Lancaster Examiner and Herald

              :i;:!C-VniiiT
vo]jra»ii.:
LAl^eAJSTER, PA., WED
FEBRUARY 4, 1863.
NO. 11.
Tri,E EJCaMINK.K & HEKAJ-n
- t^OKslitd mrv Wodw-foP. <K Ttoo a (Ior. «   fair
ABVKKTISBMKNTS will b« Inserted »t the r«l. .1 »1 00 por ^jmrWol toit llBoi, fot lirM Inwi- tloni or 1...: «nl ¦« ««¦" P«' iqtl«r«ftir.Mb idditloul losertlon.
AdTortiBomapts ucodlsff IQllP.. will b. obargM fi oiQCfl per liQc ror tho lat I&aertioa, .Bd 1 ooQta per Un. lit eaeb a-ibMqa.at liteertloa.
Babinesa Ad.ertlseiooata l]lMXt«l by tbt qovtor ball year or yoar. will be clutrgod M followa:
I tnontA«. 6 months. IS ptontAi.
Ollo«Iloare »>00        «« 00        » 8 00
Two    "          6 00 8 00 UW
lioolumn  IOOO        18 00 BOO
JJ     ..  18 00 26 00 WOO
1        .. \]\ " SO ftl 66 00 60 00
BDalNRSS H0T1C£? loBortad before Marrlagoe and Doatlis, doohle the rafialar ratos.
t^All ailr.rtleSng acconnte are coneiderod oolleot.. ble at Ihe expiration of balf tbe period contraeted for. Tran.t.nc a^TertiRem.ut*. OABH
BOSTON HYItS.
Tho foUowing vers:3 by Ralph WalJu Emcrfon, vere Toiid as n Prolopuo at the Juvenile concort in Btistoti. on New yoai':. day. We copy from tho Kohruary number of the Attavlii' Mninlhly.
The tvoril ofth,' Lord by night To the wrtiching Pilgrims cftme, As Iilty sat b}' tho scn-sijc, AaJ iillcil lheir hearta with ilame.
God S'liil,—I .ini tired of kings, I eiillcr tlieni no more; Up It} my car the inorning bringd Tlie outrage,of liie poor.
Think ye 1 malte this hall
.\ field of Imvoe nad trar.
M'jjere tir.anis great and iyranls small
Might harry the weak and poor t
My angel.—-his n-.itne is Freedom, Cho(':*e hini lo he your king;. Ue ...hall cut pathways ea^l aud weat, .\ud lend you wilil his ving.
Lo! I uiicovtr the land -Which I hid ofold time in tho West, .\5 the sculptor uncovers his statue. When ho has wrought faia best.
I show Columhia, of the rocks* Which dip their foot in.the seas And hO.ir lo ihe air'borne flocks Of cloud;, nud the boreal lleece,
I will divide tny goods. Call hi the wretch and slave: - Konc shall rule bnt thc.humble. And noue but Toil shall have.
1 iviil have never a noble, Ko lineage counted great: I'ishcvs and cuojipers and ploughmen Shall coliSIilule a. State.
Go, cut down ^rces in Ihe forest. And fri;n lhe sirai;;hte.it boughs ; Cut down (reo. in the foie.^i, .\iid huilil nie a wooden house.
Call the. pvople logether. The yonng men and the sires, Tlie digger iu I iie harvest lieM, llir.'iin,L:. aiitl liim lhat hires.
Aud here in a pine ..^t.Tie-liousc Thcj' shall choose men Io riiie' In evtry ueedlul facnli.v, hi church, and stale, find .school.
Lo, now ' if iheso poor meu . Can govern the land and sen. And make .iust laws below the sun, As planc-ls faithful he.
And ye .s1,hU siieeov meu ;
'T is nobleness fo serve ;
Help Ihem wlin cannot help agaiu ;
Bcwwe flow righl lo swerve.
1 bresfc'your bonds and maaterships. And I unchain Ihc slave;
Free be h^s heftrt aad haiid" heHceft.ttri,	
As wind and wandering wrtc.
i c.ttise from cvely creature His propfr good lo flow : So much as he is aud doeth, So mucli lie shall bestow.
Bnl, laying \;\r Lauds on anolher To coin hi..j litbtir and SKcnt, He goes in pawn to his victim For elcrnal years in debt.
Pa}' ransom io the owner,
Aud fill lhe bag to the brim.
Who is Ihe owner? The slave is owner,
.\ud ever was.    Pt.y him.
0 Korlii 1 give him iieauty for rags. And h'lnor, 0 Souih ! for his shame: Nevada' coiu thy goldeu crags Wilh I'recdonre image and name.
Dp! nnd ibe dusky r.-icc *
That i^at in d.irkness long,— Be swift their feet as Huielopes, And as behemoth strong.
Come, E-ist. at,d West, and North, By race..', as S!;ow-iIake.=!, .-^nd eavry u.y purpose foril'. Which iifciUier iialla nor sliakes.
My will fuilillcd .shall be. For, iu dnyiight or in dark, My ihiinderholt has eyes to see Jlis way home to ihe mark.
LOVE AlfD DTTTY.
IN   TWO  CUAPTERS—CHAl'TEU I.
Dajliglit was fading, and JIartlia took Iter embroidery lo tbe iviiidow. She walked indolentlj', heavily, across the loom, comiiiued licr work os though she did not eare i'or its coinplotion, and from time to lime looked out 03 the .street in a Way which showed iihiinly that she was weary of it, and uninterc-sted iu its pas¬ sengers.
Martha was, at flrst sight, .an unprc- possessiiii; woiuun; a eareles.is observer would have expected lo find her an indii' fereut friend and a dull companion. .She certaiiily eould not have been ealled prot¬ ty, graceful or eveu tidy; and yet hors was a face at which few could have look¬ ed long without feeling curiosity, pity, interest, and st.ill fewer could have under- Btood without some knowlcdgeof her pasl life. At the lime of which I am speak¬ ing, Martha was twenty-five. Kver since she could remember, she had lived alone with her mother in the Mue dn Colysee. She had como there after a dangerous fover, which >had obliterated the past from her mind.
Jlrs. White could not live in England, but in Paris her health was all that Iter best friends could wish. It was a strange residence for her to havo ehosen, for she could not speak one word of French; .she never shared in any of the g-aictics of the natives, or iiiiseJ with any of her fellow exile.'*. Martha had been educated ac¬ cordiug to her mother's peculiar notions; she had not boou allowed to learn any ac¬ complishments; dancing, music, drawing, were all considered by Mrs. White to be merely other words for.^ waste of time; languages, science, history were only a shade better. The two grand' require¬ ments iu a girl's education were cheap¬ ness and morality.
