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DEVOTED T0 LITERATURE, SCIENCE, COMMERCE, AGRICUILTVUREJ'AND NEWS.

Vol. 2?

' Summerside, Prince Edward Island, Thursday, January I7, 1867.

No. 15-

* f 1 THE ' one would give the lowestauimal. [would dos slumber. Again I Iaiiced at the liiers, and even in their modes of expres- 3 11 II I II f II 55 Q ii I d 5 . mwtmoi look out upon the silver water kissed by mot er. It was Emily‘s fficc, surely. I'sioii. He who has attained old a c has

Summerside Journal

is PRINTED AND reunions!) Ivnnr THURSDAY EVENING, nv

BERTBAH d: BABNARD.

CENTRAL STREET.

A'l‘ 'l‘IIlIIt OFFICE, T E II. III S : , I copy for one year, in advance. 6s. 3d. _ H “ lialt‘ advance, 7s. 8d.

N " at the end of year 9s.

Persons getting up owns of TEN Subscribers will be entitled to the Joumui. forone year. The following gentlemen have consented to

net as sona'rs, and they are authorized to re-

ceive monies and give rceeipts,un our wccount: Charlottetown—W. E. Dawson, Esq. IIenry Harvic, Esq. Contractile—Major Wright, Esq Upper Bodegas—Wm. G. Strong, Esq Tryon—Gcorge Multan, Esq Crapaud—Charles Collit. St. Eleonora—W. '1‘. [font 6s Co Hiawatha—Joseph B. I‘crry. Port [It'll—David Ramsay, Esq. Cmsampet—Beuiamin Rogers, Esq 1'1' mist—Benjamin Haywood, Esq Miminigash—Thomas Costin llargate—Rcuben 'I‘uplin, Esq MW London—Pidgcon & Stewart Shirley Bridge-George It. Garrett Halpeque—D. «it I'. McNutt Southport—Ilcnry Beer, Esq Vernon [liver—Mr. George Vickerson Georgetown—Andrew LeBrocque. Esq Mr. ’I‘ismus Goiibox, of Newcastle,N.B. is our Agent for that place .

ADVERTISEMENTS

inserted at moderate rates and in good style.

Srecui. AOnIflIIENTl may be made on reasonable terms for a whole, a half, or quar- ter column, or by the year.

JOB PRI TIN G ofevory description, performed with ncotncss Ind dcsputuh, and at moderate rates,

Summersido Markets. Snintnsismit, Jan. 17,1867.

Oats per bnsh - - - 4:! Ida 2s 2d

rle r bush - 3! n (is (id Iggtatgupcper bush - - - ls flda 1s 6d 'I‘urnips per buin - - - - - - - o - Is a is Id Butter per lb by ‘I‘nb - - ~ - Is a Is id Lard per lb - - - - - - 9d a 10d Tallow perlb.---- bdolod Eggs per do: 9d a 10.1 Ilecfperlb - . 8d a id Mutton perlb -- - - - 3d a 4d Pork per lb by amass . - - - 3d a Md Goescesch - - - - - - -- ---1siidn.is9d

- - - 50s a 60s

Flour per bbl - s - - - - Oatmeal per cert. Hay per Ton - - - Straw per cwt. - l‘lno Boards - Spruce Boards

Easiness (hauls.

IIANK 0F PRINCE EDWARD ISLAND. Corner of Queen 4' Water Sts., Charlottetown President—Hon. Tisoiuis H. Human». CuhIeP—WILLIAI Conn i., Esquire. Discount. Days—Mondays Thursdays. Hours ofBusinessA—Fom l0 n.m. to i p.ni., front? p.ni to 4 p.iii., UNION BANK. Grafton St., Queen's Square, Charlottetown

President—Ciuitws Psuunn, )sguire. Cashier—Jules Axnanson, Esquire.

Discount Days—Mondays, Wednesdays, and Saturdays. Hours of Business—From 10 a.m to lp m.,

from 2 p.ni to 4 p m. SUMMERSIDE BANK. Central Street, Summerri'ds, P. E. Island.

President—lion. JOHN R. Gsniiisiiii. Cuhler— E. L. Lvuisno, Esquire

Discount Days—Tuesdays andI‘ddnys. Notes for Discount must be in before Ii o'clock on Discount days. Hours of Business—10 a. m., to 1 p. m., from 2 p. m., to 4 p.m.

' Join Hobie. u. n. r. u. M. s.

MEDICAL OFFICE OVER GREEN ti. SCIIUIIMAN'S STORE, WATER STREET, SUMMER-310E. I’.E.l.

