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| T::E CONSTITUTIONAL UNION.
ff. H. RHEA, EDITOR AND PROPRIETOR. _The Constitution, the Union, and the Enforcement of the Laws,_$2 PER ANNUM, IN ADYANCE. VOL. L DES ARC, ARKANSAS, FRIDAY, FEBRUARY 15, 1861. NUMBER 14. 5hc (Eoiwtitiitumal Pinion, PRINTED EVERT WEEK, AT Dcs A r* c , Arkansas, EDITED AND PUBLISHED BY WESTON IT. RHEA. Office on corner of Buena Ylsla and Lyon Streets, over John Jackson & Co. I — Subscription price. Two Dollars per annum, invariably in advance. RATES OF ADVERTISING. (One square, (eight lines of this size type.) for one insertion, $1; each additional insertion, 50 cents. I 1 mo. | 2 mo. j 3 mo. i 6 mo. I 1 year fSquarcT $ 250j$T00 $ 800 $1000 $15 00 2 Squares, 5 00 8 00 10 00; 12 00| 17 00 3 Squares, 8 00; 10 00 12 00! 15 00 25 00 \ Column, 10 00| 12 00 15 00 17 00| 30 00 i Column, 12 00 15 00 17 00 20 00; 40 00 SJ Column, | 15 00! 17 00 20 00i 25 00: 50 00 1 Column, ! 18 00i 20 00,1 25 00! 30 00 , 60 00 Advertisers by the year will be restricted to their legitimate business. Advertisements displayed by large type, charged double the above rates. Personal communications charged double the rates of regular advertisements. Legal advertisements will be charged, for one square or less, first insertion $1, and 50 cents per square for each additional insertion. Announcing candidates for State and District offices, $7; County offices, $5; Township offices, ■$3 invariably in advance. Political circulars charged as advertisements. Advertisements not ordered for a specified time, will be inserted till forbidden, and charged ac cordingly OFITCIA DIIIECTOHV. OFFICFN* OF FIUIRIL tOl\Tl. COUNTY AND PROBATE JUDGE, James L. II unt, CLF.RK, WILLIAM GOODRUM. SHERIFF, WILLIAM A. PLUNKETT. TREASURER, WYLIE LANKFORD. COKOV'lR, LEVIN HARRISON. SURVEYOR, E. A. HOWELL. COMMON SCHOOL COMMISSIONER, W. P. PRESTON. INTERNAL IMPROVEMENT COMMITTEE, B E N J A M I N F A W 0 E T. JUSTICES OF THE PEACE. I Prairie—F. Coulter, E. L. Beard. B. V. Smith, James Glover. Caroline—G. M. Connor, W. K. Dobbins, James Knight. Wm. Donnell. S.Cozart. W.C. llobinson. ! Pigeon Jloont—Aser l’ipkin, Y. D. Robinson. White Hirer—11. P. Vaughan, T. B. Kent, L. C. Rcrabert, D. I*. Black. Ccn er—S. C. Paine. B. Douglass. Watt mean-—W. A. W. Mann, W. J. McCombs. Hamilton—T, M. Gray, J. Tucker. Rich Wood*—T. F. Price. W. R. Brantly. Clear Lake—Guinn Barber. James T. Morris. La Grew—T. M. Belcher, Thomas Harville. C O A S T A 15 I, E S . Prairie—Q. T. Webster; Cni'er—J. D. Steele; Carolto*—R. II. Frceling; Hamilton—E, Jarvis: Pigeon Ron*!—W A. Harper: White Hirer—C T. : Oldham: Rich Wood*—W. A. Barker; Wattenxaw— John Gales. Constables of Clear Lake and La Grew Town ships failed to fill their bonds. --- kte A M HO A rrS. LEAVES MEMPHIS EVERY TUESDAY. Memphis, nhite and Eiltle Red River Packet, A d m iral; ELIAS TIIOMASSON, - - - - Master. nuns FINE FREIGHT AND PASSENGER L steamer, having been thoroughly repaired, will run regularly between Memphis and the vari ous points on White river throughout the season, arriving at Des Arc on Thursday evenings on her up trip, and down on Friday evenings. I or freight vr passage, apply on board. jttf> IL 01-tt Regular \evv Orleans, W§ hite and Lillie Red River Packet, Hldc-WTiecl Steamer I A T A N| II. S. EATON,.Master. rpilIS FINE FREIGHT AND PASSENGER L packet having been furnished with cotton guards, and otherwise repaired, will run between ;\ew Orleans amt the various points on twine river, (luring the season, as a semi-monthly packet. _ nov 23-tf LEAVES MEMPHIS EVERY TUESDAY. Memphis and White lll%er Racket, GOLDEN STATE, IIICKS KING,.Master J. B. Russell, - - - Clerk. rnins splendid passenger steamer 1 will make regular trips from Memphis to Des Are, Augusta and Jackson port, on White river. For freight or passage, apply on board. J>E8 ARC MALE ACADEMY, T. BL 0SB03NE, Principal. THE FIRf^ SESSION OF THIS ACADEMY, located in Des Arc, Prairie county, Arkansas, commenced January 7, 1801. The terms of Tuition are $10, $12,50, $15 and $20 per session of five months. The government of the Academy will be strict, yet mild. The mode of teaching will be strictly methodical. Parents will observe that it will be of great advantage to their sons to be entered at or near the beginning of the session. Parents or guardians need not enter their sons or wards un less subjecting them entirely to the mode of instruction and of government established in the school. Tuition payable from the time of entering till the end of the session. Deduction in cases of prolonged sickness. jy-18-y IIU8IAE88 CA«1)W. J. M. OOOOIN. D. C. TRADER. B. W. L. HOLT. GOGGIN, TRADER & HOLT, Cjtton and Tobacco Factors, GROCERS, FORWARDING AND COMMISSION MERCHANTS) Xo. 16 Front Row, MEMPHIS, TENN. Weekly accession's received through out the season to their already large and desirable stock of Tobacco, Bagging. Hope, Su gar. Coffee, Molasses, Dacoh, Salt, Whisky, Flour, and