OUR BOYS ARE COMING HOME, 
Thank God, the sky is clearing ! 
The clouds are hurrying past; 
Thank God the day is nearing 1 
The dawn is coming fast, 
And when glad herald voices 
Shall tell ns peace has come, 
This thought shall most rejoice ns; 
“ Our boys arc coming home 1" 
Soon shall the voice of singing 
Drown war's tremendous din; 
Soon shall the joy-hells ringing 
Bring peace and Freedom in. 
The jubilee bonfires burning 
Shall soon light up the dome, 
And soon, to soothe our yearning, 
Our boys are coming home. 
The vacant fireside places 
Have waited for them long; 
The love-light lacks their fitces, 
The chorus waits their song; 
A shadowy lear has haunted 
The long deserted room; 
But now oar prayers are granted, 
Our boys are coming home 1 
O mother, calmly waiting 
For that beloved eon! 
O sister, proudly dating 
The Victories he has won! 
O maiden, softly humming 
The love song while you roam— 
Joy, joy, the buys are coming— 
Our boys are earning home 1 
And yet.—oh, keenest sorrow! 
They’re coming, but not all ; 
Full many a dark to-morrow 
Shv.li wear its sable pall 
For thousands who are sleeping 
Beneath the empurpled loam, 
Woe! woe 1 for those w r e're weeping 
Who never will come home 1 
0 sad heart, hush thy grieving; 
Wall but a little while I 
With hoping and believing 
Thy woe and fear beguile. 
Wait for the joyous meeting 
Beyond the starry dome. 
For there our boys arc waiting 
To bid ns welcome home. 
UNCLE OBED’S VISIT, 
It would have required no very powerful 
6tretck of the imagination for Mrs. Amber’s 
guests to have fancied themselves amid the light 
and fragrance'of some tropic isle on that festal 
night. The stately balustrades were wreathed 
with deeply tinted blossoms, the air was freight¬ 
ed with the perfume of heliotrope and tube 
roses, and the chandeliers that hung from the 
frescoed ceiling, like coronals of qnivering fire, 
threw a noon-day brilliance over the rustling 
crowd. 
At the further end of the superb drawing¬ 
room stood Mrs, Amber herself— n stately mat¬ 
ron in sapphire velvet, illuminated by the pale 
glimmer of pearls. No one would ever have 
imagined from the smiling self-possession of her 
manner that this night was the crisis of her false 
existence—the turning point of her life. 
Through all the hum and murmur of the aris¬ 
tocratic assemblage— through all the crash of 
arriving carriages, and the stormy melody of the 
hand beyond, Mrs, Amber’s quick ear caught 
one low hesitating step on the threshold. It 
was her hnsband’s. She beckoned to him with 
he- jeweled fan, and whispered in scarcely audi¬ 
ble accents: 
“Well?” 
“ Just as I expected. We are ruined, can’t 
keep above water a week. Norris has failed, 
and we shall follow suit!” 
“A week!” murmured Mrs. Amber thought¬ 
fully, “A week!” One can accomplish a good 
deal in a week. Have you observed bow atten¬ 
tive Young Gold is to Cecilia?” she added mus¬ 
ingly.- 
“ He won’t he after— ” 
“ Hush!” Mrs. Amber exclaimed, with a quick 
glance around, as if apprehensive that the very 
walls would hear fbe whispered colloquy. “If 
shp wins a rich husband before the world learns 
of your distress, we shall be tolerably safe. For 
your own sake keep a cheerful face; mingle 
with onr guests—throw (hi that perturbed frown. 
I tell you all will yet be right.” 
Mr. Amber shrugged his shoulders and whis¬ 
tled ' half a bar of some popular strain, then 
turned away to obey his wife’s behests to the 
best of his ability, while Mrs. Amber, her 
smooth Ups all wreathed in dulcet smiles, re¬ 
sumed the task of receiving her gay friends. 
Suddenly there was a sort of thrill and titter 
through the apartment.—the crowd opened as if 
to make way for somebody, and Mrs. Amber 
came forward expecting to greet some distin¬ 
guished arrival. 
“Good evening, Tlkly. I kilkilated you’d all 
he gone to bed, at this time o’night, hut I see 
you don’t keep New Hampshire habits! Han’t 
forgotten me, have you ? Why I’m your Uncle 
Obed Jcnki,tis!” 