With neither amusements nor friends, the girl niight, with a good supply of books, havo been her owu instructor; but the niother passed her days in workiug, walking and eating, and why should not tho daughter do the same ? She did ; bat while her fingers lazily drew the needle - in and out, her fancy busily bnilt castles in the air, which her reason as ruthlessly destroyed. There were times when sh* perauaded herself that iho nnght rto^bs
grateful for the state bf life in fthich she w^ placed—that witli a good mother to| love,- and e9:ety nccesisary of life she had ill that^wasreqniaitc for happiness^ There were tiines when many a wicked man wonid have been terrified at the girl's re¬ bellious thoughts, when -cbureh sermon and her mother's morality, liad no other effeot thun to provoke contempt. There were times, more and more frequent,when she lounged over her work with a mind as vacant as even her fond parent could desire. And day after day, month after month, mother and ohild sat in the same room, slept in the same bed, and neither ever guessed whatwa* passing in the oth¬ er's mind.
"How are you getting on with your collar, Marth.i?"
"Oh, very well, mamma ; but it's too dark to see any longer."
"Tes, we will put away our work, love, and look out ofthe window."
Martha rose to oarry her mother's chair across the room, and then plaeed her own opposite to it. ^
The Roe du Colysee is noisy without being gay ; itis narrow; its pavement is still muddy when other strectii are dry ; and it is nerver free from a green-grocer- shop kind of smell. As the ^Vhitcs sat at the window, they talked about their servant, their weekly bills, the passers-by and the weather.
When Aniietta brought in the tea and lamp, Martha moved her mother's chair back to the table, placed fresh wood on the fire and then proceeded to make tea, waiting upon the old lady, and always taking care that she had everything sho wished for, before attending to her own wants. The mother always spoke with much politeness to her daugbter, culling her love, darling, and similar terms of endearment; but she was not a loveable old lady; sbe sat bolt upright in her chair, as though she wore a secret back¬ board nnder her dress; and there wns a hardness In all she said aud did, which quite prevented any one fancying that .she had evor beut lovingly over her child's cradle, ever forgotton her diguity in a romp, or ever condescended to do menial wort by a sick couch.
The Whites attended the English chap¬ el, which is sitnated near to the Champs Elyseec. Oue Suuday, when Martha was in a rebellious mood, she observed that the gentleman who chanced to sit next (o her motber was taking more notice of his ueighbor than of his prayer-book, and that her niother perceived th.'it he did so, find was not pleased. Appareutly, the old lady never took her eyes off her book, aud.was absorbed in her prayers; but Martba had studied her mother for ma¬ ny years, and, wben in her present mood, wutehedher with the eye rather of u sat¬ irist than a daughler. .She kuew very well tbat her parent could, while humbly confcssingherself a miserable sinner, peep out of theoorners of her eyes at tho sins of hor neigbbors; and on this pavtioular
.day-MarAbu-jam, that Ib-oiist JlTr-.-^Vbilo
never raised her oyes from her book, they were staring at the wrong page, and that thougb she inoved her lips at the le.spon- se.«, the usual distinct souud did not come from theni.     JIarlba's curiosity, ratlier than' her syiupathy,  was aroused ;   she looked at the stranger, bnt did not re¬ member to have seen him before.    He was a tall,  dark, thin man, a luan who might easily have been forgotten, had it not been for his noso, but that feature once seen, would be always remembered. It was both the blemish and redeeming point of his tace!  it was like thc portico of a mansion joined to a twcnty-pounds- a-ycar  cottage,  disfiguring,  but causing the beholder to expect more wealth in¬ side than he would otherwise have done. The man's face might have been called pretty or efl'eminate, and he himself might have been supposed to he vaiu or foppish had it not been for his nose.     That nose must have got him into many a fight at sehool, and being still straight, it was but fair to suppose that he had been victori¬ ous ; that nose must havo prevented him fancying everj-  woman he met iu  love with him; iu short, if he was a modest, amiable,  courageous man, full balf the credit was due to that nose.    AVhen ser¬ vice was over, Mrs. White was for bust¬ ling out of church, wbile the stranger was still engaged in his prayers, but Slartha, who sat at the end of the scat, was in an unamiable mood, • and eurioils  to  know wbat would be the stranger's  next move, kept the old lady standing,  while  she picked up books that she had purposely thrown down;   thus by the timo sbe bad risen, the stranger rose also, aud followed theui out.
'•'How do you do, Mrs. White'!   You have not forgotten  John Kceec, I hope; we Uved next door but one to you.     I went out to India.    Surely you must re¬ member me.     Ah I  I suppose ¦ a warm climate has aged rae, and, by .love, now I thinkof it, it's eighteen years ago; but I'll soon recall myself to yonr nieuiory." -Mrs. White, who seemed at first inclin¬ ed to deny all knowledge of the gentle¬ man,  suddenly remembered   him,   and askod coldly after himself and friends; ho answered all inquiries cordially, and look¬ ed soveral times at Martlia, as if wonder¬ ing who  sho was; but Mrs. White did not satisiy his curiosity until she reached the end of the street where sho lived; then   she   somewhat   rudely bade  him good-morning, saying, with a glance 'at Martha, that she and her daughter lived elose by, and  did not keep any society. Neither of  the Whites  spoke  of  Mr. Roeee, but the ono felt inquisitive about the meeting, and the other annoyed at it. Mrs. White did not leave the house du¬ ring the whole weok, always making some txcuse for not  doing so; on  Monday it was going to rain; on Tuesday she was afraid of the wind. Every day she found some reason for staying at home.     3Iar- tba, who Was accustomed to a daily walk, felt uawell under this constant confine¬ ment to the houso, and proposed to go out with Annetta.    Uer niother objected at first, but baving no good reason to "ive for refusing permission, yielded at last an ungracious consent.
Tho young lady and ber maid walked side by side upon the Champs Elysees. It was early spring; showy¦ carriages, with high-actioned horses, were rushing to the Bois dc Boulogne; gentlemea smoking, and ladies gaUy dressed, wero slowly patadinginp snddpwii; ¦numbers of both -wxei and tf all eUues^eira'dhtioj^ ViifoN
c-tfes and,,e3taminet3; at one end, the bloe sky waa peeping through the Are de. Triomphe; at the other, the sun was shiti- ing on the fountains, and the trees over-' head were robing themselvea in their brightest green, to be the crowning orna¬ ment of one of the most beautiful streets in the.whole world.
The gay scene was not wasted upon Martha. A week indoors, with a raore than usually dull old womnn, made the fresh air, exeroise, and life as great a treat to her as they were to Annetta. The simply dressed, healthy-looking English girl contrasted well with the French crowd, as with bright eyes and red cheeks she laughed at her attendant's enthusiastic admiration of the ladies' magnificent dress¬ es.
Martha staring at the carriages, John T^eece at everything but the road before him, struck against one another, and tur¬ ning at the same instant to apologise, rec¬ ognised each other, smiled, and shook hands.
Mr. or rather Jlajor Beeee was not a shy man; he turned round to walk with JIartha, who in the first instance was too curious and excited, and—though it seems a strange thing to say—had lived too much alone uot to feel at her ease. Her intercourse with her fellow-ereatures had been too entirely of a business nature to produce shyness; sho and they had said what Was needed, and then parted. She had never been to an evening party, never read a novel, never talked or been talked to, because silence was not the correct thing. She waa badly educated ; alike ignorant of much that is taught in the school-room and of passing events; unac¬ customed, to think clearly, or to express her thoughts either fluently or elegantly; but she was clever, truthful and afiection¬ ate.