Plantation Supplies generally. Will Store Cotton, Leaf Tobacco and other Produce in our commodious Warehouse on Union Street, in sight of their business house. No. 16 Front Row. We Store and Sell Cotton at 75c per bale. no 30-3m EXCELSIOR STOVE WORKS! GILES F FILLEY, MANUFACTURER OF Charter Oak, Plymoth Rock, & Valley Forge Cooking Stoves! Also, every variety of PARLOR, BOX & CAXXOX STOVES, 1*5*5 and 157 Ain In Street, dec 7-tf_ST. LOUIS. MISSOURI, H0FFHEIMER BROTH?RS, IMPORTERS AND DEALERS IN Brandies, Gins, Wines, Cigars, &c., ALSO, DISTILLERS k MANUFACTURERS OF Domestic Wines and Liquors, 32 k 34 Second St., betw. Main & Sycamore, nov 23-tf, CINCINNATI, O. F. LEPTIEN, ... • F. KLEIN. LEPTEIN <fc KLEIN, DEALERS IN CLOCKS, WATCHES and JEWELRY, Buena Vista 8treet, DKS ARC, ARKANSAS. H aving on hand a new and selected Stork of riork« nr.l Towolrv respect fully solicit a continuance of the kind pat ronage of the people of Des Arc and surrounding country. We are also prepared to do all kinds of Watch, Clock and Jewelry work with care and despatch. All work warranted. dec 7-tf B. D. PERRY, - - J. M. PETTEY. PERRY 6c PETTEY, South Side of ISuena Vista Street, DES ARC, ARKANSAS, Dealers in staple, fancy, foreign and Domestic Dry-Goods, Ready-Made Clo thing. Hats and Caps. Boots and Shoes. Hardware and Cuttlery. Quccnsware. etc. Also, a complete assortment of Fancy Silks. Ribbons. Trimmings and fancy articles of every description. All kinds of goods, by the piece, at wholesale prices. dec 7-tf GARVIN, BELL 6c CO., IMPORTERS A WHOLESALE DEALERS IN FOREIGN & DOMESTIC DRY-GOODS, AND Mil nufaeturers uf ciotlilng. Nos. 442 and 444 Main Street, north side, nov 10 f.m. LOUISVILLE, KY. E. o V 'tlTON, - - - F. A. PRAGUE. E. » . \ O U T OX &. CO,, Foi l ling & Commission Merchants AND DEALERS IS FLOUR, GRAIN and PRODUCE, >'o. tSO Front Row, dec 14-2m_MEMPHIS. TENN. II. C. M’CARLEY, SAM I.. R. BROWN, THOS. M CARLEY. McCARLEl, BROWN, A CO., (Successors to R. C. Me Car Icy .$• Co.,) DES ARC, ARKANSAS. Dealers in staple and fancy dry Goods, Ilcady-MaJc Clothing, Hats. Caps, Boots and Shoes, Hardware, Cutlery, Saddles, Trunks and Valises. Also, Forwarding and Com mission Merchants. feb 15, ’61-tf. F. M. ROBINSON, - -- -- - O. J. BRANCH. ROBINSON 6c BRANCH, (Successors to G. W. Vaden,) WHOLESALE AND RETAIL DEALERS IN Groceries and Produce, RECEIVING, FORWARDING & COMMISSION MERCHANTS, nov?,. DES ARC, ARKANSAS. O. Bt’LAREN..*• N. JACKSON. M LAREN 6c JACKSON, Successors to G. & J. McLaren & Co., DES ARC, ARKANSAS. Dealers in staple and fancy dry Goods, llcady-Madc Clothing, Hats and Taps, Ronnets, Roots and Shoes, Hardware and Cuttlery, Rooks, Stationery, etc. Also, Receiving, Forwarding and Commission Merchants, nov 3. DES ARC HOTEL, BV J. C. TABIIXTOX, DES ARC, ARKANSAS. Having leased this well-arranged Hotel, the proprietor respectfully informs travelers and the public generally, that he has com pletely renovated the premises, and is prepared to accommodate all who may favor.him ovith their pntronage. If unremitted care anfl attention will secure the favor of all, he isdeternrined to please. CIIA RGBS REASON A RLE. pvjy- The Bar attached to thie House is supplied with the best of Liquors and Cigars. nov 3. A. STEWART, WM. STEWART, H. STEWAItT. STEWART Sc BROS, Receiving, Forwarding AND COMMISSION MERCHANTS, nov 3. DES ARC, ARKANSAS. COERCION OR NOT COERCION! millS IS TO INFORM ALL THOSE WHO ARE I owing me, either by note or account, to come forward by the 28th of February next and pay up.or they will have to pay the same to an officer. Money I must have to pay my debts. A word to the wise is sufficient. janl8-tf] _JNO. A. FRITH. LOOK SHARP! A LL PERSONS INDEBTED TO ME, EITHER J\_ by note or account, will come up by the 1st. of January next and pay me, or they will be put in the hands of an officer for collection. dec7~tf GEO. W. VADEN. E X C E L LENT PLOWS WE HAVE JUST RECEIVED A LARGE quantity of the best Cast Plows, which w< offer cheap. nov 3. J. J At KSON & CO. SEEDS! SEEPS!! A LARGE LOT OF FRESH HUNGARIAN Grass Seeds, just received and for sale by nov. fi JOHN JACKSON & CO. PROFESSIONAL CARDS. T. J. JOBE, Attorney at Law, DES ARC, ARKANSAS, WILL PRACTICE IN PRAIRIE AND TIIE adjoining counties, l'artieluiir attention given to Collections. References.