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"** v/ * ' HR A, '^".' -9 f J ' ^ j .': S2 PER ANNUM. w^c"VV^":.,.? IN ADVANCE NEUTRAL IN POLITICS?DEVOTED TO LITEMS , COMMERCIAL, AGRICULTURAL, SCIENTIFIC, GENERAL AND LOCAL INTELLIGENCE. VOLUME IV. LANCASTER, C. H.. SO fH CAROL1NA WEDNESDAY MORNING, MARCH 7, IMS NUMBEIU DHIPTD V ?<1 up above the elbow, for convenience in I chase on thi night previous to the one | bush in th< thickeit part of the swamp. I of takinc a new course for the'roatnf il>? I * Tk^n;.- oi..?.v I II I Hi I II I rlninrf wnvlr 1 UJLi 1 IV X For the Latuatter Jjtdger. THE BACHELOR. Whan darkness does o'er nature spread, And sleep, sweet image of the dead, The death of each day's stormy life, Dispels all care and sooths all atrifc, The Bachelor, at silent eve. Doth sit and o'er his troubles grieve? His books lie open, but his mind Doth, in imagination, find Those golden dreams which happy lie, Like as At# ira lights the sky. While soon the orb of bright array Soon ushers in approaching day. Tho' trancient friends may bid dull care RMmna vol Inn lu luum ?. n.... m J~"> ? v "fr"' ? For solitude presents her claim ; Reality remaios the same? The wings of thought soon mount on high? The* heart, it speaks but with a sigh, But in that sigh & glowing fire, A secret, heartfelt, fond desire, Doth w hisper that an angel form Would sooth all grief, and calm (lie storm Of discontent?and rest, sweet rest. Would calm the weaiy, anxious breast. That form whose smiles angelic beam Along life's rolling, torbid atre ?m? Whose voice doth like sweet music steal, And doth the wounds of sorrow heid. That angel form which calm* all strife, Doth sweetly bear the name of wifr. SELECT TALES? Front the Star Spangled Banner. l)r Ctuuluujs, OR THE FATAL VEST, A Tftl* ( the Revolution. BT V UltKES. CIIAPTEU I. Th? day had been cold bihI dreary. October with all its glorious Wauiics, had passed away, and chill winds, with clouds of threatening hue, flew swiftly by. The I old ahrilt note of the daring jar waa heard more loud and clear in the almost deserted forcer, and the car|>et of leaver, colored by nature's art, had Wen woven by the blast, and spread on the earth beneath. On the top of a small hill that inclined gently to the north, stood a large house, with the upper story pr.jecting about a fool over the lower, and the eaves three t -. * i.i. - - - m iwur itrei Wjonu (IIHI. u would have puxled Sir Christopher Wren to hare told what order of architecture it waa intended to represent. The lower rooms were large, and the kitchen bad an immense fireplace near one end, there were two beds in this room, which were placed as uear the fire as convenience would allow. The furniture waa of the plainest kind. The bedsteads were coarsely made, with low posts, without the least attempt at ornament, and free from either paint or varnish. The chairs were of two or three kinds, with one or two of each sort. Those bottomed with basket stuff were the heat, and two stools, made like those now need for milking, were standing in the oornera. The 'plate* consisted of a few fsw large pewter dishes and spoons. The family who occupied ibis house ??e eight in namber; the parents and rfs children, the eldest about sis teen. fkaa laser) ki niasl * ? ? - * _ _ .mi >vu Mirvw, HUM WW WU ID M?C Tbs miin was dnmil in l plain suit of homespun, butternut colored cloth, ami engaged la shelling com, a basket of which bad been placed ia a corner near the Ire. The eldest boy, n lad of fourteen, was helping bis father, while the youngest child, n girl of eight, was engaged la building cob houses out of the materials flemished by her father sad brother. Aa her mother was slight!j indisposed H Ml apon Ruth, the oldest girl to make the best/ pudding, which was to be their . ceenmg 8he was a tall and deader girl with deck brown hair, and deep bine eyes. Her failures were regular, and her complexion purely white, with hardly a tinge of red on her pale cheek, exeept when flashed by the glowing firs. ?u . inr ufkm wm owl; oo#r*? tombftsta, J. m it wm ihon call*), which fltu4 cIom tmum! l?*r iMick, with tag tan ?mm)? j?*i largo owoagfc ? ?Wl of tang t?