Mrs. Amber turned pale through all her arti¬ 
ficial bloom, at the unexpected addition to her 
company that stood before her, his honest fea¬ 
tures beaming with genuine delight. It was a 
rnddy faced old man, in a suit of butternut col¬ 
ored cloth, carrying in one hand a neatly tied 
handkerchief, containing his wardrobe, and in 
the ot.hcr.a crooked walking stick, lull of knots 
and gnarh—such a stick as grows only in dense 
swamps, where the young saplings have to twist 
their little arms in every possible direction to 
get a bit of sunshine, and grow up in the most 
unheard of shapes. 
“1 declare,” pursued Uncle Obed, “you’re 
fine as a fiddle, Tildy— and' where’s them little 
gals you scut up summer before last, to get red 
cheeks at their unales? Growed up to young 
ladies—-well, if I ain’t beaten." 
gwwwaMBaiss 
And Uncle Obed extended a bony Land to 
Miss Cecilia, who drew hack, and put up a gold 
mounted eye glass with an air of well-bred as¬ 
tonishment. 
“I never heard that anything ailed Cicilly’s 
eyesight, Tildy,” said Uncle Obed, lu extreme 
perplexity. “ And that young fellow in the yel- 
lar waistcoat is her beau I suppose? Wall, young 
folks will be young folks, and we old ones hadn’t 
ought, to interfere. That’s what 1 always said 
when you and Jim Amber used to talk in the 
old Bide hill orchard after you’d done the milk¬ 
ing.” 
This unlucky allusion brimmed the already 
overflowing vials of Mrs. Amber’s wrath — she 
drew her gloved hand from the old man’s cordial 
grasp, with an energy which puzzled him, and 
spoke wiili compressed lips: 
“ I am really *urry, sir, that we were not pre¬ 
viously made aware that you proposed honoring 
us with a visit. In that case we could have pre¬ 
pared ourselves for the pleasure ; now, I regret 
to say, it will he inconvenient to receive you.” 
“ What!” ejaculated the astonished old man, 
who was really uncertain whether or not he hud 
heard aright the words of his only niece —the 
girl whom he hud brought up and eared lor, 
when others rejected the charge of the penniless 
orphan. 
gi Mrs. Amber repeateditbe frigid sentence with 
that emphasis which only a heartless woman of 
the world can give. 
“This is a big house, Tildy,” said the oldrnan, 
in slightly' tremulous accents, “and I should 
ha’ thought there was a corner in it big enough 
for Uncle Obed. 1 wasn’t calculating to stay 
long—not over a week at furtherest; but I’ll go 
hum to-morrow the very first train that leaves, 
if I’m in the way. 
Mre. Amber made no answer, but tapped 
lightly on her mosaic bracelet one slender finger, 
and unde Obed turned away with a moisture in 
his eyes that made curious rings of mist aronud 
the glaring jets of flame In the chandelier. 
Uncle Obed was wishing himself well out of 
the heartless scene, when suddenly a pair of 
plump little arms wore thrown around his neck, 
and a cheek fresher and plnkler than a damask 
rose was pressed to his brown face. It was Mrs. 
Amber’s youngest daughter—his own pet niece— 
the incorrigible romp, who had climbed cherry 
trees and stolen blrdncsts innumerable in the 
meadows of the old homestead, two or three 
years ago. And there she was—a young lady in 
pink silk and cameo bracelets! 
“Dour Uncle Obed, 1 have only just heard of 
your arrival. I am glad to sec yon, if no one 
else is!” 
And another shower of kiases succeeded, greatly 
to the discomfiture and envy of the young man 
who had escorted Miss Amber to the spot, and 
stood surveying the pretty little tableau. 
“Go about your business, Harry!” she ex¬ 
claimed gaily, “ I’ve got ever so much to say to 
Uncle Obed!" 
And Mr. Harry Latimer obeyed, but rather un- 
graciouisly- 
“Just the same little Fanny as ever?” ex¬ 
claimed the old man, pattiDg her curls with de¬ 
lighted fondness. “You haven’t changed, tho’ 
Tildy has!” 
No; and T never will change for you, Uncle 
Obed,” said the girl. “I bavn’t forgotten how 
kind you were to me, up at the old homestead; 
how you shielded my transgressions, concealed 
my faults, and always had a smile for naughty 
little Fanny.” 
And she chatted on, entirely unheeding her 
mother’s frown of displeasure. Fanny had al¬ 
ways been the least manageable of Mrs. Amber’s 
daughters, and the worthy matron secretly re¬ 
solved to lecture the young lady at. her leisure. 
Uncle Obed was by no meant* deficient in ob¬ 
servation, and even while he related the chances 
and changes which three year# had wrought in 
the vicinity of the old homestead, he perceived 
the rosy blood mount to Ids niece’s cheek every 
time Mr. Harry Latimer passed. 