—T. J. & C. Powell, Knoxville, Tenn.; Tlios. II. Callaway, President of Ocoee Rank, Cleveland. Tenn.; Moore &. Marsh, Chatta nooga. Tenn.; Hon. John H. Lumpkin, Rome, Ga.; Hon. William Daugherty, Columbus, Ga.; Hon. Joseph T. McConnell, Ringgold, Ga.: William H. Inman, President Northwestern Rauk, Ringgold, Georgia. nov 3. T. B. KENT, Attorney at Law, DES ARC, ARKANSAS, WILL PRACTICE IN THE COURTS OF Prairie, White. Monroe, Arkansas, St. Francis, Jackson and Independence counties. All business intrusted to his care shall meet with prompt attention. Office on Lyon street. no23-tf. Ur. a. J. LANE, Resident Physician, DES ARC, ARKANSAS, TENDERS HIS SERVICES TO THE CITIZENS of Des Arc and adjacent country. From his experience, he hopes to share at least a por tion of the patronage of the public. Office on Ruena Vista street, at Ralsly’s Drug Store, jy-y T. SANDERS, - J. L. NEEL. DRS. SANDERS & NEEL, Resident Physicians, DES ARC, ARKANSAS. Having formed a partnership in the practice of their profession, tender a continuation of their services to the citizens of Des Arc and adjacent country. Office, up stairs, corner Ruena Vista and Woodruff streets, nov 3 E. T. ISWEYER, Dentist, DES ARC, ARKANSAS. TTTILL CONTINUE THE BUSINESS IN ALL \V its branches, including continuous Gum Work. Office on Buena Vista street, up stairs, jacKson s new Duiiuing. nov 10-u. RUSS evansT" REAL ESTATE & GENERAL LAND AGENT. DES ARC, ARKANSAS. Prompt attention will be given to all business entrusted to him in his line. nov 3. J.T. P A R HAM, Architect and Builder, DES ARC, ARKANSAS. SOLICITS CONTRACTS FOR BUILDINGS OF O every style. He is also prepared to furnisli Designs, Estimates and Drawings of all the mod ern orders of architecture; build, superintend and furnish working plans for building at mode rate prices. Orders left at the “Citizen Office,” will receive prompt attention. nov 3-y DR. H. ARMISTEAD, Physician, Surgeon and Accoucheur, DES ARC. ARKANSAS. Having permanently located at DES ARC, offers bis professional services to the citizens of the town and adjacent country. Office on I.yon street. nov 3. E. S. HAMMOND, Attorney at Law, O' FF1CE: TFI.FGR VPH BUILDING. NORTH Side Court Square, jay 18-if. MFM HIS. TFNN T. J. WOODSON, Attorney at Law, DES ARC, ARKANSAS, AyHLI. ri: u TICE IN THE FIFTH JUDICIAL \Y Circa. .ltd the counties of White, Jack son and Monroe. All business intrusted to his care will be promptly attended to. nov 3 C. A. JUDSON, Carpenter and Joiner, DES ARC, ARKANSAS, Dealer in sasii, doors, mantles, Window and Door Frames, etc. Shop corner Erwin and Park Streets. N. B.—Coffins made to order, on short notice. nov 3-y A. W. MCNEILL, Attorney at Law, DES ARC, ARKANSAS, PRACTICES IN THE COURTS OF PRAIRIE and adjacent counties. Office, corner Erwin and Lyon streets. nov 3 D ES A R C FEMALE ACADEMY, MISS SALLIE A. DAVIS, Principal. ITIIIS INSTITUTION WILL BE OPENED ON _ Monday next, the 2(jth inst., for the recep tion of pupils. TERMS OF TUITION, PER SESSION OF TWENTT-ONF. WEEKS. Orthography. Reading and Writing, - - $10 00 English Grammar. Arithmetic, Geography, 12 00 Algebra and the higher English branches, 15 00 French and the higher Mathematics, - - 20 00 Students will be charged from the time of enter ing school until the close of tire term, except in cases of protracted sickness. References.—Rev. J. Douglass, A. M., Presi dent of Franklin College. Holly Springs, Miss.; Hon. J. J. Steger, North Mt. Pleasant, Miss.; Col. M. I). Shelby, Carson’s Landing, Miss.; J. E. Gatewood, Esq., T. J. Woodson, Des Arc.; J. M. Coyle, Hickory Plain, Arkansas. nov23-2m STOVE AND TIN SHOP! X. II. Burk Has removed iiis tin shop to the house recently occupied by J. W. Wallace, on Buena Vista street, opposite the Nucleus House, where he is prepared to accommodate the public with the best articles of COOKING STOVES, TIN-WARE, and all other merchandise in his linn, ever brought to this market. My cooking stoves aveimmefl • .yfrom alargi St. Louis establishment, and I lcel confident that those who want these convenient articles can suit themselves from my large assortment. Give mt a call, and examine before purchasing else where. nov3 POETICAL. THE BA TTLE OF MOB TEHEY. Tennyson’s Balaklava Song “Charge of the Six Hundred,” is famous enough; but Hoffman’s poem on the Battle of Monterey, is infinitely superior to it in almost everything that consti tutes poetry :— AA’e were not many—we who stood Before the iron sleet that day, Yet many a gallant spirit would Give half his years, if he could Have been with us at Monterey! Now here, now there, the shot is hailed In deadly drifts of fiery spray, Yet not a single soldier quailed, AV'hen wounded comrades round him wailed Their dying shouts at Monterey ! And on, still on, our column kept Thro’ walls of flame its withering way; AA'here fell the dead the living stept, Still charging on the guns which swept The slippery steps of Monterey! The foe himself recoiled aghast, AVhen, striking where he strongest lay, AAre swooped his flanking batteries past. And braving fuil their murderous blast, Stormed home the towers of Monterey ! Our banners on those turrets wave, And there our evening bugles play, AA’here orange boughs above their grave Keep green the memory of the brave AVho fought and fell at Monterey 1 AVe are not many—we who press’d Beside the brave who fell that day ; But who of us has not confessed He’d rather share their warrior rest Than not have been at Monterey ! THE BRIDAL WREATH. Fair fragile flowers! She will not deem AA'ho wears this wreath to-night, a bride, That with your sweets I've wove a dream Of early love that