Lancaster Examiner and Herald

              i^Hi'^
VOL XXXVI.
J. A, HIESTAND, J. F. OTBBRi R HEdKBBT.
, mnn TKB-xtBMor        	
HIESTAin), HUBEB & HECEEBT.
onioi niHMn 4vn> msrr.
.q?HE EXAMINEB & HEBALP
Js PwbHOUd Weeldy, al Ttoo DoOan a Tear.
ADYEBTIEKUKNTB WiU b«. Iiwarted «t tte rateof 91 00 psr sfaan,oft«A Unas, for thrss Insei^ tloas or less; and 35 o«nU per sqaara for aaeb additional laierUon. <»
AdTsrUsemBnU exesedlng 10 Unes vill be aliaisad S rents psr line for ths 1st busrtlon, and S oenta per Use far •ooh snbseqnent insenloB.
BoslneBs Adrertlsements Ineerted by the qnarter half year or year, wUIle charged as follows:
3 Toonths. 6 numths. 13 months
OasSqnare *8 00 '
Two   "        6 00
Jtf colnmn 10 00
u      ••       18 00
1 .     - SOOO
BDSIKBSS KOTICBS Inserted before Marrlagea aud Deaths, doable tbs regnlar rates.
IJ-All adTertialng accounts ar* considered ooUeota- ble at tho expiration of half the period contracted for. Transient adTertlsementa. OAsa
$soo
800
18 00
¦U 00
« 00
*8S2
19 00
UOO
tiOO
80 00
THE DEATH OF THE OLD TEAK.
Fnll knee-deep lies tho ^vintor adow. And wiater winds aro wearily sighing: Toll ye lho church-ball sad and slow. And tread softly and speak low, For the old year lies n-dying.
Old year, yon must not die;
You camo to UB so readily.
Ton lirod with us so steadily,
Old yoar, you shall not dio.
He liclh still: ho doth not movo :
He will not see the dawn of day.
Ho hath no othor life above.
He garo mo a friend, and'a true true-love.
And the ^ew-year will tako 'em away.
Old year, you must not ^o;
So long OS you bare been with ub,
Snch joy as you bavo seen with us.
Old year, you shall not go.
He frothed his bumpers to the brim; A jollier year wc ahall not aeo. But though his eyes are waxing dim, And though hia foes speak ill of him, He was a friend to me.
Old yesf, you shall not dio;
Wo did BO langh and cry with you,
I've half a mind to die with you.
Old year, if yon muat dio.
He was full of joke and jest, Bnt all his merry quips are o'er. To seo him die, across the waste His son and heir dotb ride post-haste. But ho '11 be dead hefore.
Ever}' one for his own.
Tbe night ia starry and cold, my friend,
And the Kcw-ycar, blithe and hold, my friend.
Comes up to take hts own.
How hard he breathe."! over tho snow I heard just now the crowing cock. The shadows Hitktr to and fro; The cricket chirps: the light burns luw : 'T is nearly twelve o'clock.
Shako hands, before you die.
Old year, wq 'll dearly rue for you :
¦\Vhot is it we can do for you?
Speak out before you die.
nis face is growing fharp and thin. Alack! our friend ia gone. Close up hie eyes : tio np his chin : Step from the corpse, and lot him in Tbat Btandcth there slonc.
And waiteth at tbe door.
Thero's a now foot on thc fioor, my friend.
And a new face at the door, my friend,
A new faco at the door.
A STOEY OF THANKSGIVIKG
TIME.
Old Jacob Newell sat despondent beside bis ailting-room fire. Gray-haired and venerable, witb a bnndred bard lines, telling of the work of time and strnggle and misfortane, farrow¬ ing his pale faoe, he looked the inoamation of silent sorrow and hopelessness, waiting in qniet meekness for the advent of the King of Terrors: waiting, but not hoping, for his doming ; withoat desire to die, bat with no dre&d of death.
At a short distance from him, in an anoient Btraight-backed ro(;king-ohair, dark with age, and olamsy in its antique carvings, sat his wife. StilSy npright, and with an almost painfnl primness in dress and figure, she sat knitting rapidlj and with closed eyes. Her face was rigid aa a mask; the motion in her fingers, as she plied her needles, was spas¬ modic ani machine-like; the figure, thougu quiet, wore an air of iron repose tbat was moat uneasy and unnatural. Still, though the maak and from the figure tbere stole the aspect and air of one who had witbin her deep walls of sweetness and love whioh only strong trfiining or power of education had thus cover¬ ed np and obscured. She looked of that stern Puritanical stock wbose iron will con¬ quered the severity of New England winters and overcame the stubbomess of its granite Idlls, and whose idea of a perfeot hfe consisted in the rigoroas discbarge of all Christian du¬ ties, and tbe banishment, forever aud at all times, oftbe levity of pleasnre and the folly of amueement. Sbe could have walked, if need were, with composure to the stake; but she could neitber have joined ina game at oards, nor have entered into a romp witb Uttle ohildren. All this was was plainly to be seen in the stem repose of her countenance and the Btifif harshness of her figure.
Upon tbe stained deal table, standiug a little in tbe rear and partially between the two, reposed an open Bible. Between its leaves lay a pairof large, old-fashioned, ailver bowed spectacles, whioh tbe husband had bat recently laid there, after reading tbe usaal daily chapter of Holy "Writ. He had ceased bat a moment bt»fore, aud had laid them down with a beavy sigh, for his heart to-day was sorely oppressed; and no wonder; for, foUowing his gaze around tbe room, we find upon the otherwise bare walls five sad me¬ mentos of those who had *'goue before,'*— five coarse and nnartistic, but loviug tributes to the dead.
There they hang, framed in black, each with its white tomb and overhanging willow, and severally inscribed to tbe memories of Mark John, James, Uartha, and Mary Newell.    All their flock. None left to honor and obey, none to cheer, none to lighten the labor or soothe tbe oares. All gone, and these two left behind to travel hand in hand, but desolate, though together, to tbe end of their eartbly pilgrimage. ' There had, indeed, been oue other, but for him there hnng no loviug memorial.   He waa the  youngest of all, and such a noble, strong, and lusty infant, that the father, in the pride of his heart, and with his  Scriptural names had cbristeued him Samson.   He, too, bad gone; bat in the dread gallery tbat bung about the room tbere was no framed funeral picture "To the Memory of Samson Newell." If inthe tomb of his father's or mother's heart he lay baried, no oatward token gave note thereof- So the old ooaple sat alone before tbe sitting- room fire.   It was not often used, thia room,— scarcely ever now, except upon Sunday, or cn those  two grave holidays   that  the Newells kept,—Thanksgiving-and-Fast-Day.  Thie was Thanks-giving-Day.   Tiie snow without was falling thick aud fsst.   It came in great eddies and white whirls, obscuring tbe prospect from the windows and scadding madly around the Domeis. It lay in great drifts against thb fen¬ ces, and one large pile before tbe middle front- window had gathered volume till it reached half up the second row of panes; for it had snowed all night snd half the day before. The roads were so blocked by it that they wonld bave been rendered impasaabla bnt for the Btordy efforts of the farmers' boys, who drove terms of four and five yokes of oxen throagh the drifts with heavily laden sleds, breaking ont the ways.   The sidewalks in the little vil- Uge were shoveUed and swept clean as faat aa the snowfeU; for, though all business waa sospended, according to the suggestion in the Governor's proolamation, and in conformity to old. usage, StiU tbey liked to keep the paths open on Thanksgivlng-Day,—the pathg and the zoads; for nearly half tb« fiunlUeB in the
uny t6'axiirBm^^'^j^y()i\ah, iihbald hftve beex^Atitht jmUiMdBUiifo&.on th«.pnTlouB evening, bttt badbMalupt biok by tfae snow. Bat Jaooband&nth-|?<iwkui^,nelt^^^ son nor dAoghier, gnndohiidjOOOBin, n of
UIJ xwunjien. or remoteuest,. to expwt; for the white' «&ow ^ eorraied r with ft oold' mintle Jttjonaof mt>tnda in mny ,gr»veyM^ whw la,^, thfsti: dead. . And tlia^ sftt Uits day and Uiought of ftU their kindred who perished on- timely,—all save one.
Whetlier he lived, or whether he had died, —where he lay boried, if buried he were,— or where he rioted, if still in tha land of Uvingi they had no notion. And why Bhould they oare?
He had been a strong-willed and wild lad.— Hehaddisobeyedtheinjtinotions ofhis parenta while yet a boy. He bad not loved the atiff, sad Babbiitha, nor the gloomy Satarday nighta. He had rebelled againat the austerities of Faat- and-Thanksgiving-Days. He had leamed to play at oards and to roll tenpins with the vil¬ lage boya. He had smohod in the tavem bar¬ room of eveidngB> In v^ had his father tried to coerce him into better ways; in vain had hia mother nsed all the persuasions of a maternal pride and fondness that ahowed themselves only, of all her children, to thiB brave, hand^ aome, and reokless boy. • He had gone from worse to worae, after tbe first outbreaking from the strict home rules, until he had beoome at length a by-word in the I'illage, and anxious mothers warned their sons against companion¬ ship with wioked Samson Newell,—and this when he was only seventeen years of age.