%' m ffilffr ^*2$ 5> SRF - <.' A Jfc* iririii 1> ? Moses and Abel, two sturdy boys of eleven mid thirteen years, wore paring pumpkins, a large supply of wbicb, cut up in circular slices, was already hung on poles overhead to dry. Mary, a pretty little dark eyed girl, was sittjng by her mother, with knitting j work in hand, though her wandering eyes turned from her work to the corn, the I pumpkins and the pudding, where they often rested, did not admit of much progress, as she was not skilful enough to knit without their aid. She was, in truth, tired and hungry as her kind mother well knew, and patting her gently on the head, she told Mary to put away her work and get the table ready, ilow her eyes sparkled as she jumped up to obey this welcome order! Moses turned from his work to throw a piece of pairing Alter sis, as she bounded by, while Abel, more watchful than his illustrious namesake, slyly reached into his brother's pocket, and took from theuce a large and fair apple, which the former had vainly though t of keeping for his Sunday dinner. l4Sifl the meal finely through your tingers liulh, and stir it well; there, now, let it boil a few minutes before you put in anything more. The beauty of pudding is in having it well done, aud tree from bunches. As Mrs Johnson said this she went to the fire, and looked at the boiling mass; then seeming satisfied w ith its appearance returned to her seat. The pudding was soon ready, and with a large supply of new milk, was placed on the table. The family stood around, and afttir a blassiug bad been asked, the oldest sat down and all commenced eating. klr. Johbson was a good man. There was no touch ot hypocracy in hia religion, but he was always to be (bund in the same track, and bis neighbors knew where to look for him.?His children had been brought up in the old fashioned way, and the will of their parents was with ihem the law. The oldeat son, a young man of twen ty, had left Lome a year previous to join the army under Washington. His term of service had now expired, and ho was expected back. James was a smart, active fellow, with with a good share of patriotism, a hardy frame, and well fitted for a soldier. Living on the Jersy line, on the edge of Pennsylvania, his home was not far from the seat of war, and the danger to which his friends were exposed, as the region came into temporary possession of the enemy, nerved hiui for greater effort than would have otherwise been made, i Thus, at the age of niucteen, with his knapsack on his back, containing only a few days provisions, he joined the army as a volunteer, just before the battle of Trenton, and shared the glory of that splendid victory. The campaign for the season was now nearly closed and James proposed to spend the winter at home, and return in the Spring to the ranks. Mr. Johnson had made money in a farmer's slow way, before the war. It was not so hard to do it then, for fashion was not so powerful as she is now, and a man's station waa not so often regulated hy his dress and furniture. He gave his children such means for acquiring knowledge as the poor schools of Uie region would afford; and what they wanted in information was made up in good will. Such was the family of the honeet former .1?Let us now look at n circle around another fireside, not far distant, and see what signs of character may he there revealed. CHAPTER IL In a little dark valley, aboat a mile from Johnson's bowse, there was a dwelling somewhat smaller than tbe one which we hare described. it contained two dim, a father and hie two eone. Tbo former wu a large stout man, with gray ayaa and light hair. The sons were rather smaller,b?t men in sine. They were smooth-faced young men, and quite good looking, though a good judge of human nature might thiak there wee a want of boeeaty in their appearance. Let as fcUow them home from the *[ % * 4 1" *<r '.i"; f> k- i lose to tho road rhicb James must pass m his return, and llcre await the result. " saic CHA7RER III. thr< The long and aeary hours were pas- J ed in silence till 4ie sun had descended tak< linost to the wedern hi'Is, but still he ioue ame not. wh< Steel and his bojs had not been seen,and slioi ohnson was begiming to think that the 1 :irl had be^n decrived. when a rustlimr of t mentioned. ~ c Tliey had hunted all day without sue- o cess, and chagrined at the result, were not in the best of spirits. As soon as the table was cleared the wife and children were ordered off to bed. s "Clear out, away with you," said the a master; "we have business to-night and c want the room to ourselves." They disappeared, for Steele was nman J who insisted on being obeyed, and prided g himself on his authority ntid management ? at home.?His father had come from the b old country when young, aud by exam- a pie and precept had encouraged his son to * cherish the Englishman's hobby of domestic rule by absolute power. s "Now, boys," said he, "I have a plan h which you must know. Don't start if it a seems rather rough; but if we want to keep our station something must be done, d If you are willing to be trodden under foot r and rode over by an old hypocrite, I have nothing more to say; but if you have o spirit enough to maintain your rights, it I1 