early died. These fragrant stems of trembling grain Have waked a grief that long had slept; And tears have dropped these blooms between, And sighs within their petals crept. She will not know it; she will smile To see the sparkles fresh and clear, And kiss jway the sighs the while, And bless their perfume many a year. Thus let it be: and evermore This spicy scent to her be sweet AVith happy mem’ries—hallowed love, Of marriage vows, and love complete. ■ But unto me, dear! this balm Must ever breathe of loss—of thee; And of the lonely brooding calm That settle's down childhood’s sea. Sleep, sister, sleep! The solemn years Above thee pass in circles slow; While sadder griefs, and sins, and fears, O’ershadow life with sorer woe. Yet will I hope! Through mist and night My soul looks up and sees afar , The glimmering, widening, dazzling light! Where pales the sun, and melts each star. Is this the breath of asphodels, With heavenly peace and sweetness rife? Up from these blooms strange fragrance wells! I dream of death. 1 wake to life. THE SECOND PLAYER; OK Wear ami Tear ofan Actor's TAfe. BY CHABLES DICKENS. I said I would tell you my story. Well, to begin. I was born in this town of Burnton, something less than sixty years ago. My father was a small tradesman, and sent me to the best school lie could afford till I was a little over thirteen, i used to recite on the public days in the school, and repeat Latin and Creek orations, of which the meaning • o was not a little obscure even to me; what it must have been to my hearers I don’t know. My father took me away from the shop. He was a tailor. It worried me to death to sit hour alter hour, stitch, stitch, stitch; and I used to beguile the time by re citing and reading to the few men my father employed, and they did my share of the work in return fur the amusement I afforded them. At the age of fifteen I took part in some private theatricals in the town, and found the bustle of preparation much more pleasant than the dull shop work. J he. went oft well, and when next the player ■ a:e to the town, i went to the manager and a. soil him to take me. lie laughed, for i was lit for nothing. Of course I was too big for a page, and too little for a man-at-arms; too young for a first, sec ond, or even third lover; and too old for any accidental boy parts. I was disappointed, but I soon had to leave the then detested shop. My father was of rather a serious turn. lie heard of my going to the manager, and locked me up, then about sixteen, and fed me on bread and water. This was rather too bad, so I took French leave, and when the bread and water came one morning, there was no one to eat it. I was rdeased to find mvself with a pair of socks and a clean shirt wrapt up in a handkerchief, about to lace the world, and try to wring the hard-held honors from stern fortune’s head. Still, I was young then. I need scarcely tell you that sitting here I often regretted that line May morning’s work that took me from home. I went to one town after another, and at each sought out the manager of the theater, and tried to get in as anything. It was no use; my voice was not yet set or certain. “ Why, young sir,” said one to me, u you arc as slim as a girl, and if you were to make love in the tone you’ve been talking to me, the people would insist that I had made a girl play the lover’s part. I’d take you, but you are no use to me at all; two years hence y ou may come again, and 1 may talk to you.” I lelt it was true, but still wanted to be in a theater, so 1 entered a traveling circus com pany as holder and ring-maker. 1 kept at it for eighteen months, and then the manager joined another in the regular acting line. Now was my chance. They wanted a lover, and wanted him to ride; their first lover could no more sit on a horse than a sack could ; the first lady saw him once, and said she should die with laughter if he came on, so 1 offered. I did well, and thought I was on the road to fortune; I felt that Kemble and the rest of the great actors were only the same man as I was, with better chances. That is more than forty years ago, though. I’m wiser now. After this success I became first gentleman in that company, and remained so for many years. The manager took the leading parts, so I had no chance. I had changed my name, first, as Gowling did not look well on the bill, and next, because I did not want to hurt my poor old father's feelings more than I could help—1 took the name of Alphonsus Mon tague. It looked well on the bills, I used to think at one time. Somebody, I forget who, says, “ What’s in a name ?” I know there is a good deal in a name when it’s on the play bills ; and the public being judge. Alphonsus Montague was better than James Gowling, for it drew better houses. In the company there was a young girl who took second lady. I dou’t say I fell in love with her; I don’t think men of our class do fall in love. The constant exercising of the imitative powers, in