Perhaps mildness might have worked well with the aelf-willed boy, but his father knew nothteg bat stem oommand and prompt obedi¬ ence in family management; and so tbe son daily fell away, nntil oamo the inevitable day when his wrong-doing reaohed a climax and he left his fither's roof forever.
It was on a Thanksgiving-Day, fifteen years ago, that the boy Samson, then seventeen yeara old, waa brought home drank and bleed¬ ing. He had passed the previoos night at a ball at the tavem, againsl the express com¬ mand of hia father, who wonld have gone to fetch him away, bat that be could not bear to enter upon a Boene he thonght so wioked, and especially upon snoh an errand. When the dance was over, the boy had lingered at the bar, drinking glass after glass, until he got into a fight with the bully of the village, whom he thrashed within an inoh of his life, and then he had sat down in a small side-room with a few choice spirits, with the avowed purpose of getting drank over his viotory. He had got drtink, "gloriously drunk" his friends at the tavern styled It, and had been carried in that state home.
Oh, the bitterness of tbe miaery of that Thanksgiving-Day to Jaoob Newell I He may live a hnndred years and never know saoh another.
The next day Samson awoke from a wretob¬ ed stupor to find himself weak, nervous, and suffering from a blinding headache. In thie condition hts fatber forced him to tbe bara, and there, with a heavy raw-hide, flogged him without mercy. That lUgbt Samson Newell disappeared, and was thenceforward seen no more in the village.
The samo night one of the village stores was entered, the door of an anoient safe wrenched open, and something over a hundred dollars in specie taken therefrom. Bo that on Samson Newell's head rested the crime of filial dis¬ obedience, and the suspicion, amounting, with nearly all, to a certainty, that he had added burglary tohis wrong-doing.
His name was pablished in the papers throughout tbe county, togetber with a per¬ sonal description and the offer of a reward for his arrest and return. Bat as he was never brought baok nor heard of more, the matter graduallydied away and was forgotten by most in the village; the more so as, from respeot and pity for Jacob Newell, it was scarce ever mentioned, except privately.
Eight yeara elapsed from the time of bis fiigbt and supposed crime, when the fellow he bad thrashed at the tavem was arrested, tried, convicted, and sentenced to death for a mur¬ der committed in a midnight taveru-brawl.— In a confession that he made he exonerated Samson Newell from any participation in or knowledge of the burglary for which his rep. utatlon bad so long suffered, stating in what manuer he bad himself committed the deed. So tbe memory of the erring son of Jacob Newell was relieved from the great shadow that had darkened it. Still be was never mentioned by father or mother; and seven years more rolled wearily on, till they sit, to¬ day, alone and childless, by the fiickeriug Novemember fire- Sore trouble bad bllen on them since tbeir youngest aon had disappeared. One by one, the elder ohildren had passed away, eaoh winter's anow for five years covered a fresh grave, till the new afBictlons tbat were in store for them scarcely seemed to affeat tbem otherwise tban by outting yet deeper into the sunken cheeks the deep lines of sorrow and regret.
Jacob Newell bad been known for yeara as a " forehanded man'* in the raral neighbor¬ hood. His landa were extensive, and he had pursaed a liberal system of onltivation, put¬ ting into the soil in rioh mannrea more in strength than he took from It, until his farm became tbe model one of the county, and his profits were large aud ever increasing. Par¬ tioularly in orohards of choice frait did be ex¬ cel his neighbors, and his apples, pears, and quinces always commanded the best price in the market. So he amassed wealth, and prospered.
But, unfortunately, after death had taken away his cblldren, and the work iu the fields were all done by hired hands, the old man became impatient ofthe dullness of life, and a spirit of specalatlon seized him. Just at tbat time, railroad stock was In high favor through¬ out the coantry. Steam-drawn carriages were to do away  withall other modes of publio
.^Bpondent l^tsside his heuth. With a ..hnn. dred bud lines farrowing his pate fade, tell¬ ing of the wprk of time and straggle and mla- Jortune, he looked the liicarhatiOn. of silent sorrow and bopelessness, waiting in qniet meekndBs fof the ooming of Death,:—without de3i«,'bnt wi*^^*^' dread.. . , ^
'it was not Btrabge that on (h^ day there should come into tbe hearts of both Jacob and Ruth, hla wife, sad and dismal memories.— Still his gaze wandeied silently about the room,; and she. piled unceasingly her stiff, bright knit ting-needles. One wonld have thought her a figure of stone, sitting so pale and bolt upright, but for the activity of the patiently iadustrlous fingers.
Presently Jacob spoke.
" Enth," he said, *' it is a hitter time for ns, and we are sore oppreased; but what does the PsalmiBt say to such poor, worn-out creatures as we are ? " The steps of a good man are or¬ dered by tbe Lord, and he delighteth In his way. Though he fall, he Bhall not be ntterly casb down: for the X>ord upholdeth him with his hand. X have been young, and now am old; yet have I not seen the righteous for¬ saken, nor his seed begging bread.* Wife, we are not torsaken of the Lord, altbongh all earthly things seem to go wrong with us."
She made no verbal reply; but there was a nervons flutter in the poor, wanflngers, as she StiU plied the needles, and two large tears rolled Bilently down her oheeks and feU upon the white kerchief she wore over her shoul¬ ders.
" We have still a house over our heads,*' oontinned Jacob, "and wherewithal to keep ourselves fed ahd olothed and warmed; we have a few years more to live ; let ns thank God for what blessings He has yet vouobBafed ns.*'
She arose withont a word, stiff, angular, un¬ gainly, and they knelt together on the floor.
Meanwhile the snow feU thicker and faster without, and blew in fierce clonds against the windows. The wind was rising and gaining power, and it whistled wratbfuUy abont the house, howling as in bitter mockery at tbe scene within. Sometimes itswelledinto wild laughter, and agaiu dropped into low and plaintive wallings. It was very dismal pnt In the cold, and hardly more oheerful in the warm sitting-room, where those two jaded souls knelt in earnest prayer.
A raUway-train waa fast in a snoW'bank. There it had stuck, nnable to move either backward or forward, sinoe nine o'oiook on Wednesday evening; it wss now Tharsday moming, the snow was still faUing, and still aeemed likely to fall, blocMng up more and more the passage of the unfortunate train. There were two locomotives, with a huge snow- plow on the forward one, a baggage and express-oar, and four oars filled with passen¬ gers. Two hundred people, all anxlona, most of them grambling, were detained there pris¬ oners, snow-bound and helpless. It was a hard case, for they were more than two miles distant—with three feet depth of snow be¬ tween—from the nearest house. The nearest village wrs five miles away at leaat.
It was Thanksgiving-Day, too, and they had almoat all of them" lotted" upon a New- England Thanksgiving-dinner with old friends, brothers, fathers, mothers, aud grandparents. And tbere they were, without so much a ra¬ tion of crackers and cheese.
It was noticeable that the woman on the train—and there were quite a number, and most of them with ohildren in their arms or by tbeir sides—made, as a general rule, less disturbance and confusion tban the men. The chUdren; however, were getting very hungry and noisy by tbis Thanksgiving-morning.
In one of the cars were olustered aa fine a family-group as the eye would desire to rest npon. It consisted of a somewhat large and florid, but firmly and compactly built man of thirty years or there-about, a woman, evi¬ dently bis wife and apparently some two or three years younger, and three beautiful cbil¬ dren.
The man was large in frame, witbout being coarse, with a ohest broad and ample as a gymnast's and with arms wbose muscular power was evident at every movement. His hair and beard (whioh latter he wore faU, as was just beginning to be tbe onstom) were dark brown in color, and thick and strong al¬ most to coarseness in texture ; his eye was a clear hazel, full, qnick, aud commandingt sometimes almost fierce; wide and acquiline nose; fuU, round forehead, and a complexion bronzed by long exposure to all sorts of weath¬ er, gave him au aspeot to be noted in auy throng he might be thrown iuto. There was a constant air of pride and determination about the mau, which softened, however, whenever bia glance fell npon wife or ohil¬ dren. At snoh times bis face was lighted np with a smile of peculiar beauty and aweet-
r
t; Pl.,1 WEDNESDAY, JMUARY 1, 1862.
NO, 6.
to flnd besi «acUton for his Uie of woe. It oame to im iilD».p'aloek on the momlng of ThukiglTbii [-'D«7, «nd •Uil'Uii oio'w fell With nntiwttd rio tenoe, tnd atindiifta piled higher and higher a joat the oaptlre trahi. The oon- dnotor and o ie of the firemen had started oS on foot at eu i,.dairn in aearoh of food for the l>aBBengeis, a jid noir there arrived, plonghing nearly breastljhlgh throngh the snow, aconToy; frorn'oine of tjjie nearest &rm-honsai oarefoliy gnarding a viilnable treasure of bread, aheese^ baoon, eggs, spd pnmp^pies; bnt so many were tbe moqths to fill tbat it soaroeiy gave a bite apleoe to'the men, after the women and ohildren had Ueen oared for.