“Now little girl,” said he, “it’s my turn to 
' ask questions. Whose that young fellow there 
by the window?” 
Fanny looked up, and then down, played with 
the middle button on Uncle Obed’s coat, uud 
answered, very softly: 
“ Mr." Latimer.” 
“ Humph! I s’pose that isn’t all you can tell 
me about him ?” 
There was a minute of hesitation, and then 
Fanny hid her cheek on the old man’s shoulder, 
and told uncle Obed all, 
“ Then why on earth, don’t you marry him ?” 
ejaculated the old gentleman, at the close of the 
little life-romance. 
“ He’s only a poor lawyer,” Bighed Fanny 
“ and papa will never consent. But one thing I 
am resolved on,” she added with sparkling eyes 
“ I will not marry any one else, least of all that 
odious Colonel Woodall, not if he were worth 
twenty time# twenty thousand dollars.” 
The stamp of her fairy feet gave emphasis to 
the determined words as she spoke. Fanny wa# 
very much in earnest, and if Colonel Woodall 
had happened to be present, he would have con¬ 
cluded that his chances were, to say the^lcast of 
it, rather small. 
“Twenty thousand dollars, eh?” slowly re¬ 
peated Uncle Obed. “ Well, Fanny, it*fe a hard 
world we live in—ft hard griping, griudiug world. 
I never thought so afore, but somehow to-night 
has borne it. in upon me.” 
When Uncle Obed went away next day, he was 
comparatively cheerful. The tond words and 
loving smiles of little Fanny had fallen like drops 
of balm upon the gore spot In his heart. 
There it was, nestliug in the. hillside, that gray 
old farm house with the giant sycamores tossing 
their silvery branches above it, and the lilac 
bushes nodding before the narrow windows. 
Uncle Obed thought it never looked so pleusaut 
as now, in the level gold of sunset, with the pur¬ 
ple woods rising against the bright far off 
horizon. 
But he did not stop in the cozy room, where 
the eight day clock ticked away as peacefully as 
if its master had not been absent two whole 
days — a thing which hadn’t happened before in 
half a century; he went straight up stairs, to a 
liny nook under the caves, where he kept tin old 
sort, of trunk, curiously scented with camphor, 
and bound together with strong clasps and 
rivets of brass. From this receptacle he took a 
bit Of paper, and held It so that the light fell on 
its contents. 
“Twenty thousand,” he muttered. “Well, 
I’m an old man and that gal is just the light of 
my eyes. It. shall buy her happiness, the blue 
eyed bird, instead of lying useless in the garret 
chamber! She deserves it all!” 
Uncle Obed pocketed the document, locked 
his precious trunk, and went down stairs wiping 
the glasses of his spectacles. 
The great, financial crash had come, and the 
house of Amber & Co. was among the first in 
the list. It, was true that Mrs. Amber had been 
expecting the failure, but the blow fell noue the 
lesB heavy for the anticipation. Somehow, her 
plans had all proved futile. Young Gold had, iu 
some unaccountable milliner, discovered the true 
state of the Amber exchequer, and wisely con¬ 
cluded that it was not best to waste his personal 
charms and elegant stock of small talk on so In¬ 
eligible a fair one ns Miss Cecilia, col. Wood- 
all had aho shown unequivocal signs of with¬ 
drawing his suit., uot at all to Miss Fanny’s dis¬ 
pleasure. In short, everything seemed to be 
going wrong, and the only satisfied members ol 
the confederation were Harry Latimer and Miss 
Fanny. 
It was a gloomy morning of rain and tempest,, 
and Mrs. Amber sat in a sort of slovenly dish¬ 
abille, in a narrow room in one of our third- 
rate hotels. Her own stately house had fallen a 
prey to greedy creditors some time since. Mr. 
Amber at an opposite table was slowly opening 
and glaring over his letters. 
“ Hallo!" he suddenly exclaimed, dropping 
one and catching it up uguin. 
“ What’s the matter, papa?” asked Fanny. 
“How you do agitate ouc’s nerves!” groaned 
Mrs. Amber. 
“llaug your nerves, here’s something to set 
them in a flutter—a letter from a New England 
lawyer, announcing that your Uncle Obed Jenk¬ 
ins lias made Miss Fanny Amber a present of 
twenty thousand dollars, to become her proper¬ 
ty on the day she marries Harry Latimer.” 
“Twenty thousand dollars!” shrieked Mrs. 
Amber and Cecilia iu chorus, “and nothing for 
us ?” 