delineating the passion, weakens, I think, the power of feeling it as other men feel it. I liked her; she was good, industrious, and rising in the profession, and I married her. There never was a better wo man lived, and she had her reward. I don’t suppose that there ever was a woman more re spected in any company. I never had even a row about her but once, and then a man had been very insolent to her; she came and told me just as I came off as “ Macduff” in Macbeth. I went to the manager and told him that the man must leave the place at once. The man said it was impossible ; he was a son of the noble owner of half the town ; his father was then in the house; these things must be endured. I said that they should not be endured, and that if he would not protect the ladies in his company I should take the liberty of protecting my wife. “ And how did it end ?” Why, I went to the little beast, titled as he was, and kicked him out at the stage door. I did, sir, though you would not think it to look at me now.” “ And the manager ?” Came and thanked me. Said he was much obliged to me ; he had had more annoyance from the complaints of the girls about that fellow than any other cause. He raised mine and my wife’s salary that same week. We went on very well for some time. I began to find that 1 was not a star. Once or twice I went up to London and heard some of the best men, and found that I could not equal them. I don’t know a more painful sensation, sir, than that attendant on the dis covery of the limits of your powers. Every man, not blinded by conceit, who is over thirty, must have felt this. There is a limit to our powers; other men have more—some less, but still it is very painful to feel con scious that the eminence that man has attain ed to whom you are listening is beyond you. Young men—very young men—feel conscious that what man has done they can do. It does not last Most men at thirty know their pace well enough to tell them that they will be in the ruck of the wheel of life. Well, some few years after I was married, the conviction came to me ; I knew I could never be a star—a great actor. It was notin tup T i*PtiriPPtjiV»]p nnp 1 PmiM I J 1 tuke any part, and do that so well that I was not laughed at; but there I was stopped. I could go no further. I could never raise the enthusiasm of my audience. They listened and did not disapprove ; but when I played a leading part, the boxes did not let and the pit was not full. I could not help it, you know. 1 can safely say I never went on without knowing every word of my part. 1 was always correct, and in the second and third parts did well. Stars liked me. They used to come down for benefits occasionally, and used to say, ‘‘Let me have Cowling with me ; lie's a safe man—never too forward—-no clap-trap with him ; lie’s not showy, but he's safe.” Now, you see, praise is a good thing, but when a man has dreamed for ten years or so that he is to be a star in the theatrical world, it is rather hard to wake up and find a star of no very great magnitude telling him he's a very good background to show that star’s light. Ah 1 me—those days of youth —how’ the large bud brings forth the little flower. “ Still, Mr. Gowling, it was something not to have failed utterly. There must be back grounds, you know, and there must be second parts as well as first.” True, sir, true; and human nature soon adapts itself to circumstances. Three months after I knew I was no genius, the ambition to be one left me. 1 had four children—three boys and one girl. That's her child—poor little thing.” And he stroked the head of little Alice caressingly, while she played with the buttons on his coat. The boys, of course, we tried to make use ful in the profession. Christmas was a family harvest; all were busy then—all making mo ney. You know' that the profession is not fa vorable to health. The excitement—particu larly to children—soon wears them out. 1 know often and often, I’ve seen my boys as imps and that kind of thing, and felt the life was too fast for them. Late at night, to go from the hot theater into the cold night was a sad trial to the constitution; and children are not old men. You cannot persuade boys of twelve and fourteen that they ought to wrap their throats and not run out into the cold at night. Wo could not and we lost two of the three boys w'ithing a year ol each other. Lung diseases, the doctor said. It carries of! a good many of these children, you see, in the Christmas pantomimes. 