Major Ileeco was in many respects the complete opposite to Martha; he had beeu very carefully educated, sent to In¬ dia at eighteen, placed in his father's reg¬ iment, introduced into good soeiety, and well supplied with books. He was a brave, honest, kind-hearted man. He was neither clever noriearned, but he un¬ derstood the evety-day duties of a soldier and a gentleman, and oould talk fluently on tho surface of every subject of the day. They were to one another as the discov¬ ery of a new world; wonder, rather than admiration, preceded love; tho wonian was thc .superior, but neither he nor she divined it; lie found himself a cleverer man than he had beeu before. He was not the first whoso energies had heen aroused by love; he never guessed thathe only polished -Alartba's rough ideas, that he did not think them out of his own brain. She, on her side, was more im- pres.^.ed by his knowledge than she would have been by that of a more learned man; it covered a great space, and she was too ignorant to perceive that it was not deep.
They were not boy and girl to be ready to go to the altar after a week's  acquain-
in Paris; they were first acquaintances, then friends, then lovers. The first eon- iieetion glided almost imperceptibly into the second, tho second into the third, and an offer of mavriago was scarcely neces¬ sary. Mrs. White was not pleased with the major's visits; her rudeness increased as he became more intimate; he,however felt more and more anxious to continue thc acquaintance; and as Martha was al¬ ways delighted to see him, and waa of an age to judge for herself, he persisted in treating the old lady's hints with the most provoking good temper, and in seem¬ ing always to think that ho was welcome. Martlia was too much absorbed in a new sensation totake much notice of hermother. Jlajor Keece was not only the first man, but the first fellow-creature she had ever loved.
Ono evening after tho major's • depar¬ ture, she was startled out of a happy day dream by her mother's calling to her in a strangely unnatural voice, and when she reached her chair, she found her shaking in ever}' limb, and at first unable to speak. JIartha waa slupified with terror'; she did nothing; but after a few minutes, the old woman becamo somewhat better.
" Martha," she said in a low piteous voice, so diflcr.ant from her usual deci¬ sive tone, that il went to the girl's very heart, " I cannot hear the suspense any longer; it will kill mo. Tell me, are you goiii.g to leave me, Martha'/" " To leave you, mo ther ?" '•' Ay, child," she retorted with increas¬ ed exeiteineut; " aro you going fo marry him 'i Will you leave me in my old ago, all alone, all alone'/ Hysterical sobs stop¬ ped farther speech.
Martha throw herself on her knees by ber mother's side, kis-sed her hand, and tried to soothe her without speaking.— But the old wonian continued to plead her cause with ever-lucreasing vehemence. " 0 Martha, you have forgotten the story I taught you whena child: 'And Ruth said; Intreat mc not to leave thee, or to return from fullowing after thee; for whither thou goest, I will go; and where thuu lodgest, X will lodge; thy people .shall be uiy people, and thy God my God !'•
Now Naomi was .only"  Bnthere the
old womau's emotion was too great to allow her to proceed.
Martha threw herself into her mother's arms. Both were now equally overcome. Jlrs. White was the first to recover her composure.
" Jlartha, do not mind what I have said to you; I am a selfish, dull old woman. Don't mind -mc; go to India with your lover; a servant ean do all for me fhat I require. I havo not long to live."
" 0 mother, dear mother!" " Dear mother!" exclaimed the other bitterly. "No, I am not dear; you do not care for me; you never think of me; all your heart belongs to your new friend. But, Martha, take heed lest there come a day when you may learu how sharper than an adder's tooth is an ungrateful child."
Thc daughter, left alone, tii_ed to think calmly, and to decide what ought to be done. How much truth there was in all her mother had said ! What an ungrate- child she had been; and yet, thought she, " I have had such a dreary life, and now I might be so happy." Sho tried to find a way by which both her own and her mother's happiness might be attained. K Major Reece oould only: stay in Eu- Europe—but she knew that tjotild not be .*—he had m&ny depending on him: aKe
couIH not aslc liim to sacrifice his own ,&mily,fqr,th^:aake of hers-r-aud, besides, hermother disliked him so much—she oouid nOE imagine why. At first she had fancied Mrs. White was afrtud of him, but that was nonsense. He had told! Martha her mother's history; there was much in it to excite compassion, but not ahame. And then it ocoarred to Martha that she had lived twenty-five years with an only parent; that she had never jndged her fairly; she had mistaken her patient sorrow for want of feeling; she had never loved her, aud ahe had felt only joy at the thought of leaving her. Then her con¬ science spoke plainly, and told her that there was but one compensation for such injustice; but she wonld not listen to it. Hitherto, her love had been happy, be¬ cause held withiu bounds; but now it was a raging passion, which would break down every barrier, which would listen to neither law nor reason. Martha's sound sleep was gone. By day, by night, she argued first on one side'then on the oth¬ er; inclination, always urged her to go, conscience to atay.
The mother did not again allude to the marriage, but she watehed her daughter anxiuosly, as though longing to kuow her decision.
JIarta avoided her mother's eyes—they pleaded too piteously.
The major did uot always find his visits so pleasant now. Mrs. White had indeed discontinued her rude remarks, but Jlar¬ tha no longer smiled so kindly or talked so frankly as before. If the mother left the room, the daughter was sure to make some exouse to follow- He re.solved to have an explanation. A.s soon as Martha had made up her mind, she g.ive him an opportunity of asking for it, and in her answer told him how much she loved him' asked his pardon if, through her thought¬ lessness, she had caused him any pain,!>ut said that now sho saw plainly what it was her duty to do—.she mnst stay with - her mother.
At first, the major was augry; ho had been trifled with; he was worth more than that selfish, stupid old creature; but whon he looked at poor JIartha's pale face, his anger softened into pity; he reasoned withber; there weresome mothers worthy of such a sacrifice, but not Ifers. Hehad a cousin who would gladly take charge of the old lady, and make her as comfortable as Martha could do.
" It's no use," she said siitlly. " Tou cannot desire our niarriage so much as I do; but if I could act conlrary to ray eouseienee, I should not be worlby to be your wife. Good-bye. Give me your hand, John. Let us part friends." ' Now.lhat the matter was decided, Mar¬ tha wiis not so miserable as before. Her mother's gratitude surprised her. <'How fond the poor old lady must be of me," she thought. " Who knows but my mar¬ riage might have caused her death, .ind thore would then have been very little happiness for either John or me."     Her
• "Bah !¦ bah!'Ton nearly IciHed mei with your bad driving, and now you want to try what bad nursing will do."
" Ton shall  have  a nurse,   mamma."
" All I dear Martha yoa are always good and you must'notmin^>rhat I say in my pain." ¦
" O no, mamma; I am -sure that I should be ten times aa cross, it'l^'^ere as ill as you are."
" But when can you find me a nurse, Miirtha?"
" I will ask Mr. Wilson to recommend US oue; he wiil be here soon." ¦ The invalid said no more until she heard the doctor's step, then starting hastily np, she exclaimed : "Mr. Wilstin is ooming; don't forget the nurse; tell him how anxious I am about you, my darling."