“ Twenty thousand dollars,” murmured Fan¬ 
ny, with a crimson spot on her cheek:—“ O, 
how happy we shall be! Dear, kind old Uncle 
Obed." 
“ You’re a nice manager,” snarled Mr. Amber 
turning sharply to his wife. “It was for this 
was it that you treated Ur. Jenkins so rudely on 
the night of your la 4 rty?” ( 
‘1 didn’t know I T.du’t sujVoso”—6obbed 
Mrs. Amber. “lie never told Me he bad any 
property.” •*’* p 
“01 course not!” ejaculated Mr. Amber, “It’s 
enough to make a man rave, to have such an 
idiot as you for a wife. Twenty thousand dol¬ 
lars would have been everything to me, just 
now, when there is su<li a scarcity of ready 
money in the market. And what’s worse, the 
sum Is so tied up that nobody, but Fanny, can 
touch a cent of it,” 
Mr. Amber strode out of the room, giving the 
door a very energetic tlam, and Mrs. Amber 
went gracefully into hysterics, while Funny 6at 
looking at the letter which had been a messen¬ 
ger of so much happiness to her, with scarlet 
lips half apart, and the light of deep gratitude 
in her eyes. 
“ What will Harry say ?” she pondered. “ Will 
lie not think it a blessed drearn? No more 
weary waiting—no more procrastination. 0, 
how can I ever thank Uncle Obed sufficiently ?" 
Bnt Uncle Obed was already thanked. 
When, upon Fanny's wedding day the deed 
which constituted her a small heiress was de¬ 
livered into tier hands, it was inclosed in a nar¬ 
row strip of coarse blue paper, which the old 
man commonly used in his correspondence. 
Upon this was written one single line, and the 
tears snflused the fair young bride’s eyes, as she 
rend the words, “In memory of Uncle Obed’s 
visit.” 
THE EMPEROR OF THE FRENCH. 
Even now, 'with an apparently continued 
dynasty and a supine people, when the elect of 
35,000,000 is seen driving a two-horse drag, like 
a private gentleman, to the Bob, he is under the 
anxious and studied protection of the police. 
Those two young man in fashionable attire, 
cantering a lit tle ahead, are police agents, that 
middle-aged gentleman riding with a lady, some 
fifty paces behind, is another; small knots of 
apparent loungers are on the watch along the 
rule; and an armed lohje would start up at the 
first sign of suspicion Ur alarm. When a ball 
was given to the Emperor and Empress at a dis¬ 
tinguished embassy, tin] Hut of invitatious was 
carefully revised by the prefect or his sub, who, 
not satisfied with having some of his people 
stationed in the ante-chamber, insisted on cards 
of invitation to enable others (dressed arid dec¬ 
orated for tbe purpose} to mingle with the 
company. 
-«..♦- 
What is this world ? A dream within a dream, 
— aB we grow older, each step has an inward 
awakening. The youth awakes, and he thiuks 
from childhood; the lull grown man despises 
the pursuits of youth as visionary; the old man 
lookB on manhood as a iVrverish dream. Is death 
the last sleep ? No—ilk the last, final awakening. 
— Sir 1 Valter Scott. 
-—+ *4 - 
Smoke, ruining into the house, and a talking 
wife, make a uum ran out of doors. 
Wit anil Htttiw 
THE PURSUIT OF HAPPINESS. 
BY 8. N. HOLMES OF STRAOUSE. 
Hail Columbia, my happy land, 
Digging for oil, isn't it grand ? 
Happiness now, enrely is found, 
Boring for oil down In the gound. 
Beauty has charms lovers attest, 
And Nature has charms East and West; 
Yet all these channs, In man or soil, 
Is but. a drop to boring for oil. 
In vain, alas, did poets sing, 
That only gold was Just the thing, 
The fact Is born, the die is cast, 
Legal tender and “ lie" must last. 
What if the mud besmears your clothes. 
What if the sc ent affects your nose, 
So long as it brings the yellow dust, 
The rich man's bane and poor man’s lust. 
What if you live in tntid and dirt. 
And go unwashed just like your shirt, 
And mix your food with dirttmd ilc, 
All right, all right, if conies the pile. 
The golden dreams of years gone by, 
Horn much they seem like little fry, 
To dig and delve for grains of gold, 
While fortunes here are made and sold. 
You only need ft little steam, 
To waft you on the* oily stream, 
So now embark, let go the shore, 
And then commence, commence to bore. 
First raise your derrick strong and high, 
With walking beam to pump and pry, 
Then start, your drill and who can tell 
But what you’ll strike a flowing well. 
Oh would yon. would you make your pile, 
Come down right off and bore for ile. 
