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THE SOUTHERN HSGIS,
-A. IT ID _______ HAEFOED COUNTY INTELLIGENCES. I “LET US CLING TO THE CONSTITUTION AS THE MARINER CLINGS TO THE LAST PLANK WHEN THE NIGHT AND TEMPEST CLOSE ABOUND HIM." $1 PER ANNUM. BEL AIR. MD. SATURDAY MORNING, SEPTEMBER 6,1862. VOL. VI.-NO. 36. THE SOUTHERN jEGIS IS PUBLISHED EVERY SATURDAY MORNING, BY -A.- B.AuTEIMI.AJSr, AT ONE DOLLAR PER ANNUM, IN ADVANCE, OTHERWISE One Dollar and Fifty Cents , Will be charged. RATES OF ADVERTISING. One square, (twelve lines or less,) three inser tions, SI.OO. Each subsequent insertion 25 cts. One square three months $3.00; Six months $5.00: Twelve months SB.OO. Business cards of six lines or less, $5 a year. No subscription taken for less than a year. |loftical. THE OLD MAID. „ O tell me. why, though a maid be old, Her praise may not be sung? And why her talc may not be told, How she, too, once was young, And lovers came and lovers wooed, Yet left her to pine in solitude. Her dear old schoolmates all are gone; Her sisters all are wed ; And in cruel hours she twined the flowers, To deck the beauteous head Of one who stole the heart away On which her own was set, And made her rue the luckless day (And makes her rue it yet) When a lover came and a lover wooed, Yet left her to pine in solitude. Year after year she dwells alone, While the world flits gaily by ; And the tears they start in her aching heart, But they never dim her eye ; For her grief in her secret soul abides, And she wears a cheerful air, While in her bosom the treasures she hides, Like the lock of a lost one’s hair, And dreams 6f the lover who came and wooed, Yet left her to pine in solitude. Proudly she hears her sorrowful head, Wreathed only with winter curls ; Bravely she bears the jibes and the jeers The world at the old maid hurls, For .she knows that the lot of women is hard, And that in the rude battle of life, Her bosom must often he wounded and scarred, Whether maiden, mother or wife; So, though lovers came, and lovers wooed, She would half prefer solitude. O 1 say not her heart is selfish and cold, And that nothing her love can arouse, For who bat she to the sick and the old, Is the angel in every house? Yes, in trial and trouble the old maid is near, With a balsam for all our woes, And she e'er lends an ear and drops a kind tear, When to her the young maiden goes, To tell of the lover who came and who wooed, Yet threatened to leave her in solitude. Than fell me why, though the maid bo old, Her praise may not be sung ? And why her tale may not he told, How she, too, once was young, And lovers came, and lovers wooed, Yet left her to pine in solitude. PiscUkiwiis. THE TWO HOMES. Two men on their way home met at a street-crossing, and they walked on to gether. They were neighbors and friends. “This has been a very hard day,” said Mr. Freeman, in a gloomy voice. And as they walked homeward they discour aged each other, and made darker the clouds that obscured the whole horizon. ••Good evening,” was at last said hur riedly, and the two men passed into their homes. i Mr. Walcott entered the room where’ his wife and children were gathered, and without speaking to any one, seated him self in a chair, and leaning his head back, closed his eyes. His countenance wore a sad, weary, exhausted look. He had been seated thus for only a few minutes, when his wife said, in a fearful voice ; “More trouble again.” “What is the matter now ?’’ asked Mr. Walcott almost starting. “John has been sent home from school.” “What?” Mr. Walcott partly rose from his chair. “He has been suspended for bad con duct.” “Oh dear!” groaned Mr. Walcott, “where is he ?” “Up in his room ; I sent him there as soon as ha came home. Yon’ll have to do something with him. He’ll he ruined if he goes on in this way. I’m out of all heart with him.” Mr. Walcott, excited as much by the gtbltb lo l|t ftetos of lj;t gaj, filtralnn, politics anb Central Information. manner in which his wife conveyed the unpleasant information as by the informa tion itself, started up, under the blind im pulse of the moment, and going to the room where John had been sent on coming home from school, punished the boy se verely, and.tbia without listening to the ex planations which the poor child tr ed to make him hear. “Father,” said the boy, with forced calmness, after the cruel stripes bad ceas ed, “I wasn’t to blame, and if you will go with me to the teacher, I can prove myself innocent.” Mr. Walcott had never known his son to tell an untruth, and the words fell with a rebuke upon his heart. “Very well, we will see about that,” he answered, with forced sternness, and leaving the room he went down stairs, feel ing much more uncomfortable than when he went up. Again he seated himself in his large chair, and again leaned back his weary head and closed his heavy eyelids. Sadder was his face than before. As he sat thus, his eldest daughter, in her six teenth year, came and stood by him. Sho held a paper in her hand. “Father,” he opened his eyes, “here’s my quarter’s bill. Can’t I have the mon ey to take to school with me in the morn ing ?” “I am afraid not,” answered Mr. Wal cott, half in despair. “Nearly all the girls will bring in their money to-morrow, and it mortifies me to be behind the others.” The daughter spoke fretfully. Mr. Walcott waved her aside with his hand, and she went off mut tering and pouting. “It is mortifying,” said Mrs. Walcott, a little sharply ; “and Idon’t wonder that Helen feels annoyed about it. The bill ' has to be paid, and I don’t see why it may ; not be done as well first as last.” To this Mr. Walcott made no answer. The words hut added another pressure to the heavy burden under which he was al ready staggering. After a silence of some moments, Mrs. Walcott said : “The coals are all gone.” “Impossible !’’ Mr. Walcott raised his head and looked incredulous. “I laid in sixteen tons.” “I can’t help it, if there were sixty tons instead of sixteen—they are all gone.— The girls had hard work lo day to scrape up enough to keep the fire in.” “There’s been a shameful waste some ■where,” said Mr. Walcott, with strong emphasis, starting up and moving about the room with a very disturbed manner. “So you always say when anything runs out,” answered Mrs. Walcott, rather tartly. “The barrel of flour is gone also; but I suppose you have done your part with the rest in using it up.” Mr, Walcott returned to his chair and again seating himself, leaned back his head and closed his eyes as at first. How sad, and weary, and hopeless he felt!— The burdens of the day had seemed al most too heavy for him ; but he had borne up bravely. To gather strength for a renewed struggle with adverse circum stances, he had come home. Alas ! that the process of exhaustion should still go on—that where only strength could be looked for ou earth, no strength was given. When the tea bell was rung, Mr. Wal cott made no movement to obey the sum mons. “Come to supper,” said his wife cold ly- But he did not stir. “Are you not coming to supper ?” she called to him us she was leaving the' room. \ “I don’t wish for anything this even ing. My head aches very much,” he ans wered. “In the dumps again,” muttered Mrs. Walcott to herself. “It’s as much as one’s life is worth to ask for money, or to saj anything is wanted.” And she kept ou her way to the room. When she returned, her husband was still sit ting where she had left him. “Shall I bri. g you a cup of tea?” she asked. “No, I don’t wish for anything.” “What’s the matter, Mr. Walcott?— What do you look so troubled about, as if you hadn’t a friend in the world ? What have I done to you ?’’ There was no answer, for there was not a shade of real sympathy in the voice that ' made the queries, but rather of querulous dissatisfaction. A few moments Mrs. Walcott stood behind her husband, but as be did not seem inclined to answer ques tions, she turndd away from him, and re- sumed the employment which had been interrupted by the ringing of the tea bell. The whole evening passed without the occurrence of a single incident that gave a healthful pulsation to the sick heart of Mr. Walcott. No thoughtfikl kindness was manifested by any member of the family ; but on the contrary, a narrow re gard tor self, and a looking to him only that he might supply the means of self gratification. No wonder, from the pressure which was on him, that Mr. Walcott felt utterly discouraged. He retired early, and sought to find that relief from mental dis quietude in sleep which he .had vainly hoped in the bosom of his family. But the whole night passed in broken slum ber and disturbing dreams. From the cheerless morning meal, at which he was reminded of the quarter’s bill'that must be paid, of the coals and flour that were out, and of the necessity of supplying Mrs. Walcott’s empty purse, ho went forth to meet the difficulties of another day, faint at heart, almost hopeless of success. A confident spirit, sustained by home af fections, would have carried him through ; but unsupported as ho was, the burden was too heavy for him, and he sank under it. The day that opened so unpropitious ly closed upon him a ruined man I Let us look in for a few moments upon Mr. Freeman, the friend and neighbor of Mr. Walcott. He, also, had come home weary, dispirited, and almost sick. The trials of the day had been unusually se vere, and when he looked anxiously for ward to scan the future, not even a gleam of light was seen along the black horizon. As he stepped across the threshold of . bis dwelling, a pang shot through his , heart, for the thought came—“ How slight j tbe present hold upon ail these comforts.” | Not for himself, but for Lis wife and chil dren was the pain. “Father’s come!” cried a glad little voice on the stairs the moment bis footfall sounded in the passage, then quick, pat i tering feet were heard—and then a tiny form was springing into his arms. Before reaching the sitting room above, Alice, the eldest daughter, was by his side, her arm drawn fondly within his, and her loving eyes lifted to his face. “Are you not late, dear ?” It was the gentle voice of Mrs. Freeman. Mr. Freeman could not trust himself