Mr. Wilson did not consider a nnrse necessary; there were no very clever ones at Linton, none who \rould watch the pa¬ tient BO attentively, or carry out his orders so carefully, as Martha did.
But Jlra. White insisted that Jlartha was killing herself, that evei^' day made a difference in her.
The doctor said that he could not see it.
" Perhaps not, but a mother'a eyes are sharjier than a doctor's."     •
A.a aoon as the nurse was hired, Mrs. White proposed that Jlartha should live in the cottage at Linton, whore the air was more bracing than in the valley.— Jlr. Wilson would not hear of such a thing; the young lady was quite well and very useful iu the sick-room. Jlartha saw plainly that her presence was always an annoyance to the invalid, she therefore avoided visiting her mother's room ex¬ cept during the periods of delirium.— Hitherlo, sho had paid but little attention to the patient's ravings, but now she eould not resist listening to them, and some¬ times speculating on their meaning. They wero almost unintelligible, and they would have been quite so, but for what the Jlajor bad told her of Jlrs. IVhite's early life.
fCONOr.USION NEXT   WEEK.]
[Original.]       _,._ TBUST   IN   OOD.
Bi- PtHLBV SOUSiO^.
In thia world of sin and care. Sorrow, paiu and da?k. despair, Friends the truest earlieat die, Hopes the fondest soonest fly; But when cherished dreams depart. And tears unto our eyelids start;, When friends aud kindred pass away Like snow beforo the breath of May ; Trust in Qod, and He shall be Worlh al Ube world beside to thee.
Trust in God, and when to deiith
Tieldeth thou at lasl thy breath, ' Angel pinioned, thou shalt fly
To His mansions in the sky ;
There thy long lost friends siiall inect'thce.
There Ihy Saviour-God shall"greet Ihee;;
There Ihoii shall be ever blest
Ou tby dear Redeemer's brciist. BAr.Tt.MonB, Mn. '   '
her lover, and in a weak momeut consent to go with him ; and when Sirs. White proposed (hat they should leavo Paris for a while, Jlartha gladly agreed to do so.— Neither ever alluded to  the M.ijor, but both tacitly avoided any place where thoy would be likely to meet him, and as they know that be did not intend returning to Englaud before his departurif for Indi'a, both mother and daughter  thought lhat their nativa air would do theui good.— Martha was  pleased with  thc journey, amused with evory novelty she saw; every red-roofed  village   "between   Paris  and Boulogne, every p.iticnt or despairing suf¬ ferer betweeu Boulogne and Polkestone, every greeu luxuriant meadow belween Folkestone   aud  Londou,  diverted   her mindjfrom its sorrow.    She was an unin¬ terested sufferer; her strong mind fought with grief as a strong body flghts with disease, and she never doubled the wis¬ dom of her choice; she had obeyed eou¬ seienee, the unerring guide.    They hired a furnished cottage at Linton, and a liltle pony-carriage to drag the old lady up the steep hills.    Jlartha was no longer so en¬ tirely under her mother's control as she h'ad formerly been; the days of needle¬ work were past; she read whal books she pleased, wandered   alone wherever she chose, even took lessons in drawing, and the old lady made no remark.
The pony they had liired was very quiet so long as he had little food and much work;,but whenhe had plenty to eat and nothing to do, his oharactcr changed.^ He appeared to think that he had a right to deoido the distance, and the pace  hb would go; and when Martha fancying that his laziness must proceed from weakness, ordered him au extra feed  of corn,  he shied, kicked or started at every object he met.    One day, as Jlartha was driving carefully dowu the Lynmouth  Hill, the pony started at a gentleman with an um¬ brella got beyond his  speed, and   over¬ turned the chaise.    Tbe old lady's- head struckagjunst a sharp stone and she-faini- ed.    Jlartha waa not hurt; she ran to (b't Lyndale Hotel  for assistance,   aud  the people aoon plticed the invalid  on  a bed, and fetched a doctor.   The aurgeon could not give much hope.    Jlrs.  White-had received several severe injuries, and  was not a young womau.    The sufferer was in verylow spirits,  and in great piiin, at times crying,  at  times delirious.    Her temper was never to be depended on; one hour she would reproach Jlartha  as the cause oftbe accident, and the next express the greatest anxieiy abonther daughter's health.
One day she called Martha to her'lide, and asked, with a terrified look, if she had not been delirious.
" Yes, mamma; but you have often been so before."
"Havel?   And what did  I say?" " Indeed, I hardly know." "Ah! thatfe right.    People talk auch nonsense when they are that way; it's better not to attend to them."
Jlartha made no answer. Her mother seemed to be lost in thought; at last she said that a nurae mnst be hiiod.
''Indeed, mamma, I am quite strong; and no nurse can take so much care of you as I do."
" My mind would be easier; I am so anxious about you, dear; and, besides a professional nurse would understand the surgeon's dire'ctions better than you can do,"   .       •..,,    ,
"Mr. Wilson says thath5t^.!(r{ral!i noJ '¦wisb a battar norsa than I am."
^ ERirnj, a W-Ti. tiriTr-i'—r-T^-
"Good bye!"'
In a moment moro, thc proud youg offi¬ cer who spoke these words, stepped upon the moving train which would bear him onward to Southern fields of battle.
Pale, on the platform, a young lady slood, with white cheeks and wet eyo-lasb- cs, watchiug the departing train bearing swiftly away him who was dearer to her than her life; and yet, if not in anger had she-parted with him, it was wilh coldtnis- undcrstanding. Both were proud aud un¬ yielding in their dispositions. The yonug man felt himself wronged by tile proud woman he had loved, and ho could keenly suffer even unto death, for his proud iron will would not bend.
Six months beforo Isabel Gerard had met Harry Jlountford at the magnificent home of their mutual frieud, Jlrs. Will¬ iams. A throng of wealth, wit and beau¬ ty had gathered to spend a brilliant even¬ ing of mid-winter. Among the beauliful, Isa'bel, with her native grace, moved the brightest heauty of thom all. A drass of simple white miLslin fell in gr.ioeful dra¬ pery around her rounded figure; a single diamond arrow clasped baek the' heavy mass of hair from her forhead—it was the only gem she wore.
A crowd of gay aiJmtrers had gathtired around her the entire evening, and weary with their;vairi3att<!iittpn,^slie had for a singlciintiment^eseaped:their observation, and- crossing an' arched vestibule found her,J:way;tq"tbe:;conservatory;  overcome ifor ii'ijiomeut by the heavy fragrance of irare exptiea, mingled with the rich per¬ fume  of  ovir own flowers,  she leaned against a marble slab  eovered   with  a clinging eglantine, glad to be alone.— Hearing a sttip, she turned her head in confusion, and saw the form of Mount- ford, a stranger to her until this evening.- Bowing ili apology for his iutrusion, he declared his ignorance of her presenoe here; he, too, was weary with the empty compliments, the high jesting and giddy remarks of the wild seekers for pleaaure. In a moment they were in earneat con¬ versation ;  bolh possesse 1 fine intellecls, and minds well cultured.     A half hour afterward they returned to the thronged saloons, and again glided into the natural bow of wit and hnmor.