Then the passengers began to grow olamor- oas. Even tlie Fanny Man had his woes, for soma rogne sintered the saloon where.he slept and stole the uhlskey-flask from his pooket.^ When heawolreand disooyered his loss, here' marked that ^p knew where there was more of the same s(>rtjiand tnmed over to sleep again. Bnt all were ^jot so phllosophioal as be. Some onrsed tlie rai] ^ad oompany, some oorsed tbe fate ttut had jjlaoed them there, some onrsed their folly in! leaTing oomfortable qnarters In Older to fast li|{the snow on Thanksgiving-Day.
Presently tl^ p ImpatieDtiy-pnlled-oat watohsg showed ten o^|look, and still it snowed. Tben a mmot ran tiirongh the train that tbere were a oonple of barrels of ohiokens, ready-dressed for market, in; the expressoar, and a. general rnsb in that jdireotion followed. One of the first to hear oij It, and one of the first to be on the spot, was ^amson Newell.
"Stand baok, gentlemen,"he oried to the foremost of tjie throng that ponred eagerly into the oar,-|r" stand baok a moment. This ponltry is in eharge of the express messenger, and we have jpo right to take it.withont his Jioense."
As he spok^l, he plaoed himself beaide the messenger. ]^ere was a determination in his eye and manner tbat held the orowd baok tor ashorttime. :
"The ohioliens are mise," tbe messenger said; "Ibon^kt them on speonlation; they will spoil beilore I oan get anywhere with them, and thei^ are now too late for Thanks¬ giving. Ton jbay have them for wbat I gave." 1 will giv«'flve dollars towards paying for them;" and Samson Newell drew ont his pocket-book.
"Here's a "Connt me In
Jollar!"   "I'U give a half I"— [or two dollars I" oried the orowd»
favorably stra)k with the notion of paying for their provendi
ir.
The woman was of middle size, with fair hair, inolining towards anbnm, bine eyes, and a olear red and wblte oomplexion. Her ex¬ pression was one of babltaal sweetness and good-hnmor, while a continnal half-smile played abont ber rosy month. She was plamp, good-natared, aud oozy,—altogether a most loveable and delicioas woman.
This pair, with their bright-looking children, oconpled two seats near tbe stove, and were in constant pleasant converse, save when an occasional aoxions and impatient shadow flit¬ ted across the faoe of tbe hasband and fatber. On the rack over their heads reposed a small travelling-bag, which the day before had been filled with lancbeon for the children. Upon ita bottom was painted in small white letters, " Samson Newell."
It was, indeed, the long-lost son, retaming on this day to answer, so mnch as in him lay, tbe prayers repeated for fifteen years by his fatber and mother,—retnming to see his for¬ mer bome once more, and here, nearly on tbe threshold, stopped by a snow-storm almoat nnprecedented at tfaat season. There waa I occasional biltemeas in his impatience at the
travel (aa indeed they generally bave done,)   wearying detention, bnt he controlled it asweU and the lortnnate owners of  railroad stock 1 were to grow rich withoat troable in a abort time.   In particalar, a certain line of railroad.
to ran throagh the village where he lived was to make Jacob Newell and all his neighbors ricb. It wonld bring a market to their doora, and greatly increaae the valne of all they pro¬ daced ; bat above all, thoae who took atook in it wonld be insared aiarge permanent income. Better the twenty and thirty per cent, that most accrue from tbia aonrce, than to loan spare cash at six per cent, or invest their sur¬ plus in farm improvements. So said a very flnent and agreeable gentleman from Boston, wbo addressed the people on the anbject at a " Railroad Meeting" beld in the town-ball; and incautious Jacob Newell (hitherto most prudent throughout his life) believed.
Only twenty per oent. waa to be paid down; no more, said the circular iasued by the direc¬ tors, might be required for years; perhapa tbere wonld never be any fnrther oall: bnt that wonld depend veiy materiaUy on how generously the farmers through whose lands the road woald pass should give np oiaima for land-damagea. Jacob Newell needed excite¬ ment, of aome sort, and it took the form of speculation. He believed in the railroad, and subscribed for two hnndred shares of the sto ck, for which he paid four thousand down. Hs also gave the company the rigbt of way where the track crossed his farm.
In six months be was called npon for two thousand dollars more; three montbs after¬ warda anotber two thousand was wanted ; and so it ran till he was obUged to mortgage his farm.and finally to eell the greater part of it, to meet his subscription. In vain he begged for mercy, and pleajed the statement that only twenty per oent, would be needed. A new set ¦of directors laaghed him, and otbers like him, tosoora. He would hare sold his stock, but he fonnd it qaoted at bnly twenty-five oenta on the dalItr,aDd that price he oonld not pre- I vail npon hlnuelf to take.
as he was able.
Dnring the nigbt the passengers had been quiet and uncomplaining. Wood taken from tbe tenders of the two locomotives in small quantities, and, wben tbe engineera stopped the snpplies in that qnarter, rails tom from neighboring fences and broken np for firewood kept them warm; bnt after tbe day had dawned, when the little treasures of luncheon were exhausted, and all began to feel the real papga of hunger, things assumed a more aeri¬ ous aspect. Children in all the cara were crying for breakfast, and even the older pas- angers began to feel cross and jaded.
One pleaaant fellow, witb an apparently in¬ exhaustible fiask of whiskey in bis pocket and good-hnmor oozing from every pore of his jolly countenance, passed from car to car, re. tailing a hundred jokes to every freab batch of listeners. But preaently the passengers be¬ gan to tire of bis witticisms, and one after another "poohed"snd "abawed" at bim as he approached. Then with infinite good-nature and philosophy he retired to one of the saloons and peacefully fell aaleep. Almost eqnally amusing was a wizened, bent
plH* expected sons and danghtsn fnm tu |    Soheaaton-i^a drear TiiaiftBgtVlng.Day
and thin old man, draped from head to foot in coarse, bniternnt-ooloredhomespun, and called "Old Woolen" by the fnnny fellow, who walked from car to car bewailing his hard lot.
"I've left the old woman to home," he whined, " with ail tbe things on her handa, an' more 'n fifty of onr folks comin' lo eat din¬ ner with us to-day; an' I've got a note of a hundred an' flfty dollars to pay,—to-morrow 'a the last day of grace—an' I've been sixty-five mile to get the money to pay it. Now look bere I" snddenly and sharply to the Fnnny Man, " wbat do t/oa tbink o' thai ?"
" Oid Woollen," said the Funny Man, with a tremulous voice aud tears in bis eyes," it'a
hardoasel"
" Bo 't is I That'a a fact I Call an' see ns, when you come roond onr way 1"
And the old gentleman, greatly mollified by th« aympathy of hia new blend, mbrei oi
Bnt one bul^hig fellow, with a large mock diamond in h a shirt-front, and clumsy rings onhis coai«e and dirty fingers, stepped forward and said that:he waa a hnngry man, that he had lost moiiey by the company al¬ ready, waiting ia day and a night in tbat blam~ ed snow-bankjiaud tbat he waa going to have a chicken,—or two ohiokens, if he wanted them,—andhii waa decidedly of the opinion that there w^; no express messenger on the train who woiild see the oolor of hit money in the transaotiojf.
Samson Nevjeil was evidently a man of few words in a case of emergency. He paased for only an inataq^ to asaure himself that the man was in esmesli, then he slid open one of the side-doors of ijlie expreaa-car, and atretohed forth a hand whoae olatoh waa like the closing of a claw of sljeel. He seized the bejeweled atranger by the coat-collar shook him for an instant, and dropped him,—dropped him into a soft snow-d^[ft whose top was level with the car-fioor- Wiiether tbe unfortunate worked a subterranean j^assage to one of the passenger- cars and ther«-buried himaelf in tbe privacy of a saloon ia n<;t known ; he certainly was not seen again til]:after relief came to the impris¬ oned train- There was iieither noiae nor confasion inthe matter of paying for and dividing the poultry. Samaon Newell had already made himself prominent aniong the captive travellera. lie bad eaten nolhing himself, tbat he might the better provide v so far as his limited- provision went, for his ipife and children; he had even gone tbrough itbe cars with his scanty luncheon of cakes and, apples, and economically fed otber people'ei little ones, besides adminiater¬ ing to the wants of an invalid lady upon the train, who was journeying alone. He was, therefore, a ^ivorite with all on board. His action, enforclpg payment for tbe provision that would very likely, but forhim, havebeen taken by forct;, cauaed the passengera to defer to him as a l^iader whoae atrength and conrage fitted him fori the post, and so be presided at the distribnUon of the chickens without dis¬ pute.