will be well for you to hear my advice, il You know that Johnson and his family consider themselves too good to keep our t company. They are on the side of the rebels, and I think this is a good chance t for us to do the royal cause a service. lie <a is growing rich, aud, I'vingso near, makes our poverty seem worse to our neighbors, h as well as ourselves. I think we may 1 bring them down a trifle, and no one be d the wiser for it. What do you say, a boys t" "I am just of your mind," said Robert, t the oldest. They are getting quite too f much stuck up to suit my notion. It was only a few weeks ago that Ruth refused t my company,and I swore vengence against them all at the time. I don't mean it shall be an idU threat." r "You know James is expected back f to-morrow. Let us go and slop him inthe swamp that he will have to pass." a "But what shall we do with him," said c Andrew, the youngest. a "Shoot the proud dog, or hang him up by the neck," repleid Steele, "that is plen- I ty good enough for such conceited rascals I ss he is." "Agreed," said Robert. c -Andrew was rather backward at first, s but bv tho persuasion of his friends, final- t ly consented, and it was agreed that they i should go diffeient ways, and meet in the u swnm|> about noon, with all necessary e- n <piipments for their nefarious purpose. There was a girl of about ten who had f lived about five years in the family, and t who was now regarded by Steele as one c of his own children. t With the curiosity natural to her age, I she had crept to the door and listened to the conversation without being descov- \ ered. i It happened that she and Mary had * been greao friends at school, and Jane re- * solved to save her brother. Hastening to the back door after the I others were all asleep, she set out for tho ? house of Mr. Johnson. It was after twelve I when this brave and tearless child arrived * and roused the family. With a presence of mind which could r not have been expected, she called him " aside, and explained the object of her ^ visit. " Johnson, filled with wonder and admi- * ration, pressed her tab is heart, and car* r ried her nearly back in bis arms. Telling ber to be very careful about get* ting in, or speaking to any one of what be had done, he returned to devise means * for avoiding tb? threatened danger. After upending the real of the night in | anxious thought, he rose early, and taking ^ his rifle, told the family that tie thought of passing the day in the woods, and then j crossing the hill, he stopped at a cottage ( which was occupied by two brothers, who were used to the rifle, and fond of . a hunting. Richard ami llenery Marsh were old , friends of hie, and such as he thought y worthy of confidence. j As Johnson was good company they t gladly aooepted his invitation to spend % the day in their favorite sport. j When they were fairly ia the woods, he made known to them the information t he had reeeived. At first, they were in* t dined to treat it lightly; hut when all i the circumstances had been duty weighed f it waa thought beat to act in aooovdance with it a Their final oondusion waa to lie in am* t -Ji ras heard in the lushes, and the "cow- fori oys" stood before them. They were all will rmed with muskets, and looked as though blue omething had gone wrong ith wtliein. fore "I'll he darned if this ain't too bad,'' had aid Steele, leaning on his gun '. " utiles? " e comes soon we shall have to give it up fran nd go home." sigli This was said ia a low, clear tone, and awn istinetly heard by Johnson and his com- C, ades. he I " Ain't it shocking to think that oue's gcr, Id neighbors are plotting against him." I 'or my part I can't bear the thoughts of turt L," whispered Richard. too "Let us show ourselves and challenge thei hem to a fair figR" said Henry. cu'l "No replied Johnson, "I bad rather not, J he boys Are not so much to blame, and hea ven he may yet relent," star "lie will not come to-night, for there the ias already been plenty of time, if he had and eft the camp," said Steele, as lie shoal- Doc lered his gun ; come, we will go back S ,nd return Monday." kne They then marched away in the direc- witl ion of home, leaving Johnson and his in h liends alone in the woods. I "Do you think that they will come back, dee hen!" inquired Richard. ?olt "I fear so," was Johnson's calm reply. 1 44So do 1/*' remarked Henry, at any Ste ate we had better be on hand, and ready a fc or them." trie This was agreed to, and they returned. 