From that hour, Harry Jlountford was a constant visitor at the home of Isabel GrBrard. Three months after she was his pledged wife, and no woman was ever happier than she in the love that she bore for the handsome brave man who held in sacred confidence her promise.
Isabel was no coquette, but she was both haudsome and gified, and her socie¬ ty, was much sought for; both the distin¬ guished and aflluent courted her. More than thi.s, sho bad a proud cbnMence in her power, and she thought to test se¬ verely the exteni of her lover's affection and forbearance. JIany tinies, by tiiought- less remarks and careless demeaner, she had deeply offended him; yet he w.iitcd upun her with unfaltering devotion, crush¬ ing the quick fire of indignation with a flashing eye and compressed lip.
Among the train of worshippers who would have won her more for her wealth and regal beanty than for those loving qualities of the soul which are born im¬ mortal, was a young man named Charles Foater. Jlountford knew him to be a man of profligate habits and weak principles, and had once or twice warned her of his devotion. Isabel did iiot liks this; not that lha earad one iota ibr the man against
whom she had been warned; but ahe would not be dictated to even by the man she would have died to save. Onee had he raet Isabel walking with Mr. Foster on one of the most pubiie streeta of the eity. He passed faer mth a polite bow and a light smile, bnt when he met her again in pri¬ vate, he reproved her with calm dignity, and with firmness warned her of the con¬ sequence of a second like offence. Isabel hit her lips with vexation—^she would not be thus threatened I The next day Mount- ford would leave town for several days' absence, and promising Isabel as haaty a return as possible, he bid her a tender farewell. Isabel stood in the hall a uio- ment after his departure, with a tear on her eheek and a new fondness in her heart. But again a proud rebellion arose within her, and turning away with haugh¬ ty step, she entered the   drawing-room.
The day was clear, bright, and beauti¬ ful. Spring was decked in all her bursb ing pride; the proud, slrong elms wore re¬ joioing in their new foliage, and the light breezes swept among them, disturbing slightly the beautifal birds in their cease¬ less songs. Here and there, in shop win¬ dows, a bunch of early flowers, mixed with " trailing arbuts," loaded the air with their perfume—all nature seemed glad.— Charles Foster called upon Isabel Gerard and asked her to walk. She would have turned in disdain from him, and waa al¬ ready about to do so, when a thought of Jlountford's threatening occurred to her mind. She would go. They had walked a few moments, when suddenly turning a oorner she stood face to face with Harry Jlountford. Not this time did ho smile and bow; a frown dark as uight gathered over his noble brow, and .he walked by without one sain tion of acquaintance.
Isabel retraced hor steps homeward with a half-exultant, half-troubled heart, and bidding her attendant good-morning atthe door, sprang lightly up the steps. In the evening Jlountford would call, again would eoufidenco be restored, and 'her .sligbtiy trotibled mind be at case.
Sunlight oeased, and the chandelier was already lighted, dashing its light upward to the frescoed ceiling, the blend¬ ing .of whose tints seemed like those of precious stones; ou tho marble hearth a clear fire was burning, and the purple velvet curtains sweeping theflobr hid from intruders wiihout thc pleasant scone.
Isabel, waiting alone in the drawing- rooni^ seemed busy with her own reflect¬ ions; .a nervous light burned in hereye, aud .her small, delicate foot beal impalient- ly,upon^thc Turkish carpet. She started p.ceasibnally,, jis the hour woro away, but Mpuritford: did not eomo. Bvening suc¬ ceeded evening, but his quick, joyous step was unheard, and his loved presence un- felt. Isabel had both grieved and offend- dedliim dceply^was it, could it be beyond reparation ? Tho agony of her miud was intense, yet hor hand penned no liue of ex¬ planation, and Jlountford would not call
iwiihrnii:—-liiva&£r-dav_-,W,Q);oj)n==pn-to ltle rclui uiuaa liuc ut itm piBi-—uiidtivice
in this time had Isabel met Jlouutford in thronged assemblies. The strong mau suffered. Isabel knew it, but her strong pritle was unrelenting, while the fiend of despair fastened at her heart. The last evening, at a social gathering, Jlountford metlsabcl,and on parting he took her h.ind wilh something of the old pressure of fond¬ ness, while a softened light gathered in hor eye. rsabel's heart beat painfully, but her lips were un'parted, and ag.iin back to the channels of her soul the almost open penitence ruslied  iu silence.
Thc next morning, Isabel saw, by tho morning papers, thc announcement thtit "Culonel Harry Jlouutford would leavo on tbe ove of that same day for the seat of war." All eolor forsook hor cheek, her blood seemed frozen in her veins, while siidi an agony filled her heart. Would he not just call to bid her farewell, if not to forgive her ? It was now eleven; at four his regiuient would leave. Waiting in tho keenness of suspense, thc hours wore on until threo, and slill Jlountford came not. What would she give for the oppor¬ tunity to ask with tears for forgiveness, and give bim her fondest blessings, as ho went in noble responso to his country's call to encouriter the manifold dangers of war—to die, she fell almost sure.
Snatching from a servant whom she had hastily summoned, hor bonnet and shawl, she started for the Common, where his his troops would parade ere they left at four. Among the dense crowd, some weeping, mourning and wringing their hands in anguish, Isabel walked wilh a cheek white unto marlile, bul with a step as firm and swift as the jostling of the crowd would admit. Only atthe depot did her eye meet the galiant Jlountford's —only wilh his step upon tho moving train bad he taken her hand and bid her thc good-bye whicii left her a miserable, unhappy woman. "
If Isabel expected any message from him, she was disappointed. .:'Xwclve inonths wore on; again and again had he met the perils "of battle, bad been promo¬ ted for bis uririyalled hj-avery upon the field, but no shot had yet laid hiiii low.
In all this time was Isabel the. same woman ? No; not in' the gay, bewildering festival W.1S her presence found. Thc gay throng of idle flatterers who had once sur¬ rounded her, had uow (juite forgotten that she lived. Those whom her eountry had made widsws and orplrans had learned to love her; many a suffering soldier owed to her hand the mitigation of his woes; an angel of mercy, she hovered over the scenes of suffering, and found- in giving joy to others her only hippiness.
Agaiu the year went by; the awful, batilo of Fredericksburg had becufought; the papera g-ave long accounts; but uone can ever kuow the history of individual men who entered upon the terrible day of carnage.
The noble JIauntford fell, wounded and bleeding. Let ua not stop to enlarge up¬ on thnt awful scene. The whole eountry lies to-day in sorrow; one complete wail of mourning falla upon the land, and ita ter¬ rible hiatory eannot be wiped out while the aun of America shines.
Jlountford was carried lo Washinglon, and in the house of a friend laid upon a bed of pain. Soon fover ensned, and rea¬ aon seemed forever going out in midnight darkness. Constantly in his ravings waa Isabel's name nponhii lips. She was has- tily.Bniximoned,..8ndi in. the shoitagtiime possible was by his side.