The fuel in the stoves was replenished, and quite a large iipace waa oleared to the leeward of the locomolive, where a flre was bnilt from the nelgbboriijtg fencea, so that in an hour's time from th^i flnding of the ponltry the entire body of pasijsngers were busy picking the bones of roasled and broiled fowls. It was not so bad a dinner! To be aure, it was rather chilly, now ai^d then, when the o{-ening*of a car-door, to lijt in a half-frozen gentiemaa with a half-cooked'chicken in his hand, admitted with him a ;Bnow-laden blast from withoat; and then the ;rlands were not served a la Soyer, bnt tbere wajf an appetite for sauce and a cer¬ tain gypsy-like feeling of being at a pic-nic that served as a relish- And eo, in the year of our Lord 1,8—, two hundred strangers sat down together at a moat extraordinary Thanks- giving-dlnner, of whioh no aocount haa hither¬ to been published, if I exoeptavote of tbanks, " together with an exceedingly chaate and richly chasedj ailver goblet," (ao the newspaper desoription read,) which were presented to tbe conductor by;" the anrvivingpaaaengera," after he had prooftred belp and rescned them from their perplejjing predicament.
But dinnf^s end. Twelve o'oiook came) and still the snow was falling thick and fast, and still the iwhlte plain about them mounted slowly and jjnrely towards the skies. Then the passengers became yet more .weary and unhappy, jjtld Woollen, the nnfortnnate, de¬ tailed his wijes to more and more appreciative audiences. jiBven the Funny Man—with a fresb flaskiiof whiskey—sighed almost dis¬ mally betwijen frequent uneasy " cat-napa." And Samsoif Newell, fiist seeing bis wife com¬ fortably setj|ed, and his little ones safely dis¬ posed abon^ ber, strode np and down, from car to car, >rltha gloom of diaappointment on his face thai; was almost ferocions. " Too bad I" he muttereil, " too bad I too bad 1 too bad I"
One o'clock came, and the snow held np 1— At flrst the ipassengers noticed that the flakes fell less thjtakly. Then, gradually and ever slowly decreasing, they finally ceased falling altogether.!, The clouds drifted from before tbe faoe of ithe heavens, and the sua oame ont. It shone ojrer a broad snrface of glistening enow, with here and there a fence-post obtru¬ ding inlo nptioe, bnt otherwise a cold, blank expanse at whiteness. One or -^wo remote farm-hens;^, with blue smoke riaing in thin, atraight oo]^imns from their chimneys, a wide atretch of ijoodland to the right, distant hills bonnding i|ll the proapect,—and everywhere anow. No,fences, no roada, no paths,—but only snowj!
The passpngers gazed out of the windows or stood ujlon tbe platforms,—drawn thither by the waifnth ofthe sun,—with feelings al¬ moat akin !|o despair. Presently it was pro¬ posed to make for the farm-honass, and flfteen of tbe nipre adventurous started. A few struggled tlircugh and arrived in something over an hoj^r at the nearest honse, wet to tfae akin with ^(leltedsnow, and too mach fatigned to think of returning,—bnt most of them gave out at the nd of the flist half-mile, and came backtotbi train.
anowiof a, doaen me^ sent :by .the :oondaotor. They brought word that help waa approaohing fram thsnnreat atation where a sofficienlly pofrarfal^looomotlre. oonld be.obtabied, and that they wonld probably be atarted on their jray dnrlng Uie next forenoon. Theae mea- aengera alao brought » amaU supply of pro¬ visiona and a nnmfan of packs of oarda, with the latter of wbloh many of tbe passengers were soon bu^. ¦ Tliby now resigned them¬ selves to anotber night in the drift.
But half after thr«» osgnrred an Incident tbat reiitared hope of a more speedy deliver¬ ance to a few of'the captives.'
Though the low pine lands to the right ran a road whtoh was very' thorongbly protected from drifting snow liy the overhanging trees, and along this TOid there now appeared two pair of oxen. In if ront of the oxen were flve men armed with wooden anow-shovels, with which they beat down and scattered the anow. Behind all was a small, square box on mimers. It was vory small and contained only one board eeat. Three persons oonld sit and three stand in it: nomore.
Upon the appearanoe of this sqnad of road- breakers with teain, three hearty cheers went np from the train. They were immediately answered by the apparent leader of the expe¬ dition. He was a small, active, spare old fellow, so inomsted with frozen anow, which hnng all over him iu tiny white pellets, aa to resemble more an active, bnt rather diminu¬ tive white bear, than anything else known to Nataral History, He scrambled and pufl'ed throngh the snow till he found a mounting- place npon an unseen fence, when he arose two or three feet above the surrounding sur¬ face, and spoke,—
" There's flve on ns, an* two yoke." -''
A pause.
" Two yoke yonder, an' flve on us."
"Weill supposing there isl" from the train.
"Five mile to town," oontinaed the 'White Bear, "an' been sence nine thia momin' iglttin' here. Five times five is twenty-five, but, seein' it's you, I'll call it twelve 'n' 'arf."
Call Khat' twelve 'n' 'arf,' Sheep-Shanks f" from the train.
" That man don't ride, nohow I I've mark¬ ed him 1 I don't caltate tu take no aarse ihit trip I Take auy six or eight for twelve dollara an'd fifty oenta right straight to the tavern I •Who bids 1"
" I'll give yon flfteen dollars, my friend, to take myself, my wife, and three ohlldren to the village."
It waa Samson Newell who spoke.
"'M offered fifteen," cried the White Bear, pricking np his ears; " goin' to the tahvem at fifteen at fifteen; who says fifteen 'n' arf 1"
" 1 do 1^' from a pursy passenger with a double ohin and a heavy fob-chain.
He gianoed round a little aavagely, having made his bid, as who should say, " And I shonid like to see the man wbo will raise it 1"
"'N' 'aifl 'n" arf I'n' 'arfl 'n"arfl" cried the White Bear, growing mnoh excited,— " an' who says sixteen ?"
Samaon Newell nodded.
*' Sixteen dollara I alxteen I sixteen I We can't tarry, gentlemen 1"
Tho White Beap proved the trulh of tbis latter assertion by saddenly diaappearing be¬ neath the snow. He reappeared in an inatant and resumed hia oatory.
" I see the gentleman's sixteen," quoth the man who bad oalled tbe White Bear " Sheep¬ shanks," "and go fifty cents better I"
" I see you," replied the auctioneer, " an' don't take yonr bid! Who says sixteen 'n' 'arf ?"
"Idol" quoth the Double Chin; and he glowered upon his fellow-passengers wrath fully.
At this instant appeared Old Woolen on the scene. In one band he bore his pocket-book; in tbe other, a paper covered with calculations. The latter he studied intently for a momeat, tben,—
" I'll give you sixteen dollars an' sixty two 'n' a half cents; an' if you ever oome round
our way"	
The jabilant auctioneer, fairly dancing upon the fence in the energy of his delight, broke here,—
" Can't take no bids, gentlemen, short of a half.dollar rise, each time 1"
Old Wollen retired, discomfited, and was seen on more.
From tbis point the bidding ran up rapidly till it reached twenty-flve dollars, where it stopped, Samson Newell being the auccessful bidder.
It was a study to watch tbe maa, now that his ohanoe for reaching home that day bright¬ ened. Instead of being elate, bis spirits seem¬ ed to fall aa he made his arrival at the village
certain.
"Ahl" he thonght, "are my father and mother yet living?   How will my brotbers
and sisters weloome me bome ?" How, indeed ?
So the p iaoners sat down and whiled away
the time a^ anecdotea, few alept, i withont bt: . The aloi for them-1 erer move
Uaoidanto
beat thsy inlght, in the relation of telling atoiles, and grambling. A ind a Urge namber tried to do  so,
¦cess.   •  ¦ ¦ ¦
hand of Time, moving more alowly lan they.Temembered. it to have I beft»e,-4rept on to three o'oloek,
and atlU tl jen 'was no piii^ipeotbt relief aind no
nott MT* ti>«:itrlni:thTiinjih tin
In the village where dwelt Jaoob Newell and his wife, an old mau, lame and totally blind, had been for over thirty years employed by the town to ring the meetingbouse-bell at noon, and at nine o'clock in the evening. For thia service, the salary flxed generations be¬ fore was flve dollars, aud summer and winter, rain or shine, he was always athis post at the the instant.
When the old man rang the evening-bell on the Thanksgiving-Day whereof I write, he aroused Jaoob and his wife from deep reverie. " Oh, Jaoob 1" ssid the latter," suoh & wak¬ ing dream as I bave had. I thonght tbey all stood before me,—all,—every one,—^none mis¬ sing 1 And they were little children again, and had come to say tlMir prayers before going to bed I They were all there, and I could not drive it from my heart that 1 loved Samson best I"
His name had hardly been mentioned be¬ tween them for fifteen yeara.