41 is it was now dark, and there was no oc- "It as ion for their staying longer in the watnp. bis Wn i,?r?i 1 "?j imio ovt.ii duuiiiiun m 1118 worK bat evening, anil observed that his fami- befi y were yet unconscious of danger. ? The Sabbath was passed in the usual this luiet manner. Johnson knew that his "K'i on would not return on that day, and I he family went to church. In the even- )ou ng, the old catechism was taken up, ,,ot tod " chief end of man," was discus- I ed. sen Moses, though answering by the book, ^ue elt his mouth water as lie turned towards P*r he huge pumpkin pie which was placed W'M >n the table, and felt, in spite of his words 0119 hat the article in question had conbidera- 1 >le to do with his existence. Pro Abel had so for relented from his pre- 80,1 nous intention, as to share the apple mal vhich lie had stolen the night before, ,e'f vitli his brother, on condition that he ven hould say nothing to "dad" al>out it. ^ Iluth was " well slicked up" in her l',e >eat, and though expiecting a beau, look- '*" d as innocent and unconscious as if she ^orc tad not yet learned the meaning of the 'y> rord. w?l In those days early courtships and mar- ^ne iages were not consi lered so "fatal" as ,n 1 iow, and keeping company with half a ?' " lozen was not thought so proper as in this .ge of refinement. Nature, was thought * rorthy of consultation in this as in other *re natters. tur? CHAPTER IV. feet The camp waa at this lime about twen- es ? y miles from the house of James, lie acq ad intended to return Saturday; but Bui ne of his comrades waa taken sick on girl hat morning, and Jamea remained to tliei tke care cf hiro. Not Kiting early on Monday, he found that any tit sick friend waa much better, and col- lan( acting the few thinge he could call hie aort wn, he left the camp in company with cau mother young man who had known him enj< efore entering the ranks. The soldier sect rat about the age and size of James. He tad come from the South, where some of > lis friends lived ; but having relatives in ami hat direction, he had received leave of whi ibtence for a short time, and wee now will ping with James to visit then). phe Jesting, laughing and telling stories, to f he two young men walked cheerfully on hes ill they bad nearly reeched the forest, the vhere Steele and his sons were waiting reli ior one of them. the A new though! seemed to present it- tioi elf to James ft this moment, and turning dor o the other, he intimated hie iaMntion wei * it^ a * "*"* w* *"v rO, yea, by all means; I understand," I his mate; "go ahead, I will keep on )ugh the swamp forest, ohnson and his trusty comrades had en their former station, and wore anxily waiting the appearance of James i tn the loud report of a musket at a i rt distance startled them. I 'hey sprang forward in the direction | he sound, and, O, God ! what a sight i fathers eye! 'lhere he lay covered :i blood, while thee ruffians, painted i :k, stood at a little distance, and the i most was loading the gun which he i just discharged. ] Yes, it is he," said Johnson, almost tic with grief and rage, as he caught j it of the vest which his son had worn \ iy: ' fcuickly raising the rifie to his shoulder | ired, before Steele, who saw his danhad time to get behind a tree, le fell, and his sons were about to re1 the fire; but the old hunters were | quick for tbem, and tbe balls from r rifles pierced tbc vitals of wretched irlts. ohnson dashed forward, and raised tbe d of tbe soldier, but dropping it initly, be staggered and almost fell to ground. Iu a moment be kneeled, raising bis eves to heaven, thanked 1 that it was not his son. iteele was not yet dead, and Richard ling beside him, was wetting his lips ii a little water which he bad brought lis canteen. le had not yet spoken, but groaning ply, bad kept bis eyes fixed on tbe lier he bad shot. lenry now turned over tho body, and ele bad a full view of tbe face. With jarful scream, be started forward, and d to rise; but it was too late. O, God, mercy 1" be cried in anguish, have shot my own ton 1" The miserable wretch bad indeed shot own boy, who had returned from the ith, and joined the army a few months >re, without his father's knowledge, iteele lived but a few moments after i fearful discovery, and those were moats of inexpressible suffering.* lis second son died before him, but the ingest, who was the least guilty, was mortally wounded. Ie was conveyed home, and a surgeon t for. After a long and painful conment, be recovered, and leaving that t of the country, settled in the West, are be becume a respectable and virtucitizen. Cmily, tbe little girl whose service had ved so valuable, was taken into John's family, and adopted by him. She rried well, and lived long, proving herns remarkable for wisdom as this adturc seemed to promise. The vest, which had been so fata! to wearer and bis friends, was given by lies to his comrade only a few days bei. It was long preserved in the fainiand after James bad grown old, he ild often take his gradcbildren on bis e?, and by the cheerful blaze of the fire he long winter eve, tell tbem tbc story The Cowboys, or, The Fatal vest." tccoM !