1 often wonder whether the house thinks of those kind of things. “ And the other ehildren ?” The boy left our company when he was about eighteen, and joined another as second gentleman. He was as good an actor as his father and no better, lie thought he was a genius, poor boy, as his father had thought before him. He had no experience to teach him, as he thought he was ill-used, and left me. “ And what became of him ?” At first we used to hear from him now and then ; there was a long silence, and his moth er worried herself dreadfully about him. One night I had been playing acountry gentleman in a screaming farce, as the bills called it; for in a small company you are a king, a warrior, and a fool—all in one evening; so my wife had gone home, and when I arrived, came to the door and let me in. “ Don’t be frightened, dear, here’s Alfred come back.” I went up, and there he was; but what a wreck ! His eyes bloodshot, his hand trem bling, and a hot, red spot on his check. “ Well, father, how are you?” I did not answer; I sat down and cried, He tried hard to keep from it, but he could not; he came and knelt down in front of me, covered his face with his hand, and cried like a child. His mother, poor soul, clung round his neck and kissed him, and cried till I was beside myself. He told his story. He had made a mistake. He thought himself a great actor. Managers did not; the public backed the managers, and they were right, too. He could not stand the disappointment; had no wife, as his father had, to console him, and he took to the actor’s curse—drink. He sank lower and lower, became ill, could do nothing, and just crawled home to die. One night, I had just come off, when I was told some one wanted me at the stage door. I went and found the girl of the house where he lodged. She wanted me to come home directly; I was wanted at once. Mr. Alfred was very ill. Our manager had his benefit that night, and we had one of the first rate London men down as “ Hamlet.” I was dressed as the “ Ghost.” I forgot about my dress then, and rushed home; it was too late —poor Alfred was gone ! He lay his head on his mother’s arms ; she was dressed as the i “ Queen,” and was weeping hot, silent tears, that fell on my boy’s face, one by one. His sister was sunk on her knees by the bedside, as I entered, and the people of the house were standing looking on. I shall never for get it—never. I was roused by a touch on the shoulder. A message from the theater. “ Manager says he should be glad if you could come back.” Look here, Jennings, do you think I can ? “ Not to do anything, sir, but you might see him ; perhaps it would be better.” I left them, and went back, saw the mana ger and told him ; and though it was his ben efit night, he said he would read both parts himself. “ I am sorry for you, very sorry; if I can do anything for you, let me know.” We buried the poor boy, and then went on as before. His mother never recovered the brow, but gradually sunk, and about six months after his death could no longer take her parts; so Alice and I had to do our best. 1 noticed that a young fellow had been rather attentive to her, and was not surprised when he took me aside that night, and told me he wanted to make her his wife. He was just such another as I had been myself when at his age. I thought it better to see her the wife of a respectable actor than remain single behind the scenes, for she was a good girl. Well, they married and remained in the com pany. I was getting old, you see, then, and it was some comfort to see her with some one to take care of her. Soon after she married her mother died, and I laid in the grave be side her son one of the best women that ever lived. I was alone now, and old, for the wear and tear of an actor’s life, and the late hours, tell on the strongest constitution. It was something awful, the change from the light and glare and noise of the theater to the si lence and quiet of my own poor room. Just then, too, the company was broken up, and, at the age I was then, it was a serious thing for me. We all three tried to keep together, but it was no use. Those who wanted an old man did not want a second lady or a third old gentleman, and so we were divided. I went on circuit as an old man with very poor pay, as much as I was worth, though, i dare say, for I was getting feeble, and “ Speak up, old ’un 1” was the salute I heard from the guile . j:_...I., r _j ..if iivo X XliJ illUUbli. I heard from Alice every week, and saved her letters for Sundays, for the day was long j and dull to me. I could not make new friends. The young pitied me, and I was proud then, and ‘loved not pity;’ so I was a lonely man. Alice’s husband died. I don’t remember now how it was, but he died, and she told me how it was, how he died, and she told it was just after this little one was born. I quite lunged to see her, but she could not come, and I could not come, and I could not go, so we wrote to each other. I have all her letters now, poor girl. She came to see me once af terward, and was looking ill and fagged; and soon after that our company was broken up again. I tried hard to get a new engagement, trav eled from place to place, spent all the little I had saved, and then was laid up at a place some fifty miles from here. They took me from the inn to the Union when the money was gone; and after a deal of waiting and grumbling they brought me here. I little thought, when, a boy. I used to get