Jaoob Newell, with a strange look, as thongh he were gazing at some dimly defined abject afar off, slowly apoke,—
" 1 bave tboaght aometimea that I shonid like to know where be lies, if. he is dead,—or how he lives, if he be living. Sball we meet himt Shall we meet himf Five goodly spirita await na in heaven ; will he be tbere also 1 Oh, no I he was a bad, bad, bad son, and he broke his father's heart I"
" He woa a bad aon, Jacob, giddy and light¬ headed, but not wholly bad. Oh, he waa so atrong, so handsome, so bright and brave I— If he ia living, I pray Ood that he may oome back to see ns for a little, before we follow onr otber lost ones 1"
" If he shonid come baok," said Jaoob, tnm¬ ing very while, bnt apeaking olearly and dia¬ tinotly, " I wonld drive him from my door, and tell him to be gone forever 1 A wine-bihber, diaaolute, passionate, head-strong, having no reverence for God or man, no love for his mother, no sense of dnty towards his father; I have disowned him, once and forever, and ntterly oast him out I Let him beware and not come baok to tempt me to curse him I"
Still from the distance, overpowering and drowning the headlong msh of passion, oame tbe soft booming of the evening-bell.
"I bearthe ohnrch-bell, Jaoob: wehave not long to- hear iti Let na not die onraing our aon in our hearts. God gave him to us; and if Satan led him astray, we know not how strong the temptation may have been, nor how ho may have fonght againat it."
Jacob Newell had nought tp aay in answer to tbis, but, fromthe pasaion In his heart, and from that egotism that many good inen have whose religioua edncation haa tanght them to make their -peraonal-'godliness a matter to vaunt over, he spoke, foolishly and little to the point,—
"Both, did Satan ever lead me astray!" "God knows I" abereplled. Then oame a np at the dobr. The melody of the.bbaroh-beU wu faat dying lawsy. -The Iaat oadenoai of aonnd, the last' quini is this adri Th«'''tiib"tiim|nr hai
ceased toi«lbgl(iid'tii«lammeratinick the bell no more, lingered still, as a timid and nncer' tain tapping^fcill npon the door. " Come in I" said Jacob Newell. The door wiia slowly opened. Then' there ^tobd'.within'it'a tkll, mnscDlar man, a atranger lii those parts, with a imddy face, aiid'ia fdlj, brown beard. He stood grasp¬ ing the door ijrlth all his might, and leaning against it as fi|r support.   Ueahwhile his gaze wandered abciht the room with a  strange anxiety, as thongh it songht in vain for what ebould assuredly hava been found there. " Qood evening, Bfr," said Jacob Newell. The stranger made iio reply, but still stood clteging to the door, with a strange and hor¬ rible expresaioin of mingled wonder and awe in his face.
"'Tis a lunatio 1" whispered Euth to her husband.
" Sir," said Jaoob, " what do yon want here to-night?"
The stranger fonnd voice at length, bnt it was weak and timoronii aa that of a frightened child.
" We were on the train, my wife and I, with our three little onea,—on the train anow- ed in flve miles back,—and we ask, if you will give US, a night's lodging, it being necessary tbat we Bhould reach home witbout paying for onr keeping at the hotel. My wife and children are outside the door, and nearly, frozen, I assure yon." Then Enth'e warm heart showed itself. "Come in," she said. "Keep yon?—of course we can. Come in and warm yonrselves." Asweet woman, with one ohild in her arms, and two shivering beside her, glided by the man into the room. They were immediately the reoipitents of the good old lady's hospi¬ tality; she dragged them at once, one andall, to the warmest spot beside tbe hearth.
Still the man stood, aimless and nnoertain, clutohlng the door and swaying to and fro.
"Why do yon stand thereat the door?— Why not ooms in ?" aald Jacob Newell.- " You mnst be oold and hangry, Ruth—^that's my wife. Sir—will get you and your family some supper."
Then the man oame in and walked with an unsteady atep to a ohair placed for bim near the flre.   Afier he had seated himaelf he ahook like one in an agne-flt. " I fear yoa ato oold," said Euth. "Oh, nol" he said.
His voice stmggled to his lips with difficulty and came forth painfully.
The old lady went to a oomer onpboard, and, after a moment's searoh, bronght forth a blaok bottle, from whioh she poured some¬ thing into a glasa. It smelt like Jamaoia ram. With this she advanced towards the stranger, bnt she was bluntly stopped by Jaoob,—
"lam afraid the gentleman haa had too mnch of that already 1"
For an instant, like a red flash of lightning, a flush of anger passed aoroas his features be¬ fore the. stranger meekly made answer that he had tasted no liquor that day. Ruth handed him the glass and he drained it at a gulp. In a moment more he aat quietly upright and proceeded gravely to divest himself of his heavy shawl and overcoat, after whioh he as- sisted in warming and comforting the ohildren, who were growing sleepy and cross.
Euth bustled about with her preparations giving the strangers a comfortable supper, and Jaeob and hia unexpected gneat entered into converaation.
" I uaed to be acquainted hereabout," the atranger began, " and I feel almoat like Retting among friends, whenever I visit the place. I rode over with old Gas Parker to-day, from wbere the train lies bedded near the flve-mile cut, but I was too busy keeping the ohildren warm to ask him any questions. I came here because your aon Mark Newell and I were old cronies at scbool togetber, 1^1 don't see him here to-night,"—the stranger's voice trembled now,—" where is he ?"
" Where we must all follow him, sooner or later,—in the grave I"
" But be had brothers,—I've beard him say," the stranger continued, witb an anxiety in his tone that he could by no meana oon- oeal; "I believe he had—letme see—three brothera and two alatera, Wher« are ihey ?"
" All gone 1" cried Jaoob Newell, rising and pacing the room. Then suddenly facing his siuguiar guest, he continned, speaking rapidly and bitterly, "You have three children,—Ihad six I Yours are alive and hearty; but so were mine; and wben I waa a young man, like yon, I fooliahly thought that I should raise them all, have them oluaterlDg around me in my old age, die before any of them, and so know no bereavements! To-day I atand here a solitary man, sinking rapidly into tbe grave, and withont a relation of any kind, that I know of, on the face of tbs earth I Think that such a fate may yet be yours I But the bit¬ terness of life yoa will not folly know, unless one of your boys—as one of mine did—turns ont profligate and drunken, leaves your fire¬ side to assooiate with the dissolute, and finally deserts his home and all, forever I"
" If that son of yonrs be yet alive, and were ever to retum,—suddenly and without wam¬ ing, aa I bave broken in upon yon io nigbt,— if he ahonld come to you and aay, ' Father, I bave sinned against Heaven, aod before thee, and am nd more worthy tobe called thy sonl' what should yon say to him ?"
'* I should say,' For fifteen years you have deserted me without giving mark or token tbat yon were in the body; now you have oome to see me die, and you may stay to bury me 1 I sbouid say that, I think, though I swore to Enth but now tbat I would curse him, if ever he returned,—curse him and drive him from my door I"
" Bnt if he came baok penitent indeed for past folliea and effences, and only anxions to do well in tbe future,—if your son sbonld ejme in that way, convincing you with tears of his sincerity, you snrety wonld be more gentle to him tbantbat I You wonld pnt away wrath, would yon not? I aak you," the stranger continued, with emotion, " baoause I find myself in the position we anppose your son to be placed in, I sm going home after an absence of years, daring all which time I have held no oommanication with my family. I I bave sojourned in foreign landa, and now 1 coma tomake my father and my mother bappy, ifit be not too late for that I 1 oome half hop¬ ing and half fearing ; tell me what I am to expect ? Place youraelf in my father's position and read my fate I"
While he spoke, his 'wife, sitting silent by tbe fire, bent low orer the ohild she held, and a few qniet tears fell npon tbe little one's frock.
Ruth Newell, moving back and forth, in the preparation of the stranger's supper, wore an unquiet and tronbled aspect, while the old farmer himaelf was agitated in a manner painful to see. It waa some aeconda before he broke the silenoe. Wben he spoke, his voioe was thick and hnsky,
"Ifl had a son like you,—if those little ohildren were my grandchildren,—if the sweet
lady tbere was my son's wife,—ah, then I	
But it ia too late I Why do yoa come here to put tnibnlent, ragmg regrets into my beart, that but for yon wonld be beating oalmly as it did yesterday, and tbe day before, and has for yeara ? Ah 1 if my son were indeed here | If Samson were Indeed here 1"
The stranger half arose, as though to spring forward, then sank baok into hia seat again.
Bnt the little child atttlng In her motber'a lap by the fire olapped her hands and laaghed a childish, happy langh.
"What pleases my little girl?" asked the mother.
"Why, '5iim«on,"'the ohild said,—"(Aol'» what you call papa.'"
- Then Bath, wbo Btood by the table witha pitcher of water in her hand, staggered bsok- wards like one strioken a violent and anddeii blow I—ataggered backwards, dropping the pitcher with ii oniah aa ahe retreated, uid oroutngheT hands tipoii her boabm with^tilbjk^ iiioitmtblilBgabftli* hiiMthI   Then tr^^J
"Myjonlmyeonl" ahe threw berself, with one long,'long sob, npoii the, stranger's neck. The Btory ia told. What lay in his power was done by the retnmed prodigal, who did not come back empty-handed to the paternal roof.. Bia wifb and ohlldren fostered and pet - ted the old people, till, sfter the passage of two or three more Thanksgiving-Days, they became aa cheerful as of old, and Ibey are now oonsidered one of the happiest couples in tbe country. Do not, on that account, 0 loo easily influenced yonth, think that happiness for one's self and others Is usually secured by dissolute habita in early life, or by runnmg away from home. Half the occupants of our jails and almshouses oan tell yon to the con¬ trary.