to answer. Ho was too deeply troubled in spirit to assume at the moment a cheerful tone, and he had no wish to sadden the hearts that loved him by letting the dc j pression from which he was suffering be come too clearly apparent. But the eyes of Mrs. Freeman saw quickly below the surface. ‘‘Are you not well, Robert ?” she in quired, tenderly, as she drew his large arm-chair toward the centre of the room. “ A. little headache,” he answered, with a slight evasion. Scarce was Mr. Freeman seated ere a pair of of hands was busy with each foot, i removing gaiter and shoes, and supplying their place with a soft slipper. There was not one in the household who did not feel happier for his return, nor one who did not seek to render him some kind office. It was impossible, under such a burst of heart sunshine, for the spirit of Mr. Freeman long to remain shrouded. Al- I most imperceptibly to himself gloomy thoughts gave place to more cheerful ones, and by the time tea was ready, ho had half forgotten the fears which had so haunted him through the day. But they could not be held back alto gether, and their existence was marked during the evening by an unusual silence and abstraction of mind. This was ob served by Mrs. Freeman, who more than half suspecting the cause, kept back from her husband the knowledge of certain matters about which she had intended to speak to him, for she feared they would add to his mental disquietude. During the evening she gleaned from something he said the real cause of bis changed as pect. At once her thoughts commenced running in a new channel. By a few leading remarks she drew her husband into conversation on the subject of home expenses and the properiety of restriction in various points. Many things were mu tually pronounced superfluous and easily to be dispensed with, and before sleep fell 'soothingly on the heavy eyelids of Mr. Freeman (hat night, an entire change in their style of living had been determined upon —a change that would reduce their expenses at least one-half. “ I seo a light ahead,” were the hope ' a ful words of Mr. Freeman as he resigned himself to slumber. With renewed strength of mind and body, and a confident spirit, he went forth the next day—a day that he had looked forward to with fear and trembling. And it was only through this renewed strength and confident spirit that he was able to overcome the difficulties that loomed up, mountain high, before him. Weak des pondency would have ruined all. Home had proved his tower of strength—his walled city. Strengthened for the con flict, he had gone forth again into the world and conquered in the struggle, “I see light ahead,” gave place to “The morning breaketh.” —Orange Blossoms. Time’s Varied Pace. There are few things more strange than the different pace with which, in different minds and hearts, time seems to tread his onward course. To the little child, a year appears almost endless; to the full grown man, it seems in memory but a few days, and those so confused with the days that had preceded them, that ho can with difficulty disentagle, and fix the limits in his thoughts of any single period. When he attempts to review a year, and assign to it the events which marked its pro gress, he will probably reckon among them the occurrences of some previous year, perhaps far from that he is now con templating, but which, with its compan ions, has sunk into tbe boundless abyss of the past. To the sorrowful, time’s barque seems to be becalmed, and the slow, stagnant current on which it floats seems scarcely able to move onwards.— They wake in the morning, to find them selves only whore they fell asleep at night, the same sad scene around, the same dreary desert before; while to the gay and light-hearted the voyage is all too rapid—they would fain linger and revel in tbe sunshine which irradiates a pros pect so beautiful and so tempting. But no; the barque bounds on; and ere they thought their sails were set, they have been whirled from one end of the year' to the other. And yet time neither hastens nor retards its pace; its course is even and silent; it flows out drop by drop from the eternal fountain. Influence of Music.— Napoleon, confessedly the most consummate com mander that ever lifted a sword, who by his tactics out-generaled all Europe, had a strict regard for the pieces of music which were played by the soldiery on par ticular occasions. Certain tunes were prohibited, others used only under pecu liar circumstances; and others reserved for the final charge, retained only to fee let loose perhaps with a reserve corps; and it is stated that in making the famous passage %f the Alps, under circumstances the most appalling and dreadful, if the soldiers at any time hesitated in their march, be ordered the buglers to sound • their liveliest notes, and if the obstacle was so great as to bring them to a dead halt, the whole band was ordered to peal forth the charges of battle, which never failed to bear them over the most formi dable difficulties. Fidelity. —Never forsake a friend. When enemies gather around; when sickness