With assidaous care were hia wants supplied, although hope almost died out, that his life might be spared; and when at laat reason was returning, and the doe- tor spoke of hope, the pen may not tell his joy to find at hia side the proud wo¬ man that he had so deariy loved, now gentle and humble, in the boundless love ahe bore him, made ao by wave after wave of agony and suffering.
leaei
EELEH, SniTTIRO.
Little Helen, on her chair— Patiently at work waa she; And in ringlets fell her hair. Lovely did she seem to me; She was.sitting. Knitting, knitting. Busy liltle girl! thonght I,
How I love to see your skill! ' I am half inclined to try— And I most believe I will! She was aitting. Knitting, knitting.
In a whirl the fingers fly.
First ono needle, than the next; She might with her mother vie : But for me, I am perplexed ; She was sitting, Knitting, knitting.
Then a zigzag, croos this way,
Thetk a curious whirl again— How she makes the liagers play ; It's no business for the men! She was silting, Knitting, knitting.
Now the curious seam is made;
How to do it I can't tell; But the skill she has displayed, -- Makes me think she does it well ; She was sitting. Knitting, knitting.
Now the toe is closed aud done—
What a pretty sock is this .' It is knitting number ooe I
Go and get your ntother's kiss 1 Sho was sitting, Knitting, knitting.
Busy little girl! thoughl I,
How I lovo to aee your skill; And the pleasure in her eye Made my heart wilh pleasure fill; Helen sitting At her knitting.
[Frtvn the German.]
A STOKY FO'R THE LITTLE FOLKS, Little Madeleine—"God's Little Ohild."
Tbe day waa just brciiking when thc post-coach from Stra.sburg drove into Paris, and the passengers, yawning and atretch¬ ing, expressed their joy in difl'erent ways. "Well," said one man, "Paris at last."
"Is this Paris," asked a sweet litlle voice from one corner. Every one tura¬ ed to look, 'and there sat a pretly little creature of six years old, with a bright, fresh curls
face,  soft blue eyes, and  golden
jlustering about her head. I " Whal a dear little creature!" "Wh-at a pretty child!" "Whal a little angcl!" Such wcrc their delighted exclamations. " Are you all alone, little one ?" asked one.
" Yes; all alone," replied the child, wilh a bright smilo._"In Strasbnrg mara-
condaclor promised to take me safely to Paris. And he has kept his word, for hore I am. Jlauima said God would take careof me, for I'm his child, you .sec ; she gave me to hiin as soon as over I was Wn."
In a few moments "every tine was busy with his own affairs, and forgot the child. The conductor placed her on one side, and told berto wait patiently unlil ho got through, and then be would tako her to her uncle.
.She obeyed, and waited until tho last passenger was gone. Then the man eame toward her and said :
"Now, little one, let's have tho letter. I h'ave just had orders to go on with an¬ other coach to Lyons, so I cant go with you to your uncle; but I will give you to akind trustworthy man. So the letter, quick, the letter !"
"Oh ! yes, bere it is!" and she put her hand in Iier pocket, thou drew it out and looked confounded. "It's gone ! I put it hero lasl night and il's gone! It~must have fallen on the floor of the coach !"
"You don't mean that!" said thc man ; "aud thc coaoh is half way back to Stras¬ burg by this time. But tell me your un¬ cle's name ; I have but five miuutes: in¬ deed, there comes my coach now ! Quick —3'Our uncle's name."
"I don't know it," said tho ohild ; it was on the letter, but that's lost!"
All tbis time the coach was opproach¬ ing. It distressed the man to.leave a child like that alone in Paris; but he said that his situation depended upon his going, and he dared not even detain thc vehicle two minutes. "God help you, little one !" he murmured, sprang into the coacli, and rattled off. The child im¬ plored ilim wildly not to leave her alone j but ho dared not stay.  "
Sitting down again upou the bunch, she eried at first bitterly; but suddenly a new thought entered her mind. I will go baek to mamma," said she, and, getting up, she went up to a person whom, by bis uniform, she knew to be the superintend¬ ent of the line.
" Ifyou please, sir," said she," I wanl to go to Strasburg; will you ask some of the conductors to take nie ?"
"You to Strasburg? Whi-t for, you little monkey''." waa tbe reply
"I want to go back to niamma, air, if you please.    Do iet one of lhem take me!" <" Very well, but I suppose you have nioney ?"
" Oh! yes, two franco!" and the child looked quite delighted. " I sh.int want lo eat and drink more then that will buy." "You Uttle fooI,'I mean to pay your passage. Is two francs all you've got ?" " Not a bit more, sir; but do let them take me. I won't take up a bit of room. I'll squeeze way in the corner, or I'll creep under the seat: only take me baek to mam¬ ma !"
With a har.sh voice and brutal words thc man drove thc trembling child from the place, and bade her "go off." "I don't know where to go," said she; "I don't know any one in Paris, and mama's in Strasburg," and ahe sat down again and sobbed aloud.
" None of your bawling, there, I tell you! Go 'long and beg, if you can't do anything else," and again he drove her off. The cliild walked away, ahe neither knew nor cared where; she was only thinking how to get back to Strasburg.. At last, prercoma with himger and fatigae she.sat down,.OBsa9tOQe and began to cry bitterly.   The atreeta were fall of people,
and ail who passed looked round at her,but no one spoke to her until there came by a boy of about twelve years old, leadiog a donkey, to which was fastened a wagon loaded with coal.
" Coals ! coals ! very cheap !" cried the little inerchant; then, seeing the weeping child, he stopped, and demanded what was the matter?
In a few simple words she told her story. " So, you see," said she, " sinco I can't find my unele I must go back to Strasburg."
"Tell me your uncle's name, dear ! I'll find him for you," said the boy.
" Oh! if I only knew it myself. It waa the letter, bnt that's lost. I wish God would take care of me, as mamma said he would, for I'm his little ohild!" and she sobbed afresh.
" Don't cry, dear little girl. Tell rae what your name  is."
" Jly name's Madeleine," said the child, and mamma lives in Strasburg. Oh! I wish I had stayed with her aud uot come toParis!"    V
"Madeleine is.a very pretty name," said theboy. "Mine's Pierre, and my mamma is called JIadame Thierry. But oome home with me; she is very, very good, and will take care ofyou, and we'll send back lo Strasburg for another letter." Delighted at this idea, little JIadelcine dried her tears, and ghdly allowed Pierre to lift her up ou topof the load of coal, over whicii he first spread his coat, and chatting merrily they soon reached the humble cottage of Madame Thierry.
The kind woman gladly undertook the careof the iiltle stranger, and the next day Pierre went to thcstage-ofiice to meet the Strasburg coach and ask about the letter. 'The driver did not know the child's mother. The cenductor did, but had no.l yet retarned from Lyons; so they mvLst wait.
Jleantimc, one day there oame a terri¬ ble htorm,even Pierre cpuld not go abroad; it was fearful. To while away the lime, the children got around JIadame Thierry and begged from.her a story of "old times" as they called it.