WILLIAM M. IIOW E,

Attorney-at-Law sun nouns PUBLIC,

Sr. Ennauon‘s .............. ..I’. E. Isnnzo.

GEORGE ALLEY, BARBISTER AND Attorne y-a t-L aw , nonnv I’UIIIJC, kc.

Telégraph Buildings, Water Slreet, Charlottetown. --- --~-----‘ I‘. 1'}. Island. THOMAS KELLY, Barr ster - at - Law

ND NOTARY I‘PIIBLIC, &o.

lUMbIEllSllm, - - I’. E. ISLAND. an]. 9, 1860

“Moulds ---50s360s ---- lstid --- 10s ---4salii

I!

iibscrlher having purchased the ,‘IN TRADE of. )IHH L. [Ionuss I future will he s intention to p' ety of goods adopted fo trad , he respectfully solicits s share of pub l patronage. ALBERT L. ANDERSON. St. Eleanor's, April 10, 1866.

DAVID isuirriiAM, Saddle and Harness Maker, WII‘I' Street . . . . . Summerside. 102m.l.’;!9‘§:~ _._. .___ -_._,.

J. H. GIBSON, 91m & @rnnmcatnl II 0 U S E & S I Ci N

PAINTER.

Summerside, . . . . P. E. Island. Omen is, is“.

o

.Dealer in Flour,

D R. P R I C E, Physician 85 Surgeon,

OFFICE—At the SUWERBIDII Dnuo S'i'onis, next door to Bank, Central Street

SUMMEHSIDE, . . . . . P. E. ISLAND, October 12, 1865.

Me

R. McNEILL, I New York, w

to the inhabitnu ty, that he has

yof llevus IIospitnl, ld resp tfully announce New Lei don and Vicini- d his S l ‘

(formerly k ow

may be consultc of his Profession, a

Stanley Bridge, New L d

Out. 18, 1866.—-ti

II. J. ItICIIAROSOh ,

Coupnssxox IIIERCHANT

Auctioneer.

Groceries, and Dry Goods. IVnter Street . . . . . . Sumincrcide. CARV ELL BROTHERS, AUCTIONEERS,

Commission Merchants, And General Agents,

BANK BUILDING, QUEEN STREET. Charlottetown. - l’. 1'}. Island

" "Elli-D WILLrs‘M BEAIRSTO, Commissmn Merchant,

Auctioneer ((5 General Agent, wusn s'rnncr. Summerside, -------------- -- I’. E. Islaan James Grceuough,

F L O U R

Commission Merchant.

No 47 Commercial Street Corner of Clinton Sircct- - - - - BOSTON

“EmfilILLl—AAT'IYOTSDT Commission Merchant, And Auctioneer,

QUEEN SQUARE, CIIARLOTTETO WN - - - P. E. ISLAND

“THOMAS HANFORDT‘ AUCTIONEER

AND

Commission Merchant, S'I‘. JOIIN, N. B. Nov 1, 1865

O. L. RICHARDS,

Importer and VVlioIcsale Dealer in 3mist it ginnigu (turnips

4, North Ithirf,

ST. JOHN, NEW BRUNSWICK, Dec. 6, ltititi. Iy

. .I. F. HILL & 00.,

DEALERS IN

Potatoes, Apples, Onions,

Junign it. anuslit Qlimits,

Cranberries, Beans, Green & Dried Apples

Stalls 107 and 109. v and Cellar No. 19, Fancuil IIaII Market

SOUTH SIDE BOSTON.

E. D. S’I‘AIR, CABINET - MAKER,

AND

Undertaker.

FURNITURE OF ALL KINDS MADE TO ORDER.

Knit Slrecl. - . - - - — - - — - — Charlottetown. Sept. 1866. um

JOHN ANDRHW' MACDONALD, Importer of Dry Goods, Hardware, Crockei‘ywurc, Groceries, stoves, Furniture, &c. &c. Snmmcrsfrle, - - - - - - - r - P. 1‘}. Island.

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TIIE DRUNKA RD'S LA MEN'I‘.

Now madly I seek In this wine-cup to quench,

The fires that are raging within, Which madden and torture My fcvcrcd brain,

And good me still onward to sin.

Despised and forsaken, In hunger and rays, I wander an outcast forlorn; To the Demon of drink. I have bartered my soul, Ohl would I had never been born.

And tell me. ye demons That pray on my soul

And laugh with a fiendish delight, Of her, whose entroaties Still ring in my ears.