falls on the heart; when the world is dark and cheerless, then is the time to try true friendship. They who turn from the scene of distress betray their hypocrisy, and proves that interest only moves them. If you have a friend who loves you and studies your interest and happiness, bo sure to sustain him in ad versity. Let him feel that his former kindness is appreciated, and his love not thrown away. Real fidelity may ho rare, but it exists in the heart. Who has not seeg and felt its power I They only de ny its worth and power who never loved a friend, or labored to make a * friend hap py- 1 a 11 The Rifle. —lt is now unknown where rifles were first made, but they were used in Europe in the 17th century, and in Ber lin, Prussia, there is a small rifle cannon having 13 grooves, which bears the date of 1664. It is a breech loader. In the 1 American revolutionary war the English bad several 2 pounder rifle cannon, the range of which was I,soo yards, while in 1 accuracy they surpassed all other pieces of ' that period. It was in the army under i Washington, however, that select corps of I riflemen were first employed. It is said that their success led first to the introduc tion of rifle regiments into Eutopean or- ' mies. i M " l —^——— * A Puzzled Pig. One of oar farmers being much annoy* ed by his best sow breaking into bis corn field, search was instituted in vain for a bole in the rail fence. Failing to find one, an attempt was next made to drive out the animal by the way she entered; but of course without success. The own er resolved to watch her proceedings, and posting at night to a fence corner, he saw her enter at one end of a hollow log, out side the fence, and emerge at the other end, within the enclosure. “I have you now, old lady,” cried he. Accordingly he proceeded, after turning her out once more, to so place the log, (it being very crooked) that both ends opened outside the field. The next day the animal en tered her accustomed place, and emerged again. Her astonishment, says our in formant, at finding herself in the same position whence she started, is too ludic rous to be described! She looked this way and then that, grunted her dissatis faction, and finally returning to the origi nal starting place, and after a deliberate survey of things to satisfy herself that all was right, again entered the log. On emerging onco more on the wrong side, she evinced even more surprise than be fore ; and turning about retraced the log in an opposite direction. Finding this effort alike in vain, after looking long and attentively at the position of things, with a short angry grunt of disappointment, and perhaps fear, she turned short around and started off on a brisk run; nor could either coaxing or driving ever induce a visit to that part of the field. She seem ed to have a ‘‘superstition concerning the spot.” Stretch it a Little.—A little girl and her brother were on their way to the grocer’s one wintry morning. The ground was white with frost, and the wind was very sharp. They were both poorly dres sed, but the little girl had a sort of coat over her, which she seemed to have out grown. As they walked briskly along she drew her little companion close up to her, saying, “Come under my coat. John ny.'’ “It isn’t big enough for both,’’ he replied. “I think I can stretch it a lit tle,” she said j and they were soon as close together and as warm as two birds in the same nest. How many shivering bodies, and heavy hearts, and weeping eyes there are in the world just because people do not stretch their comforts a lit- ' tie beyond themselves. ASST Three or four times a couple ap peared before a clergyman for marriage, but the bridegroom was drunk, and the rev erend gentleman refused to tie the knot. On the last occasion he expressed his sur prise that so respectable a looking girl was not ashamed to appear at the alter with a man in such a state. The poor girl burst into tears and said sho could not help it. “And why, pray ?” “Because, sir, be won’t come when be sober.” Can a Body Eat With ’Em.—An el derly lady who was handling a pair of ar tificial plates in a dental office, and admir ing the fluency with which the dentist described them, asked him— “ Can a body oat with these things ?” “My dear madam, mastication eon be performed with them with a facility scarce ly excelled by nature herself,” responded the dentist. “Yes, I know, but can a body eat with them ?” BST “What makes yon look so gram, Tom ' “Oh, 1 have had to endure a sad trial to my feelings.’’ “What on earth was it ?” “Why, I had to tie on a pretty girl's bonnet while her ma was looking on.” In Upper Austria the miners and peasants, old and young, strew arsenic like salt on their bread, and eat it without injury, to preserve a youthful appear ance ! Nature seldom lavishes of her gifts upon one subject: the peacock has no voice; the beautiful Camelia Japonioa has no odor; and belles, generally speaking, have no great share of intellect. ' . • : —..■. ■ ■ woman who never interfered with her husband’s affairs, arrived in town the other day. She is an—old maid.