"Well," said she,"I'll tellyou one that troubles me yet,   'Now listen :
" You have heard of the dreadful times called 'the Revolution.' Some unkind and thoughtless actions of the King and his nobles lo thc people made them very an¬ gry, and some wicked men took advan¬ tage of it. 'They told them that kings had no more right to be rich than they had.and persuaded them that it would be a most excellent thing to kill all who were rich, aud share their inoney among those who were not. By this kir.d of talk they worked upon them to such an extent that the people acted as if thoy were crazy,and impri-ioncd and killed every ricli mau thoy could find—the good as well the had. Now at this time I was living as nursery-maid with a fine old nobleman, thc Count St. Foie. His faniily was a wife and one lit¬ tle daughter—both as sweet and lovely as good, and a poor man, whpm they had greatly helped, gave them notice of the outbreak in time to onable them fo send away to a safe place a great deal of their muney.
" The Count und Countess, however, were hoth afterwards taken and killcd,and their lust words to me were: 'Jenny, save Jlarion 1'
"Jlarion was lheir little daughter, then twelvo years old. Her governess, at the first idarm, had thrown into a valise some ofthe child's clothes, and all the inoney and jewels she could find. With these I succeeded in getting away with her to the poor man's hut—the one who had gi.-en notice to tho count—and there wc disguised ourselves before going furiher. Then we made our way to the river,wliere Thomas, to whom I was soon to be mar¬ ried, was wailing with a boat. I gel her to Lyons,'"and put her in the care of a fonner housekeeper of tin Count's, and one I knew to be devoted to him. There I left her, and went back to sec if I could save anything more.
"Dreadful,drcadful sightsdid Isee there But at last things became quict, and matters had been going on smoothly for some days, when nne day I had a call from a visilor. An elegant looking oflicer called to see mc, (I was nursing Pierre then,) andsaid he was the Count Narbouo, the younger brother of JIarion's mother, and when the revolulion broke out had been in Spain. Here he had bcen so for¬ tunate as to do the King many services, and he, in return, had uot only richlj- re¬ warded him, but obliged the French Gov¬ ernment'to give him back the property the Revolutionists hud taken . from the family He was just come home and wished to find his sister's child.
", I told him where I liad left Ker. and he went tosee ahout her; but all he eould learn w.is tliftt she had marijeda young officer,' tbe orphan son of one of the Count's old friends. lie stood high in the German army, but was not rich, and had taken her lo Germany, where his regiment waa. Since thatthe old wo¬ man said sbc had heard that the young ofiieer had been killed, and that Jlarion and a litlle daughter wero living iu Stra.s¬ burg.
"The Count went there, but could not find her; then he came here, and left word where I should send to him if I beard more of her. But I have uever heard a word," said the worthy woman, with tears in ber eyes. "Dear Jliss' Jla¬ rion, how I would love to see berand her little one '. Her uncle comes every now and then to asif, and bas all her property safc for her; bul——"
Here she was interrupted by a faiut knock al the door. She rose in haste lo open it, and a young but miserable wo¬ man, drenched with the storm and ex¬ hausted by hunger and fatigue, fell; faint¬ ing, across the door. Gently lifting and taking her towards the fire, she opened her eyea and spoke, and the next mo¬ ment, with a shriek of joy, little JIade¬ lcine was hanging round her neck. It was her mother I The sight and voice of the child revived her even more than thc warmth aud shelter. When she had ea¬ ten and been strenglhened by a glass of warm lea, she lold the story of ber fears and aufferinga. She had gone to the coaoh-pffice tp inquire if hor child had reached Paria safely, and while there the letter was found in the coach. A passen¬ ger by anolher coach told, in her hearing, of tbe brutal conduct of the superinten¬
dent to a beautiful child who seemed alene and friendless, and from his da¬ scription she knew at once that it waa JIadeleinc.
Without a cent in the world, or the means of getting one, (for she had sold her last ring to pay her child's passagc- mpney,) she set out ou foot. After get¬ ting to Paris and finding no tidings of the child at the office, she walked on, in¬ quiring of all she met for her; but in vain. At last, overcome by want and fatigae, and unable any longer to breast the atorm, she laid down tp die, and was praying for her child, when a woman, in passing, stopped and spoke to her. From her she learned that JIadame Thierry bad taken in a little stranger, and hope gave her slrength to go a little farther.
Afler resting, sbe began to tell the gcod woman the slory of her life; but hardly had she said a dozen words, when her hostess jumped up, exclaiming: "Miss Jlarion! dear, dear Jliss Jlarion!" It was indeed Jlarion, and leaving them to¬ gclher, Pierre slipped out, and soou re¬ turned wilh the Count de Narbonne.
'The rest may bo imagined. Restored to wealth, Jenny and her son were placed in imporlant situations in their household, and always treated as old and dearfriends. Liltlo JIadeline often whispered, when she felt uncommonly happy: " JIamma, I'm SP glad I was God's little child!— Haan't he taken good care of me'"—N. Y Metliudust.
BREVITIES.- 'Wise and Otherwise.
A lady complaining that her husband was dead to fashionable amusements, ho replied. " But then, my dear, you make me alive to the expense."
A Scotohman asked an Irishman, why were half-farthings coined in England''. Thc answer was, "So that Scotchmen may have an opportunity to subscribe to charitable associations!"
An Irish Jliller, who held some petty military command, waa observed, ono day, eoming into a town with a eart leaded with sacks of flour. " Ho !" oried a wa" of the place, "there comes Jlarshal Saxe wilh the/fmccr of 'Xipperary I"
You might buy me some gloves as you come up Broadway, Henry," said a blue- eyed ivife to a brute. " August," replied the brute, " you profess lo liko S!iaksperu. Do you remember what H.imlet remarks, ' Buy and by is early .<ttiil.' " Aiigu.sta looked scissors!
" I wish," saitl the slight and elegant Jlrs. Fitzhob lo her friend Mrs. Tigt,s, whose embonpoint w.is strikingly hand¬ some, " I wish I bad some of your fat and yuu had some of my leau.'' " I'll tell you what is thc origin of that wi.sh," replied the fair wit, " j'ou think ton miirli of me and tw link of your.self."
" Wealth breeds cares," says tho pro¬ verb, and il is said that during a recent
"'lii'i-^lil*y""c.it"ryiiig
fofnflt'a"'fco'ji'(iS'«c
away their furniture for safety, one jioor woman caliuly .stepped out of- one of the hou.scs in danger, and in a satisfied tunc of voice e.'ccl..imcd: "Well, thank God, I've nothiiiir to remuvc '."
KXKCUTORS NOTICE.
Estate of Abraham Herabey, late of 'West
Hempfield lwp , dec'd.
