to kbs the wonderiug children, hid liis bronzed face amongst their flaxen curls a moment and then was gone. And on that October evening, while of of Oh ! Hau Ilanuuh Turner kept her birthnight with drcuuts of joy and hope—blessed back into youth and happiness—Captain Walworth, bending over his vessel's side, fastened a lead to a white letter, and dropped tho two together into the water. "She's a married woman again now," said the Captain, softly : " and though it hurt mo to let it go, 'would he wrong, may be, to keep what she wrote, thinking Eben Turner dead, and trying hard to make her mind up to he my wife." And so, with lingering look, such as we cast into a grave, Captain Walworth turned away just twelve o'clock sounding on the air told that Hannah Turner's birthnight was over. ■ h. :i - jrtlisircUaucous. Jenny Wade, the Heroine oFGettjrs burg. The country has already heard of John Burns, I ha hero of Gettysburg—uf haw the old nu sallied forth, a host within himself, "to fight on his own hook," how he fell wound, ed after having delivered many shotq from his trusty rifle into the fares and the hearts of his country's foes, John Burns' name is already recorded among the immortal, to live there with American valur and patriotiem, have an admirer and an emulator. But there heroine as well as a hero of Gettysburg. was a The old hero Burns still lives—the heroine, sweet Jenny Wade, perished in the din of that awful fray, and she now sleeps where the flowere once bloomed, and the perfume laden air wafted lovingly over Cemetery Hill. Before the battle, and while the national beste were awaiting the assault of tbe traiter 8fc< Weekly «nte». J. ». Df'OCtOAN, aaitor. rviuiiu «i tT FBIDAT M 0 R.fI.H 9 AT Georgetown, Delawmre. TERMS OF ADVERTISING: Ose Hquabm, (10 lines or less) Ose Square twis# inserted or two eqeiues o*oe, Xsre Squarm, one month, " u six months, insertion, $• 49 » 7« 1 M . IS 00 S5 Oft Larger advertiamenU filling one-fotirth, one-half, three-fourths or a whole Qoiuuni will be taken at lower rates, and must be made the subject of special arrangement foe, Jenny Wade was busily engaged in baking bread for the national troupe. Sho occupied a house in range of the guus cf both armies, aud the rebels had sternly ordered her to leave the premises, but thii sho as sternly refused to do. While she was busily eugagod in her patriotic work, a miaio ball pieroed her pure heart, and she fell a holy sacrifice in her country's cause. Almost at tho same time a rebel officer of high rank fell near where Jenny Wade had perished. Tho rebels at once proceeled to prepare a coffin for thtir fallen leader, but abuUt the time that was finished the surging of the conflict chang ed the positions of tbe armies, and Jenny Wade's body was plooed in the coffin designed fsr her country's enemy, and thus the heroine of Gettysburg was buried, Tho incidente of the heroiue and the hero of Gettysburg are beautifully touching, noble, aud sublime.— Old John Burns was the only man of Gettys burg who participated iu the strugglo to save the North from invasion, while innocent Jenny Wade was the only sacrifice which the peoplo of that locality had to offer on the shrine of their country ! Let a monument be erected on the ground which covers her, lie fore which the pilgrims to the holy tombs of the heroes of Gettysburg can bow and bless tho memory of Jenny Wade. If the pe, pie of Gettysburg are not able alone to raise the funds to pay for a suitable mouumeut for Jenny Wade, let them send a committee to Harrisburg, and our little boys and girls will assist in soliciting subscriptions for this holy purpose. Beforo the summer sunshine again kisses the grave of Jenny Wade; before the summer birds once m<»ro carol where she sleeps iu glory ; beforo the flowers again deck, the plain mado famous by gallant deeds, let a monument rise to greet the skies in tokens of virtue, d&ring, and nsbleness .—Harrisburg Telegraph. Results of Emancipation. The editor of the Nashville Union, writing from Washington, gives the following i spect to ths results of emancipation iu the District of Columbia: Many of our friends in Tenuessoe are ask ing, with much solicitude, what shall we do with the slaves when liberated l Let me give the substance of conversations I have had with several late Blave-holders, who reside iu this District, and, alter an experience of ne gro freedom of over two years, thus hear tes timony in *hie important ease. I inquired of these gentlemen, all of high social position, ss follows : " What has been the gcnerul effect of eman cipating the slaves in this District? "Decidedly beneficial to both masters and slaves." " Have yon suffered any considerable social convulsion in consequence ?" "Not at all; matters have progressed as smoothly as ever." " Are the negroes hisolent and lawless ?" " Not so muoh eo as formerly. They foci that they are now standing on their good be havior alone." " Have you much trouble in procuviug ia ro borers? " None at all ; thenegroes work readily and faithfully for wages. They do their work better than ever, because they know that they must either fulfil their contracts or got no pay.' ' " Do the people regret the change which emancipation has effcctod ?" " No, hardly one man in the whole district, except a fsw politician, would vote for the res toration of slavery. Mr.-and Mr.-, who were both large slave owners, and op posed emancipation bitterly, now declare openly that they never want slavery re stored." Certainly this evideuco is important, and worth the consideration of Tennesseans. Let act honestly towards the slaves, and then ths consequences will take care of them selves. Let us offBr " greenbacks " instead of cowhides to the negro, and he will work with fresh alacrity and hope, soul; let us treat him accordiugly. If use our numerical superiority to rob him of his natural rights and defraud him of wages, we will pull down upon our own heads and the heads of our children the just penalty of our guilt, amid tbs merciless tempests of a so eiablo revolution. us He has a wn j®*A refugee from Richmond, recently arrived within our liucs, and now confined, furnishes the following estimate of the present force of Lee's army : Ewell's corps, now com manded by Early, twenty to tweuty-one thousand infautry, and six batteries of ar tillery ; A. P. Hill's corps, twenty thousand infantry and five batteries of art illery ; Stuart's cavalry, eight thousand cat uirymeu and two batteries ot flying artillery—making in all forty-one thousand infantry and cavalry, and soventy-e.glu cauuou, provi ded the batteries are ail complete, lie also confirms the death of the rebel Gene, al Posey, and the statement that Ewell had retired to Cbarlottsville on account of ill health. By this gentleman's account the present ration of the rebel army is one pound of flour and on* pound of froBh beef, with very liule sail, and nothing else. As for clothing, they have a good supply, of very inferior quality, except what has been stolen fr, m the I'nitcd States, but not one half ef them have shoes. .valit thcui The Richmond DityxUck of recent date advertieed five robhcrica and a half-dozen runaway slaves. The city muBt be in a state •f cheerful leéurity.