Amid the dark hours of the night:

Whose tears I resisted, Whose counsels I mocked, And spurned at her efforts to save, 'I‘ill weary she drooped, And with heart-broken wail, Sank early to rest in the grave.

And mother, dca! mother, Dost thou from above,

Look down and in pity behold The promise of childhood, The hopes of my youth,

To the demon Iiiteuiperance sold?

Though vainly Iwrithe

In the grasp of the fiend, And bitterly sigh to be free,

Sweet angel of peace,

I have bid thee farewell, For the dark gulfis yawning forum. Main McGaiscon. Rawdon, Dec. 1866. *

$21th Eilrruiurr. THE SAILOR’S W

STORY.

I sailed about thirty-four years ago. in our good, new ship Coriolanus, from New York to the coast of Al ricu. A weary time we Iiud ofit too. We left the ship to set- tlc down in a. whirlpool, while we made hot haste to man the boats and row away, away from the dangerous spot. It was tough work getting clear, and O, how dreary was the waste of watcrs, for two whole days and nights. to men who had nothing to subsist on but the leather bits torn from their water soaked shoes.

At length, on the third‘duy, eiuiio relief, but such i‘clief us was infinitely worse than the fate which seemed prepared for us. An Algeriiiu corsair took us as captives, and our next footsteps on the land were on the terrible shore of Algiers.

[—Ai-iiold White—n brave man and a fearless sailor, though I say it myself, sat down and cried—cried and sobbcd like a child. For well I knew that nothing await- ed me but long and dreary years of cruel slavery to the hardest, bitten-st of task masters, doomed, to a lung, perhaps a life loiiw, separation from those whom my soul liclfl dcurcr than life.

In a little cottagc,just removed from the sounds of the city, I had left a young wife mid her babe. What terrors awaited that gentle creature, when the ‘carshould pass away and no tidiii s shou d come of her husband. She luu been a lonely orphan. She was now a happy wife and mother. My poo; Emily! what could she be now that he who had become father, husband and brother to her should return no more? In the boat with me had been an old man called Jacob Arnistcad; a young, vigorous youth, Martin Frost, and little l-ldwiii Car- ter the Captain‘s boy. The latter was a bright, active boy—a widow’s son. He was of toudor years, and unfit. to battle with his tcvriblc fate. The iiioifhtcrs sci him tasks which .1 strong man would have died under, and beforo two weeks had pas- scd he was lying dead beneath thcupliltcd rod. My heart bled snow, and yctI thought he was to be cnvlcd tor escaping such a life.

[low I lived I know not. It must have been that. the little spark of hope that 1 should see my wife and child once more, kcpl. me from dying.

The old man followed Edwin almostim- niediately; but I and Martin l-‘rost lived to endure. We were younrr and strong. No disease or dissipation Ilflt subdued the high health of our frames or capped the energies of our souls. We pci'foi'iiicd our tasks faithfully and well. The I'ufliaiis \vcsei'vi-d know that we must be fed \ch1 to enable us to go through with their tasks, and we fared luxurioust for this reason alone.

thn night. camo, niciuory took up her bittcr work. but sleep came soon—tho dull and drcsnilcss slec ) of lived out mortals. No change in our ( ay s—thcy went on in fearful monotony. Wc scarce know one day from another; Sabbutlis were unknown and seasons iiunuticud. We had commen- ced to keep our time by notches iiizulcon a stick ; but our toi'uicutors took it from us, intinintiug that it. was some cabalistie sign that might do them an injury. They were great cowards—those fierce Algerines.

My nights were not without theirsolacn, after those dreary days. In dreams, lsaw Emily—Jaw her with our child in hcrarnis, and heard her utter tho Welcuiiie which, alas! might iiovcrnioi'e be heard until it sounded for me at. the entrance m‘hcnveu's

etc. It was strange. I thought. that in t can visions, the face of the child should alwn s be hidden from my sight. Emily‘s face Ialwa s Iaw~somotimcs with s des- pairing loo upon it. that wrunF my heart with anguish, although it won d have kill— ad me to see it bright and happy.

For years I dreamed thus; and then the visions were suddenly withdrawn. Eager- Iv I sought my hard bcd each night, hoping they would come to me again—but they rctunied no more. Iiut imagination had not. deserted me. That showed me the lair sweet face of my wife, when the day of servilo labor was over. and the calm that follows great weariness came over me. Then. as I sat in the rude cabin which scr- ved me as a shelter for the night. but which

was lai poorer and more wretched than

the moonlight, or up into the starry sky, and—God be thanked l—therc was my wife‘s don: face.