TEE LIIILE PAHPEB.
Up and down the oity street, Little, weary, wandering feet; Goldon carls, a tangled skein; ScamlesB raga—'tia all the aame; Eyes of heaven's own deepest bloe; Limbs aaonlptor's model true, la sbe frieodleaa ?   No one knowa— Is ahe homeless ?   On she goes Down the crowded, daaty atreeta. Begging alma of all ahe meeta; WhUc adown her palid cbeek Bolls a tear-drop in the atreet, God preserre her, with that face Seemiiigly ao oat of plaoe ! Better If her form hsd been Flaineat eye hath ever seen, God preaerve her in the hoar When she feela temptation power I May ahe never, in her ain. Sob and aay, " It might have been !" Never, when death'a hoar ahell wait. All BO fearfal, "'Iia too lato!"  ,.«•*..	
SHOET STOBIES FOR THE LITTIE FOLKS.
Providence Prospers Honesty.
A poor boy, about ten years of age, entered the warehouse of a rich merohant, Samuel Bitcber, tn Dantzic, and asked tbe book-keeper for alms. "You wiU get nothing here," grumbled the man; "so be offl"
Weeping bitterly, the boy glided toward the door, and at that moment HerrRItcher entered. "What is the matter here ?" he asked, turn¬ ing toward the book-keeper.
"A worthless beggar boy," was the man's answer, and he scarcely looked np from his work.
In the meanwhile Herr Rltcber gianoed to¬ ward the boy, and remarked that, when close to tbe door, he picked np somethiug from tbe groand.
" Ha! mj little lad, what is that you picked npT'' he cried. Tfae weeping boy turned and showed him a needle.
" And what wUl yoa do with it ?" asked the other.
"My jacket hasboles init," was theanswer. I wiU sew up the big ones."
Herr fiitcher was pleased with the replyi and still more witbthe boy*s innocent, hand¬ some face.
"But are you not ashamed," he said, in a kind though serious tone, "you so youuf; aud hearty, to beg ? Cau yoa not work ?"
" Ab, my dear sir," replied the boy, " I do not know how, and I am too little yet to thrash or feU wood. My father died three weeks ago, and my poor motber and little brothera have eaten nothing these two days. Then I ran out in anguish, and begged for alms. But alas ! a single peasant only gave me yesterday a piece ofbread. Since then I have not eaten a morsel!"
It is quite customary for beggars by trade to contrive tales like this, and thus harden many a heart against the claims of genuine want. But this time tbe mercbant trasted the boy's honest face. Ue thrust his hand into his pocket, drew forth a pleoe of money, and said:
" There is half a dollar. Goto the baker's, and with half tbe money buy bread for your¬ self, your mother, and brothers; but bring the other half to me."
The boy took the money and ran joyfully away.
" WeU," said the surly book-keeper, " he will laugh iu hia sleeve and never come back again.',
" Who knows ?" replied Herr Ritcher; and as he spoke he beheld the boy retaming, run¬ ning quiokly, with a large lot of black bread in one hand and some money in theother.
"There, good sir, he criel, almost breath¬ less, there is the rest of the money."   Theu being very hungry, he begged at onoe for a knife to cat offa piece ofthe bread. The book- keeperreachedhimin silence bis pocket-knife. The lad cat off a slice iu great haste, and was about to bite upon it.   But suddenly he be¬ thought himself, laid the  bread aside, and folding his hands, rehearsed a silent prayer. Then he fell toblsmaal with a hearty appetite. The merchant was moved by the boy's nn- affeoted piety.    He inquired after his  family at home, and leamed that his father had lived In a village about four miles  from Dantzic where be owned a small house and farm. But bis house had beeu bnmed to the groand, and much sickness in his family had compelled him to sell his farm.   He had then hired him¬ self out to a rich neighbor; but before three weeks were at an end he died, broken down by grief aud excessive toil.   And now his mother, whom sorrow had thrown upou a bed of sickness, was, with her four chUdren, suf¬ fering the bitterest poverty.   He, the eldest, had resolved to seek assistance, and had gon*^ at first from village to village, tben had struck into the high road, and at last, having begged everywhere in vain, bad oome to Dantzic.
The merchant's heart was touched. He had but one child, and the boy appeared to him as adraft at eight wbich Providence had drawn on him as a test of his gratitude.
"Liateu, my son," he began; "have you tben really a wish to leam ?"
" Oh, yes, I bave indeed!" cried the boy.— "I have read the catechism alrt^ady, and I should know a good deal more, but at home I had always my little brother to carry, for my motber was siok in bed."
Herr Rltober suddenly formed his resola¬ tion.
"Well, then," hesaid, "as youare good, and honest, and industrious, I will take good care of you. You shall leam, have meat and drink and clothing, and iu time eam some¬ thing more. Then yoa oan support your mother and brotbers also."
The boy's eyes flashed with joy ; but in a moment he cast them to the ground agahi, and said sadly, " My mother all this whUe has nothing to eat."
At this instant, as if sent by Frovidenoe, an inhabitant of the boy's native vUlage entered Herr Bitoher's house. The man confirmed the lad's stoty, and willingly consented to carry the mother tidings of her son Qotlieb, and food and a smaU snm of money from tbe merohant. At the same time Herr Bitcber direoted his book-keeper to write a letter to the pastor of the village, commending tbe widow to his care, with an additional sum for tbe poor fanuly, and promising future assis¬ tance.
As soon as this was done, Herr Bitcber at once fumished the boy with decent clothes^ and at noon led him to his wife, whom he ao- ourately Infonned of Uttle Gotlieb's story and of the plan he had formed for him. Tbe good woman readily promised her best asslstanoe in tbe latter, and she faithfnlly kept her word. During the next four years, OotUeb attend¬ ed the schools of the great commercial city; then his falthfal foster-father took him into hiB counting-room, in order to edncate him for bnslness. Here aawell as there, at the writing- desk as on the school-bench, the ripening youth distingnisbed hbhself, not only by Us natural eapaeity, bnt by the fatihfal indnstzy '.With which ho.ocezolsed It. WithiOl this, his ¦hMii xi»ttb>«A iu &atiT9 innoo«XM«.   Ctf hit
weekly allowanoe, he SMt fhe hidf regnlady to his mother nntil s^e dfe^ after liaving sur¬ vived two of hla brothers. She hadjpassed the last years of her Ufe, not in wealth, Jt is true, bntfby the aid of the noble Bltoher and ofher iajxhfal son, In a condition above, want, - After :the; death jof his belovednother, there was no dear friend left to CtotUeb tn the world except his benefaotor.: Odt:of love forhim fae beoame an active, zealous merohant He began by applying the anperfloity of his al¬ lowance, whioh he coald now dispose ofat his pleasure, to a trade in HamtJorg qoUls. When he had gained about a handred and twentyi dollars, it happened that he found in his na¬ tive TUlage a oonsiderable-quantity of hemp and fiax, whioh wias very good and stiU to be had at a reasonable price. He aaked his fos¬ ter-father to advanoe him twobnndred doUars^ which the latter did with great readiness.— And the bnsiness prospered so weU that, in the third year of his clerkship, QotUeb had already acquired the sum of five handred dol¬ lars. Withoat giving up his trade in flax he now traffiolced also in linen gooda, and the two combined made him, in a oonple of years, abont a thousand dollars richer.
This happened during the customary five yeare of clerkship. At the end of this period GotUeb continued to serve his benefaotor five years more, with industry, skUl and fideUty; then he took the plaoe .of tbe book-keeper* who died about that timOj and three yeara afterward he waa taken by Herr Bitcber as a partner into his haslaess, with a third part of the profits.
Hat it was not God'a wUl that this pleasant partnership should be of long duration. An insidious disease caat Herr Bitcber upon a bed of sickness, and kept him for two years con¬ fined to his oouch. AU that love and grati¬ tude oould suggest Gotleib did to repay his benefactor's kindness. Bedonbling his exertions, he became the sool of the whole buainess, and still he watobed loag nights at theold man's bedside, with his grieving wife, until, in the sixty-fifth year of bis age, Herr Bitcber olosed his eyes in deatb.
Before his decease be placed the baud ofhis only daughter, a sweet girl of two-and-twenty years, in that of his beloved foster-son. He had long looked npon them both as his ohil¬ dren. They nnderstood him; tbey loved eaoh other, aud in silence, yet affectionately and earnestly, tbey solemnized their betrothal at the bedside of their dying fatber.
In the year 1828, ten years after Herr Bitoh¬ er's death, the house of Gotleib Bem, late Samuel Bitcber, was one of the most respecta¬ ble in all Dantzic. It owned three large ships employed in navigating the Baltic and North, and tbe care of Providence seemed to watch over the interests of their wortby owner—for worthy he remained in his prosperity. He honored his mother-in-law like a soo, and cherished her declining age witb tbe tenderest affeotion, untU, In her two-and-seventieth year she died in his aims.