* i.isii mknth.?Accomplishments to the more solid parts of education it a handsome frame is to a good pic>They add to the beauty and perion of the character?where it po&sessometbing yet more beautiful in solid uirements of mind, and graces of heart, t where they are tho best parts of a 'h education, they lose half even of ir beauty, and almost all their value. L fnr ft ntAnnnnl wahI.1 f ? w .MW...VM* ITVUIU A UIIUCI ? HIUC accomplishment; every art, every ?uage every acquirement of whatever , is valuable to a woman ; not only best it gives her occupation and home >yment, but also because it is another irity against misfortune. iVorth Knowimo.?It is said that a ill piece of rosin dipped in the water ich is placed in a vessel on the stove I add a peculiar property to the atmoere of the room, which will give relief >ersons troubled with a cough. The it of the water ia sufficient to throw off aroms of the roain, and gives the same ef as ia afforded by a combustion of roain. It is preferable to the eoaabusi, because the evaporation ia more able. 1 he same roain may be naed for the. #* y* " * w *' "% ' a * 40 U AlUilllUg D&Vtbil^ THE WORSTED STOCKING[Tlie following thrilling adventure is from an English Magazine :] "Father will have done the great chimney to-hight, won't he mother!" said little Tom Howard, as he stood waiting for his father's breakfast, which he carried lo him at his work every morning. "He said he hoped all the scaffolding would be down to-night," answered his mother "and that'll be a fine sight; for I never like the ending of those great chimneys; it's so risky; thy father's to be the last up." "And then," continued his mother, "if all goes on right, we are to have a frolic to-morrow, and go into country; and take sur dinners, and spend all day amotigst Lhe woods." "Hurrah !" cried Tom, as he ran off to his father's place of work, with a can of mil's in one hand and some bread in the other. His mother stood at the door, watching him as he went merrily whistling down the street, and then she thought of the dear father he was going to, and the dangerous work he was engaged in, and then her heart sought its sure refuge and she prayed to God to protect and bless her treasures. 10m, wun a nglit tieart, pursued liis way to his father, and leaving him his breakfast, went to his own work, which was at some distance. In the evening, on his way home, he went round to see how his father was getting on. James Howard, the father, and a number of other workmen had been building one of those lofty chimneys, which, in our great manufacturing towns, almost supply the place of other architectural beauty. This chimney was one of the highest and most tapering that had ever been erected ; and as Tom, shading his eyes from the slanting rays of the setting sun looked up to the top in search of his father, his heart almost sunk within him at the appalling sight. The scaffolding was almost all down; the men at the bottom were re moving the last beams and poles, Tom's father stood alone at the top. He looked all round to see that every thing was right, and then waving his hat in the air, the men below answered him with a long, loud cheer, little Tom shouting as heartily as any of them. As their voices died away, however, they heard a very different ' sound?a cry of alarm and horror from above! "Tho rope! the rope !*'? The men looked round and, coiled upon the ground, lay the rope, which before the scaffolding was removed, should have been fastened to the top of the chimney for Tom's father to come down by 1 The scaffolding had been taken down, without their remembering to take the rope up.? There was a dead silence. They all knew it was impossible to throw the rope up high enough, or skilfully enough, to reach the top of the chimney ; or if it could, it would hardly have been safe. They stood in silent dismay unable to give any help, or think of any means of safety. And Tom's father. He walked round and round the little circle, the dizzy height seeming every moment to grow more fearful, and the solid earth further and further from hiin. In the sudden panic he lost his presence of mind, and his senses almost failed him. He shut his eyes; he felt as if the next moment he must be dashed to pieces on the ground below. The day had passed as industriously and as swiftly as usual, with Tom's moth a 1 - Ol -I ? vr hi iiume. one wins always ousuy employed for her husband and childien, in some way or other; and