LETTERS testamentary ou said cstal having been, grauted lo ibe aDd«^i?ncd. a]i per- nune lodobted thereto are rciiaesled to inatfe iionieti.i'o tieuleDieut.attd lU-jio having cl^iuia ur .UmandH akaio.L tho aumu will pre.eat Ibeui withoat d«lay fur liellle- ment 10 th- nuderslgoed. resldlDg in iiald lowcthi'i. )an21 et'-S Bii.NjAMl.'; KUOT, t.X5ca[„,-
EXliCUTOR'S NOTICli. Estate of Michael Hoffman, late of Conoy twp, deceased. 'Testamenlary
L^:
ETTEUS
on   su-itx
_ tatt! ba.ritigbi6n er.'tcied to tiia QDdorntjDetl. atl pereuoit lo'Inbtcd thpreto &» teqaeiited to uinke im - msdUi0'^etilein«Dl.iinc) tboue ha.Tlui{cl<iliu.'«or <l<^[iiAi]<li aguiutl tliB tani« will iitcsdiJt thetu ivitbuai delay for liaitlfliiiflat to th*" undcrMjcLed Kxi>i:uior.i,
BKSJaMIS Hi>l'FM.'V.\, OanoT Iwn. Mli;HAEb 51. HOFF.vIaN, fcanl O-ueg^l. jan '.'¦). tf't-S
EXECUTOR'S NOTICE.
Eatate of Fhoebe Hiilor, late of Bart-twp t
Lancaster County, Dec'il.
LKTTKKS testamentary ou snid estate bnviiiic been gmntad to tbe aaderulgot-d, &tl p r> t>i>D» iodttbted Ibttreio nre reqaenled lu iHAna liiia)t>di&lii> wltleiueiit. aa>t tboBi bAvlnn cixtuia t)r demsod^ .-tg^iofit the HiMiie wlll pmeat tbdin witboat delay to tbe uoder- Mgaed. rehidinj; in naid townsbip. jn o-i I-til-!) Wtl. L KAKS-iTKAW, Exacntor.
"^     EXECUTOR'-S NOTICE. Estato of Jacol) Spotts, lace   of   CarnarToo Townstiip, deceased.
LKTTi'.KS tcstii men tary ou said estate bavlDg been gnittied to tbu audBrBi^add, all per- aoua indebted tbereio are reqae&ted to makt immnd^ate payraent, and tbose baviog claiiui>or detnaudHacitlDti: tbo fiama wlll prenent tb3m witboat d&Uy Tor »*)tt!e- ment lu tba Qnddrsigaed, ronldiug In fdlti towririblp. JAUES McCAA, jaD21-6t Q Executor.
EXECUTORS' NOTICB.
EatatP of  MOL.lv   BRANDT, (Widow,) Intt
of Mount Joy towuiihip, decrustrd.
LETTEU.'S TostamoDtaiy on said estat Iwriiis lii'KO f;reijtrd t'l the uii'lt-r-i^.'iii'd, nil ^*t- suiia iudcbte.l Ibi^ietUMro ruiiif..ittf i tn toikc iuiiiii*iliii(t payinfn'.tnd ihoj^-' liariiin il«:on»iI-.ty ¦hi^t th-cau.^ will pa'S<;ut tlieiQ lorpL'tllvuirutto tbi! under:i^uud, ic- Hidlii'i; it] tmitl lowDrblp.
det .aot* AlCtAUAM IL COJl\ KxTUti.r.
ADMINISTRATOR'S NOTICE.
Estate of James B. Lane, late of the Gity of
Lancaster, dac'd.
LETTEUS of administratiou   on said ei^tato bavtog beengrantf^d totha noderi-I.Gii«d, hII perauait indebled tbereio are rtfiiafMlnd to m.tkti uiimodt- ats eettlement. aod  tLo)>»  baviog claim¦< or iInu::iDdi< agatntjt tbe BAui^ will  preheat Ibeui witbuuc doUy  far setttement to Wm. B  Forda.>y, Aciiog Aiiuiol^ trator 5IAKTHA LA.Ni:, WM. B. FOItDNET, jan 2(6t-9 Adm!ali?tra'.ori*.
ADMINISTRATOR NOTICK.
Estate of Hathias Glauner, late of SaUsbury township, deceased. S of administratiou on  said
LETTEKS estate bavic; reri-ouH latlebt?d
C);bt.-^D icraated Iv ibe Qcdortrlijaed. all >d tbtrreto are reiiueitie-J tJ uia-iu iia- melittta ^ettl'.-uvi t. aad thona baTlng claiuH <*r dd< niaad;t agalsn: tbe Rauio will prei-eut tb«m wltboa; Aoldj fjr xeitlem^ct to tha ncdartiliiDud. n-niiUcg in said ti'WuBbip. MYSJ. F. WKAVIii:,
j»a7-6t-7 /.dmlul-trBior.
ADMINISTRATORS NOTICK. Estate of WiUiam Heed, late of Falton town¬ ship, deceased.
LETTEKS of admiuistration on said etilbte having been granted to the nnd ers! raud, fttl |>irsOUtt iodr-blod tbb;MO are reqaeated to make iin¬ uiedlate lieltlement.and tboue bavlng claimH or demaudrt a^iinelibt) fcttiue will preeent them witboat dffay K>r eelllemaDtto tbe nuderitKaed.rafldlns to t>4i<l tnw< t>ltl[) jaa 3-8:-6 HB.NRY McVEV, j>dmT.
NOTICE,
ALL persons having claims against the CITT OF TiANCA&TER, ior Labor or M»t*>rlal.«, are leqaexiai to prertent tbem xt tbn U^yor'* office  for pajment, no or buforu tbe Ift dar orFEBK0ARV, IS61. By o:ili:r ol tUe Finance ComniUttie. jnal7 3t-8 0. ZAHM,Chairman.
~~   NOTICE^ ~
order  of  tlie  Court of Common
    Pleai of Lancaster couaty. notice Ib bareby civfio
that lbe  Coart  appoioled  for tbe week eomtoxsoc'tag Marcb'Jdi If^.tvllt Dot be beld. and all Jnrom hOiu' mooed to attend at that time are notified tuat tbelr at- tendanci will not be r^onired. jan23-at-I0 S. W. P. BOYD-
B^
NOTICE-
AT a special meetin<; of the Directors ofthe t-oorand HooHoof'Bmploymeat of lancaa¬ ter Uoooty, held Jana*ry28, 166J. for organliatlooof tbe neV Board and election of officers, on motioti of 0, Gast, Beq , It was noanlmoaBly agreed to poatpooti tbb election of oSii-en la coDpeqaeoce of the report made bv tbe tJrand luqnerit at tbe Jaanary term of tbe Conn of Qoartar tee«elonB. until FRinAY, TUE 6th DAY OF FEHHDAKV. at 10 o'clock, A. M.. for the loTeaiigtitloa of matt«ri referred to lu eaid report, at w jleh time tbe msmbert composing aald Orand iDqaettt.and all parties Interested ara requested to attend, Jaa28-2t-lfl „_
NOTICE.-ESTRAY.
CAME to the  premiaes of the subscri¬ ber in Eant Donegal township, In NoTeml'er Ia«t, ; a WfafJeBOAB, welRblng *bout s26!b«.    The owner Ik  fFnaeated to come forward, prove property, ^pajjj ,lur;«"dUk»itaw»y, otherwl«U«jn be sold ac
"^jil^fJaf^'' HASWU W. UIBSLKT.