As his own marriage proved childless, he took the eldest son of each of his two remain¬ ing btothers, now substantial farmers, intohis house and destiued them to be his heirs Bat iu ord« to confirm them in their humility, he often showed them tbe needle which had proved such a source of blessing to him, and beqaeathed it as a perpetaal legacy to the eld¬ est son in the family.
It is but a fewyears since this ohild of pov¬ erty, of honesty, industry, and of misfortaue, passed in peace from this world.
" Mark the perfect man, and behold the up¬ right, for tbe eud of that man is peaoe."
beautUled the whole &oe I She camr.olose np, thrust something in my hand,' andwas off In a trice before I had time to apeak. Igazed after her in astonishment nntll she waa ont of sight, and then opened my hand;/ there was only the half of a stick of candy in It, and my flrst Impnlae was to langh outright, but a mo¬ ment after and I ooold have oried. It touched me to tiie heart.
That bit of candy was theflrst perhapa that she had for months ; it was tbe only thing of her own she had to give; but beoause she coald gire it, it had brought a gladuess long nnkoown into her forlom Uttle heart.
I do not despair of Lattice now. I know that her heart haa not been aU crushed ont.^> I knew that tbe sunshine and the dew have entered It, and that sometime it will burst forth into the beautiful blossoms of hope and and trust and love. That little stiok of red and white candy is the token of it to me. Ia it any wonder that I have laid it away among my treaa ares f
ESTATE ot DR. JOHN MILLEE, ute of L«naut6T city, iecensei. Lflttflr* TcBta- msatuy on aald flatats havlDg beoa granted to tha no- dsrsfgned, all persoiu Indebted thereto are requested to jnahe ImmedlatB payaeat, aad those h&Tlng claims or demanda agaloBt the same will present tbem for BOltI»- ment to tbe nnderslgned, residing la a&ld City. deo26-6t6 WM. MILLES.
ESTATB of EPHRAIM BARE, late of Weat Earl toTrnshlp, daceajted.—Letters of ad¬ mloistratlon on s&ld eatate having besn granted to tba onderaigned, all persoas Indebted (hereto are recLnested to make Immedtate payment, and thoss having de¬ manda against the same will preaeat them for eettlaineat to tbe nnderslgnad, residing In eald towniblp.
ELIZABETB BABE, residing in West Earl townahip, LEWIS SPRECHER, dec 25-6*t S residing in the city ofLancaster.
ESTATE of MAKY ALICE "WILSON, iateof theClty of Lancaater, deceased—The nn¬ derslgned Andltor, appointed by tba Orphans' Conrt of Laaeafterconnty, to dlatribnte tbebalance in the hands of Jacob Gamber, administrator of tbe estate of said de- tieaeed, to and among thoae legally entitled to the same: Hereby f^vea notice tbat be will attend for tbe dnties of bis appoiotmeot, at the Library Room in the Conrt Honse, at Lancaater, on SATUBDAT, tbs IStfa dty of JANUABT next, at 2 o'olock in tba afternoon, where all nersona interested In eald diatribation may attend. W. CABPEWTEE, Andltor. Lancaster, Dec. 24,1861^^ dec25-4tS
ESTATE OF DAVID LONG, late of theBeronghofUanheim, Lancaater eonaty, de- ce&Hed.—The nnderslgned appointed by tbe Orphans' Conrt of said coanty, Andltor to dlstrlbnte thehiUanca In theiiands of Jacob E. Grosa and Daalel Brandt, Ad- mlnistrators o( said estate, among those legaUy entitled thereto, hereby glTes notice tbat he will attend for the parpoies of hln appointment at the Conrt Hoase In Lan¬ caeter. on SATOBDAT. tbe IUh day of JAKUAET, A. D.. 16S2, at 3 o'clock, P. M., when and where all persona Interested are reqnested to attead.
deo 18 4t-4 EMLEN FRANSLm. Andltor.
ESTATE  OF JOHN   HARTMAN, ute of Strasbarg townsbip, deceased.—Letters TflBtamentary on aald esUte bavlng been granted to tba nnderslgned, all persons Indebted thereto are reqaeated to make immedUte payment, and those having clalma or demands against the same will prssent theui for aet¬ Uement to thenndderfllgned.    SKSKT H. KDBTZ, Maoheim Towoshlp. JACOB BOBBKR,Jr. nov 27-61-1 East Lampeter iwp. _
ESTATEof JOHN KOFFROTH, late of Sallsbnry township, deceaaed.—Lettera of ad- mtnlstratlon on said estate baviog been graated to th* naderaigaed, all peraons indebtad thereto are reqaeated to make Immedi atepaymeot, and tbose havlogdbm ands agalnstthe eame WUl present ttiem for eetUemont to tbe nndersigaed, residlau In said lowaehlp.
R. W. MORTON. no27-6L*l _ Administrator.
ESTATE'of ADdIlA HUBER, late
of Eaet Hempfleid township, deceased. Letters of admlDislratlon on a&ld estate having beea graated to the nnderslgDod, a'l peraoaa Indebted tberetoara requested to make Immediate pHjment, and those baviog cUlms or demand^ agaiaxt the same will present them for set¬ tlement to the naderalgned, reeidin? ia said township. nov 20-61-52 HENRY HDBEB.
Onr Little Flower Girl.
She was nine or ten years old, and from salad time in the spring nntil after the fall frosts' she came regularly twice a week to oar house, through rain or shlue, with vegetables to sell. She was a siognlar-loDking child, with large, coarse features, dull brown eyes, and flaxen hair, and over the whole waa thrown the sorriest expression that I ever saw upon the faee of a child. She never smiled, and rarely Bhowed any kind ofinterestinanything. Her bair was always smooth, aud her sun¬ burnt faoe clean. She was always barefooted, always wore a yellow frock and a brown call 00 sun-bonnet, alwaya came into the kitohen withoat saying a word, and took her seat upon tbe extreme edge of a ohair near the door, set down ber basket of onions or radishes, or beets or peas by her side, and waited patiently an' til the mistress of the house was ready to at. tend to her. Her tiuiet coming and going, and the Invariable sameness of her appearance, attracted my attention, and I determined to find out something about her. So one moming began—*' What ia your name, little girl ?" I " Lattice Green," An appropiate name, thought I.
"Where do  yoa  Uve?"—"Over by  the woods."
" Have you fatber  and   mother?"—" Yes ma'am."
" Haveyou any brothers   and  sisters?"— "Yea, ma'am." " How many ?';—"One." " Whioh is it, brother or sister?"—"Sister." " How old is she V—" Three years  old." " Do you go to school V—"No, ma'am ?" •* Did you ever go I"—"Yes, ma'am.'* " Can yon read ?"—*' No, ma'am." " Do you go  to Sunday sohool ?"—" No, ma'am.". " Did yoa ever go ?"—" Yes, ma'am." " Why don't you go now ?"—'* I can't." " Why not ?"—" I can't." Day after day I kept np this catechetical exercise, scarce ever eliciting more thau a monosyllable in reply.  Ilerimpenetrableness, white it baffled, stimulated my curiosity still more.    I tried various expedients to see If she were capable of animation. I gave her bonqaets of my choicest fiowers. Sbe took tbem passive¬ ly. I brought in the two little pet kittens, and exercised tbem with ball and string, but their gambols never brougbt a smile to her aorry- looking faoe.    I gave her a doll; she took it and went her way, but whether pleased ornot I could not tell.    I  took  little  live-year-old Harry upon my knee, and told him wonderful stories, glancing meanwhile at Lettice to see tbe effect upon her.     But   whether   Harry langbed and  olapped his hands in glee, or whether his head sank upon my sboulder wbile the tear drops stood in his blue eyes, her im¬ passive face was always tbe same.   It never brightened, never ohanged.
We call her our little " vegetable girl," and saving the powe.* of locomotion and of speeoh aha migbt bave been a vegelable girl in faot. She never ran or jumped or skipped Uke other little children, but alwaya walked slowly and wearily, as if she bore the burden of ninety instead of nine years upon her shoulder.