to-day she had been harder at work than usual getting ready lor the holiday to-morrow. Sho had just finished her preparations, and her thoughts were silently thanking Ood for her happy home, and for all the bless ings of life when Tom ran in. His face was as white as ashes, and he could hardly get his words ont t "Mother!' mother! He cannn gel down." "Whof lad! Thy father!" asked the mother. "Tlrey've forgotten fo leave him the rope," answered Tom, still scarcely able to speak. His mother started up, horrorstruck, and stood for a moment as if paralysed ; then prsssiug her bands over her face ae if to abut out the terrible picture and breathing a prayer to God for help, she rushed out of the house* * % # I -sL - .. a SETw St, 1 wnen she reached the place where her husband was at work, a crowd had Collected round theJbot of the chimney, and stood there quite helpless, gazing up with faces of sorrow. "He says he'll throw himself down,'* exclaimed they, as Mrs. Howard came up. "He is going to throw biniself down.'' Thee munna do th it, lad ?" cried the wife, with clear, hopeful voice, "thee munna do that. Wait a bit. Tak' off thy stocking lad, and unravel it, and let down the thread with a bit of rnortar. Dost hear me Jem ?" The man made a sign of assent, for it seemed as if he could not speak ; and taking off his stocking unravelled the worsted thread row after row. The people stood round in breathless silence and suspense, wondering what Tom's mother could be thinking of, and why she sent him in such haste for the carpenter's ball of twine. "Let down one end of the thread with a bit of stone, and keep fast hold of the other,'' cried she to her husband. The little thread came waving down ?1>o chimney, blown hither and thither by the wind, but at last it reached the outstretched hands that were waiting lor it. Torn held the ball of string, while his mother tied one end of it to the worsted thread; "Now pull it up slowly," cried slu t:> her husband, and she gradually unwound the string as the worsted drew it gently up. It stopped?the string had reached hei husbanh. "Now, hold the string fast, and pull it up," cried she, and the string grew heavy and hard to pull, for Tom and his mother bad fastened the thick rope to it. They watched it gradually and slowly uncoiling from the ground as the string was drawu higher. There was but one coil left; It had reached the top. "Thank God I" exclaimed the wife. She hid ber face in her hands in silent prayer, and, trembling, rejoiced. The rope was up. The iron to which it should be fasteued was there all right; but would her husband be able to make use of tbem !?wouki not the terror of the past hour have to unnerved him, as to prevent him from taking the necessary measures for his safety! She did not know the magic influence which her few wards had exercised over him.? She did not know the strength that the sound of her voice, so calm and steadfast had filled him with?as if the little thread that carried him the hope of life once more had conveyed to him some portion of that faith in God, which nothing ever destroyed or shook in her true heart. She did not know that, as he waited there, the words came over him, "Why art thou cast down, O my soul ? and why art thou disquieted within me! Hope thou in God." She lifted up her heart to God for hope and strength. She could do nothing more for her husband, and hev heart turned to God, and rested on Hiin as on a rock. There was a great shout. "He's safe, mother, "hofs afe," cried little Tom.? "Thou'st saved me, Mary," said her husband, folding her in his arms. "But what ails thee ? Thou seem'st more sorrv than glad about it." But Mary cculd not speak ; and if the strong arm of ber husband had not held her up, she would have fallen to the ground?the sudden joy, after such g:?.it fear, had overcome her. "Tom," aaid his father, "let thy mother lean on thy nhoulder, and we wi|i take "MB her home." ij? j And in their happy home they poured fourth their thanks to God for Ilia greet goodness ; and their happy life together foil dearer and holier for the peril it had been in, and for the nearness that the danger had brevght them ucto God. And I the holiday next day?was it not, indeed, a thanksgiving day f ^ ti-W A good man it influenced by God himself, and has a kind of divinity withi* j him. w jKflT There > in this life no uaffce.-- ? 1 affection?it soothes, it hallowa, alleviates and aubduM. JOT If you hare anything to do, do> ? it: bat if f?u hnvn't anything to d< , for Jt | Heaven'* take keep out of mischief, ? 5 JW Every tecood offtinw, tbougboet the buay hours of the day, and during 1 the silence of night, art immortal tool la [ pasting from time ieto