What though It brings the aches and puins, 
If by it comes the wonted gains. 
Some lucky man here makes a strike, 
A Yaukee bom, or Irish Mike, 
Then quite tbe business in disgust., 
Well loaded down with greenback dust. 
How can yon, tan yon stay away, 
When oily mammon brings such pay, 
Where one small hole with prospects fair, 
Will make you sure a millionaire. 
What if you toll both night and day, 
Forget your kindred far away. 
What ir you die in an oily ditch, 
The point is gained by dying Tich. 
Whatman is that, who can it be. 
So grimed with dirt just comes to tea, 
’Tie now he speaks, you see him smile, 
lie shouts struck ile 1 struck ile! struck ile 1 
Titusville, Pa., March 20th, 1866. 
■ — - - - — 
A FULL STOP. 
An innocent old lady, who never before had 
“ rid on a railroad,” was a passenger on one of 
the Vermont railroads at the time of a recent 
coDision, when a freight train collided with a 
passenger train, smashing one of the care, kill¬ 
ing several passengers, and upsetting things gen¬ 
erally. As soon as ho could recover his scattered 
senses, the conductor went in search of the 
venerable dame, whom he found sitting solitary 
and alone in the ear (the other passengers hav¬ 
ing sought terra lirma,) with a very placid ex¬ 
pression of countenance, notwithstanding site 
had made a complete summersault over the seat 
in front, and her bandbox add bundle had gone 
unceremoniously down the passage-way. “ Are 
you hurt?” inquired the conductor. “Hurt! 
why?” said the old lady. “ We have just been 
ruu into by a freight train, two or three passen¬ 
gers have been killed, and several others severe¬ 
ly injured.” “La me; I didn’t know but that 
was the way you always stopped.’’— Vermont 
Record. 
HUMOROUS SCRAPS. 
While a young widow is weeping over the 
memory of her husband, she may fish up a suc¬ 
cessor in the dark stream of her tears. 
“ Miss,” said a fop to a young lady, “ what a 
pity you wasn’t a mirror.” “Why bo?” said 
the blushing girl. “ Because you would be such 
a good-looktong lass." 
“That man is a thief,” said a wag, pointing 
to a reporter at Guildhall. “ Why bo?” inquired 
his friend. “ Why,” cried lie, “do you not see 
he is taking notes?” 
A vankee doctor has contrived to extract 
from sausages a powerful tonic which, he says, 
contains the whole st rength of the “ bark.” lie 
calls it "sulphate of canine.” 
A lady, walking with her husband at the sea¬ 
side inquired of him the difference between 
exportation and transportation. “ Why, my dear,” 
he replied, “ if you were on yonder vessel, leav¬ 
ing Englaud, you would be exported , uud / should 
be transported /’ ’ 
A mercantile uiau of Foote’s acquaintance 
hud written a poem, and exacted a promise that 
Foote would listen to it, but lie dropped off be¬ 
fore the end of the first pompous line, “ Hear 
me, O l’habus, and ye Muses nine!” "l’ray, 
pray, be attentive, Mr. Foote.” “ 1 am,” said 
Foote. “ Nine and one are ten; go on.” 
“ Why, Mr. B.," said a tall youth to a little 
person who was in company with liall a dozen 
huge men, “I protest you are so small that I 
did not see you before.” “ Very likely,” re¬ 
plied the little gentleman ; “ I’m like a sixpence 
among half a dozen copper#—not readily per¬ 
ceived, but worth the whole of them.” 
A FHOMiNENT bachelor politician on the Ken¬ 
nebec remarked to a lady that soapstone was 
excellent to keep the feet warm in bed. “ Yes,” 
said the young lady, who had been uu attentive 
listener, “ but some gentlemen have an im¬ 
provement on that which you know nothing 
about.” The bachelor turned pale and main¬ 
tained a wistful silence. 
—^- - _ _ 
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to secure compliance. Ilf*This ctiahgo pj atfifeeas lb- 
vulvas time and labor. ** the transtr.r* mist be" . * 
books and In matllug-maeliliM typo, for which wemust 
pay clerk* and printers. W e cannot afford thlsexpanse, 
ana hence charge »i cents for each change ot addrtss 
1)1 root to IturhfHi^rt N* Y»—t*cini 0 U 8 bftVlnjc occ-ft* 
Blou to address the Kukal N*w-Yobkkk will J 1 
direct to Roe.tietier, N. Y., and not as many do, to New 
York. Albany, Buffalo, Ac. Money letters intended lor 
us are almost daily mulled to the above plac**s. 