I could stand it no longer, and so I weut over to tbe edge of the woods where ahe lived, and tben Ino longer wondered that she waa so different Jrom otber cbUdren. Her father was a dl unkar^: her mother was a coarse, hard-featured, repulsive looking woman, her baby sister was a sickly, fretfal chUd, and Lettice seemed almost the stay ofthe family. There was no J)iochIng poverty. They bad a fine garden, and when the child was not out selling the vegetables, she was kept close at work weeding it, with scarce ever an iuterval of rest—never one of play. Did she pause for a momeut in her work—her mother's sharp voice bade her "goon." Alllife and spirit had been Uterally worked ont of the Uttle creature. I expostulated with the moth¬ er, but to no effect. Lettice was well, and must work. I tried to indnce her to send the ohild to school—she could not spare her ; to Sunday sobool—she did not believe in it. Poor little Lettice 1
One day as I was walking in the street, and Just at atuming I saw,the famUIar yellow dress and brown sun-bonnet jnst ahead. But was it Lettloe inside of them? She had seen me flr^, and was rnnning, actuaUy bounding for¬ ward to meet me. There was a smUe too upon her Up and In her eye—the first I had •Tar Men thw»—and how it tramformed and
ESTATE OF JUHN GRAYBILL, ute of West Earl township, deceased.—Lelteia ot administration on said eatate haviag been grantedto the nnderiilgned, all persona indebted thereto ara re¬ qnested to make immediate payment, and thosa b&vlng cUlms or demands agaiast the same will preeeat them fcr seltteraeat lo tlie andernlgned, realdlng In said twp. LliWIS DILLEK.
renldlog In East Earl twp. ABRAHAM  BOW.MAN, de Il-6t-3 residing la Ephrata twp.
STATE of EMANUEL S. GROFF,
deceased,—Lettera of adminiatration on the estate ot Bmannel S. Groff, late ot West Earl township, de¬ ceased, having bean granted to the nadersigned—notice l8 bereby given to all parsons Indebted to said estate, to mako payment without delay and those hnvlsg claliod againet tbe same will preaent tbem for settlement to either of tbe andernlgaed.
MARIA L. OROFF, Widow,
Fairmonnt, Weat Earl twp. C. S, HOFFMAN, de ll-6t*.3 Yaganville. Harl twp.
ASSIGNED ESTATE OF JACOB aiOWREB.^The nndersigcad appointed Andltor by toe Uoart ot Commoa I'ledT of Lancaster connty, to dietribnte tha balance remainiag in the banda of John C. Walton, Asslgaou of Jacob Mowrer, among tboae legally entitled thereto, hereby givea notice, that he will attend for the purpose of bla appointment. In the Library Boom ofthe Conrt Hooee, in the city ofLancaa¬ ter on WEDNESDAY, tbe Slh day ot JANOABT, ISBl, at 2 o'clock, P. M., when and where all persons inter¬ ested aar uttend if they tblo It propar. de 11-41-S H. B. fiWARS, Anditor.
ESTATE OFJOSEPHS. NISSLEr, Ute of EastHempfield loT/nship, deceased.—Let- lam of administration on aald estata having been grant¬ ed to tba onderaigaed, all peidoaa Indebted thereto are reqaeated to make immediate payment, and tboaa hav¬ ing demaada against the same will present tbem for setUement to the nnderelgned.
JOHN STADPFEB, Peterahnrg, CHRISTIAN H. STADJFEB, da 11 6t*3  West Donegal twp.
NOTICE.
TO the Heirs and Legal  Representa.- ttves of snSANNA 3P0TT3   Ute of Caainflrvoii township. Lancaster coanty, Pean'a.. deceased.
YOlf are hereby notified tobe and appear in the Or¬ pbana' Coart ofLancaster cocnty, to be held on tbe 21lh day of JANHART. 15*'2, at 10 o'clock. A. M., to accept or refnae to accept the Beal Eitate of bDSASSA SPOTTS, deceased, at the valuation thereof, made by an Inqnestheld thereon, and conflrmed by said Contt, or show caosa why tbe ttima shonid not he sold accord¬ ing to Uw. 8. W. P. BOTD. Sheriff. SheriffB Office, Lancaster. Dee.1i.'6\.    dec 2S.4t-fi
ANNIE 8. APPOLD, T ^ ^ ,     ^,
br her next friend 4ic. 1 Alias Subposna for Divorce to ^ TS. f     Nov. Term, IP61, No. 4L'.
HENRT E. APPOLP, J ^        _^ ^ ^ ^
NOTICE to HENRY APPOLD.- Ton are hereby commanded to be and appear In yoor proper parson before onr Jndges at Lancaster, at lhe Coanty Conrt ofCommoa Pleas, there to be beld on tbeTHIBDMONDAT,lnJANDAETn<'Xt, to show canae. If any yon have, wby ANNIE S- APPOLD, shall not ba divorced from tha bonde of matrimony contracted wltb yon ^' W. P. BOTD, Sheriff,
due 18 4t-4
LTDIA J. MILLEE,    1 ^j,^ SabFoana for Divorce to ISEAeJmILLBE.     \     ^-o'-Tarm, 1951, No. 95.
NOTIOE to ISKAEL MILLER. You are hereby conraanded to be and appear In yonr proper person berore onr Jadnea al Lancaster, at the Conntv Conrt of Common PUas, there to be beld on tbe THIBD jllOKDAT, in JAKDABT next, to sbow canSe, Ifany yon have, why LTDIA J. MILLEE. shall aot be divorced from tbe bonds of matrimonv contracted wltb yon 8. W. P. BOTD. Sheriff.
Hec 18 *t-4
I Alias Bobpmna tor Divorce V       lo Nov, Term, 1562, No. 199.
MART ANN GORDEN. by her next friend, AM05  WALTON,
CHARLES OORDO:*,    J  ^^„
NOTICE to OHARLES GORDON. Ton are hereby commanded to bo and appear In yonr proper person beTore onr Jadges at Lancaster, at lhe Connty Conrt of Common Pless, thera to be beld on tbe THIBD MONDAT, in JaNDaHY next, to show caose, If any yoa bave, wby MAKY ANN (JORDEK, shall nol I'S divorced ftom the hoods of mattlmoay con- tnicteS witb yon. S. W. P. BOYD. Sheriff.
dec IB
4t.4
INSOLVENT NOTICE.
NOTIOE is hereby given tbat the sub¬ scriber, rcflldlcg in tbe village of Safe Harbor, LancaHter connly. haa applied for the benefit of tha In¬ solvent Laws ot PenosylvaDla, and tbe Conrt bas Ap. pointed MONDAT, the 20thday of JANDA^T. 1883. for a hearlnK. when and whero hU eredltora may aitend If they think proper. CHARLES ENOLB. _decJ5 '°-°
ACCOUNTS OF TRUST AND as¬ signed ESTATE?.—The acconnts of the follow, log named estates have beon exhibited and filed In thw Offlce of tha Protbonotary of the Coort of Common Pleas of Lancaster Coonty. to wit:
Henry Garbcr'a Eatate—Joseph Wenger and Levi Bard, Committee. ,    «  «    ,
Jacob Uelsey'a Aaslgned Eatate—Benjamin M. Orel¬ der. Assignee.
Notice la hereby glvea to all porponf* laterested lu any of eald eatatea. that the Conrt have appointed SIONDAT, JANUARY SOth, 1S02, fur tho confirmation and allowance of said acconnta. anless exceptloaa be filed or canee shown why said accoanta ahonld not bs alK^wed.
PETER MARTIN, Protbonotary. Protby'a Offlce, Lanc'r. Dec. 2?, 1E6t.       [de 25-4t-6
AUDITOB'S   NOTIOE.
ESTATE OF ELIZABETH GRA- HAM.Iatfl ot the township of Strasborg. In tba connty of Lancaater, atate of Pennsylvaala, deo'd: The undfTslgned appointed Andltor by the Orphans' Cour of Laneaster coanty to d.atrlbnte the balance in tbe bands ofHenry N. Breneman, administrator ofeald deed, amoog tboae legally entlUed to the eame, hereby slve« Dotlce that be will atteni for the parpose of hU appoint¬ ment. In tbe Librarr Koom of the Conrt Hoose. In the city of Lancaater, on FRIDAT, the 3d day of JANUAKT, A. D. 1882, at 2 o'clock P. M. when and where all par¬ sons Intarested may attend ifthey think proper.
ABRAHA3I 3BANE,
NOTICE.
THE Members of the "Mutual Firo Inanrance Company cf Chester Coanty, are hereby noiiflsd that Levi E.Brown, ot Fallen; P.-W.Hoase- keeper, of Drnmore; and WlUUm Bakestr&w, of Bart, havehfen appointed recelveii for eald Company t a Lancaater coanty for tbe annaal payment dne the Sth of next month. ENOCH HaRLaN, Seeretary,
CoaleevUle, 12th mo., 17th, ISfit. dec lfl-3t-*
JBANK NOTICE.
HOTICE is bereby given that the President and Directora ofthe LancMter Connty , intend to mnke application to the LaglsUinre of the Commonwaalth of Pennsylvania, at their next see. alon far a raaawal of tbe charter, and an exUaafOA' of
prlrtl.g.» Sow .oJoT.J, fora Urm at Iwanty T.«.,
from the explraUoR "l tho present ch»rUr, with the
•im. neioe title, IMetloa md c«plul of *300,000.
Br wJ"- W. L. PBIPEE.
Ja 10.6m.33 Cuhlor Lasceeter Co. Bank
CITY TAX HOTICE.
ALL  City Tax remaining unpaid on th, let it, ot DECEMBEB next, will, accordlag toanoidlaaiicsoftheCitTOf Jjncteter, he plaixd la th,h«d.otlh.Mayor for coU^|.j, .^^j.. »iatM2 TnunnrudTaxSMdTK,