the nests out of this tree, that I should end my days here, an old, worn-out pauper. You know where it says : “ There’s a divinity that shapes our ends, rough-hew them as we may.” I often said that on the stage. I feel it now.” And the old man mused in silence. “ And your daughter ?” Alice ? She died in this house not two years ago, poor child 1 “ Here, do you mean ?” “ Yes, there, in that room.” And he pointed to I window in the back part of the house. “ That one where the sun shines on it through the trees.” “ Of what did she die ? She was young.” Of the same disease that carried off her brother—consumption. She knew I was here, and spent her last money in coming, and the doctor, good fellow as he is, would have her in here. She lingered on for about a fort night up there, then died one evening at sun set, holding my hand, and the child lying on her breast. Poor child ! she looked so beau tiful in her coffin. Ahl I've outlived them all but this little one.” And the old man looked fondly on the child and stroked her head with his lean, shriveled hand. “Its rather sad to see them all gone—all—wife— sons—and Alice—all gone. Poor Alice !” And the old pauper’s eye3 were full of the slow-coming tears of age. -^ m ^ - Tiie Lover’s Pride.—I believe there is no period of life as that in which a thriving lAtTAw Iaoitao Ilia lAieti-Aoc nftor lno fil’d His joy is more perfect than at the first abso lute moment of his own eager vow and her half-assenting blushes. Then he is thinking mostly of her, and is in a certain degree em barrassed by the efforts necessary for success. But when the promise has once been given to him. and he is able to escape into the do main of his own heart, he is a conqueror who has mastered half a continent by his own strategy. It never occurs to him, he hardly believes, that his success is no more than that which is the ordinary lot of mortal man. He never reflects that all the old married fogies whom he knows and despises have just as much ground for pride, if such were endur ing ; that every fat, silent, dull, somnolent, old lady whom he sees and quizzes has at some period been deemed as worthy a prize as his priceless galleon, and so deemed by as bold a captor as himself. Some one has said that every young mother, when her first child is born ^regards the babe as the most wondertul production of that description, which the world has yet seen. And this, too, is true. But I doubt whether that conviction is so strong the conviction of the successful lover, that has achieved a triumph which should ennoble him down to later generations. m m ^ - Children's Prayers.—The following specimens of childish oddity are furnished by an exchange: “ A little boy, kneeling at his mother's knee to say his evening prayer, asked leave to pray in his own words, and, with a child like simplicity, said: “ ‘Jod bless Ihtlc W illie, aud don’t let the house burn up—God bless papa and mamma—God bless me and make my boots go on easy in the morning.” Another, in a moment of contrition, ad dressed his prayers as follows: “0 Lord, bless Georgie, and make him a good boy; and don’t let him be naughty again—never, no, never; because, you, you know, when he is nanghty, he sticks to it so !” A negro being caught stealing from a hen roost, excused himself by saying that he only came darto see if “dey sleepwiddar eyes open.” “DOH'T CRY, TOMMY." BT J. BOMBER, JR, “ Don’t cry, Tommy ! There’s two pieces of bread at home: you may have one and I will have the other, and then we ll go to sleep!" Such, my friends, were the words of a little barefooted boy to his younger brother, as they tearfully hied past me, one bleak day in chill November, 18—. The speaker was a lad of apparently eight summers. Upon his brow, manly beyond his ears, there dwelt an unmis takable indication of better days, and gentle birth. Not a trace of squalid misery was there, such as greets the eye at every turn among this world’s poor. A tidy little jacket, with remnents of embroidery yet visible— sadly patched and mended, ’tis true—covered his slight shoulders; while a threadbare and faded pair of trowsers of the same material encompassed his lower extremities. Hisirtiad was surmounted by what was once a jaunty little cap; but yet he was. as I before re marked, barefooted—ay, barefooted—upon a chill November morn 1 “Don’t cry, Tommy 1” The words were spoken with a cheerful, yet tearful tenderness; and the little fellow gently wound his arm around his companion’s slender neck, as he whispered those words of childish consolation. Something in the tones of that voice (or was it the guardian angel of that tiny pair who whispered in my ear ?) startled me from my reverie, and 1 looked anxiously after the re ceding figures ? “ Poor child !’’ I mused; “ and has it come to this? Not always was it so!” Anon my mind pictured to its vision a grace ful vine-covered cottage with beautiful sur roundings, while on the grass-plot in front gamboled two blooming boys, in all the play ful glee of innocent childhood, overlooked by two as fond parents as ever the impartial sun shone upon in the course of his endless jour neyings. “Don’t cry, Tommy 1” My God ! it must be—the remembrance is too unmistakable, though changed—alas! so changed! They were the orphan children of the friend of my boyhood—the friend who, two years agone, breathed his last in my arms, far, far away, upon the arid plains leading to the modern El Dorado! “ Poor Tom’s a cold!” His bones lie bleach ing in a foreign land, and his wife and chil dren, too frail to brave the storms of Life, are now tnrown upon tne corn cnariues oi tne world—shipwrecked wanderers over the dis mal ocean of remorseless Poverty! My God! —my God ! it must not be ! “ Don’t cry, Tommy !” The words rang in my ears like the echoes of despair, and welled up to my very soul with a mysterious cadence, which at once demanded my pity and com miseration. What pathos was there ! W’hat tenderness ! What a spirit of manliness was exhibited by those simple words, emanating from childhood’s bosom ! Was I dreaming? No, no !—awake and alive to the whisperings of man’s better nature. A pale figure seemed to start up before me and those suffering lit tle ones, bending on its melancholy eyes, and pointing toward their tiny forms with an ex pression of sorrow and reproof! of my departed friend ! With voice, sad and solemn as the tomb, it seemed to whisper: “Bomber! as thou lovest me—leave them not to suffer!” Peace to thy name, my friend ! henceforth thy children no more shall cry for bread. “ Don’t cry, Tommy !” Ye, to whom the morn brings happiness, and evening peace— to whom Comfort is a fireside guest, and Sor row as a poor relation, is there no forlorn brotherman hailing you by the wayside of Life, demanding and claiming your kind sympathy? Turn not the deaf ear, O pampered child of Luxury !—Fortune is fickle goddess ! Thou hast a cherub child, a living companion be neath thy palatial mansion—death may meet thee at thy threshold, demanding thy wife as his victim—riches may take wings and fly away—the morrow’s sun may find thy loved one begging of the world for bread! Hast thou no mite wherewith to dry the mourner’s tears? None! “Don’t cry, Tommy!” Sweet words of cheering comfort! When the storms of Ad versity beat thick and fast against the shrink ing life-pilgrim’s breast, when Gloom en shrouds his soul within its sombre mantle; when no cheering voice of Friendship, no brightsome smile of Sympathy, no tender hand of Charity is extended to raise him from the Slough of Despond, then,—Oh ! then it is, that his heart craves those things which the world is loth to bestow—then it .is that he looks to the high, high heavens and wonder ing asks if they, too, like cold humanity, are also devoid of pity ! “Don’t cry, Tommy !” The world is large —“ the poor ye have always with you.” Hush! how howl the bleak winds to-night! flow fiercely comes down the storm! Thought ! tally you gaze into the sparkling grate, ana ! mentally thank the gods that against your heart and your abode the storm-fiend may wage in vain a warfare. List! Hearest thou no wail amid the killings of the tempest ? Go forth into the night, 6 child of Ease and Comfort! there is work for thee adown your narrow court 1 Want, grim Want, with sunk en cheek and skeleton finger, sits by a bedside in yonder dismal attic, holding in her fell em brace. a form that was once a man like thee —proud, wealthy, beautiful! Fortune frowned, and here is he! Hast thou no words of cheer, no well-filled purse, no golden guinea, no homely penny, even, wherewith to dispel Gloom from the poor man’s pall'd ? None? Then God pity thee! And beware lest Ad versity should beset thy pathway—friends and fortune flee alike away from thy hearthstone, and thou be left to howl thy impotent sorrow to the deaf, cold world, with no kindly tongue to whisper in thy despairing ear: “ Don’t cry, Tommy!” - mm m m - - Happiness.—Tillotson truly says that man counts happiness in a thousand shapes, and the faster he follows it, the swifter it flies from him. Almost everything premises happiness to us at a distance—such a step of honor, such a pitch of estate, such a fortune, or match for a child—but when we come nearer to it, or it, either we fall short of it, or it falls short of our expectation, and it is hard to say which of these is the greatest disappointment. Our hopes are usually larger than the enjoyment can satisfy; an evil long feared, besides that it may never come, is many times more pain ful and troublesome than the evil itself when it comes. - i m m .— Quick Cure for Founder.—Clean out the frog of the hoof. Let it be well cleansed by scraping ofl all dirt, etc.—raise the foot so as to bo level—pour spirits of turpentine, a sufficient quantity so as not to run over the 1ioof; then set the turpentine on fire and let it be entirely consumed. The above has been tried and found a sure and certain cure.