Sometimes she was holdingout my babe toward me, as if for n. kiss—sometimes she was folding its innocent hands in prayer for its father, and sometimes she was lay- ing it to its nightly slunibers and weeping above its pillow. Ah! well I knew for whom those precious tears were falling. O God! should I never again behold her?

You have heard of the bond of great- IIOaI’tOfI Christian men who. for years, went out from Rome, bearing noble ransom for the captives of Al icrs. They had already commenced their lessed work on tho bov- tiers, and were penetrating far into the in- terior, whither we had been carried; and one day the blessed tidings came to me and in poor comrade that we were free .’ Oh! how the word sounded to our cars ! [low itsoeiiied some strange, unknown language from tho far-off, unknown shores! Free! we spelled it over and over, as if its meatl- iiig was too hard to be understood. Per- haps it was better thus than to have the tidings burst upon us at once. Sorrow had nearry worn us out. Despair was last coming upon us; and the sudden revulsion might have killed us. But, slowly. we came to the sense of what Iiudhappoiied to us. \Ve were clothed in decent i'ainieiif, instead of the miserable rows that mocked the name of clothing, and were put on board a ship. No one thought of seeing two such ling iii-d wretches to work; and we lay in our erths, or sunned ourselves upon the deck as we listed. Sometimes I was nearly delirious, from the wild tide of fancies that came througing to my mind.

Often I could not remember my own nor my compaiiioii‘s name, and then again a host of confuted rcmcnibraiiccs would come surging over me, driving the nearly mad. as they seemed to mock me; and sel- dom did I realize, clearly, that I was going home—homo to my wife and child.

flat, as we neared the shores of my na- tive land, it. rushed upon me, like a flash of lightning. My heart throbbcd with ex- pectaiicy. The years that [had beciiuway dwindch into nothing. All thut stern, cruel past gave way to the joyful future, until the moment. when I stopped from the ship to the shore and parted from the coin-

miiiou of so many dreary years—he to go his way and I mine, and each one «lane. T‘licii the heart sickness came upon me once more. I wrung his hand, and the tears came into the eyes of both. Should we evcriiicet again? Something in that bricfmomcnt warned me not to proffer the invitation that was rising to my lips for him to visit me at. my home when he had taken hiswelcoiiio at his own. Sonic-thing, too, of pity I felt for him; for ho liiid no wife—no child awaiting him. 0 God! had I? .

I could not pray in that strange lioi:!'- 1 could not kneel on the shore and lIlitllh’ (lod that ho had returned ms to my native land, ll! one would have thought would have been my first not. A carriage block- ed ni path and the driver called to me. I colil not even get into it withouthis assis- tance, so ultci'ly had I lost the habits and even the motions of civilized life. The fellow looked at me with a halllpityiug, halt-sarcastic glance that. woke iicithcr gratitude nor resentment. Ile asked whe- tlicrlie should carry me, and I did have. sense enmiin left to tcll him the name of the little town just. out of the city, where my homo used to be. He spokc kindly to me, when he found that I was bewildered :iiid dizzy, and asked my mime. I could answer that now, although I had forgotten it in Algiers. and he stai’tcd when he heard it, “ Good heavens!" he cried, ‘ are you the poor fellow who has been missing so long?“ I burst out crying, for it was so strange that I should meet any one who ever kncvv of me.

" I will take you home myself, and you shall be welcome to go free of charge, though there are a dozen others waiting for me,“ he said, kindly.

l sank on the cushions, my licnribcatiug funeral marches all the way. I was litcr- ally as \vcuk as a child. It was a narrow lane on which stood my cottage, and the carriage could not well get through it; so the driver helped me out, kindly wished me good night and saying flint Iic trusted I should find all right. at home.

It was a chilly autumn night, and I shud— dcred as I stopped from the shelter of the carriage. The dry leaves rustch beneath my footsteps. the wind monncd heavily in the bare trees, and the crickets took up their melancholy strain—dreary autumnal sounds that went to my heart, waking a vawuo terror. I staggered and rcclcd like a drunken niau ; stooping every few mo- ments to lean against some fence, to re- eovor the sti'cnwtli that was iiioincnlarily leaving me, wlulc the chill blast was pier- cing me to the very bone, though licnv ‘ drups of sweat stood upon my f'orcliea . At last my heart stood still. A bright. light came from the spot that I knew was my home, for no other house was in the lane when I hit it. Dare 1 go up to ili‘ My breath Set-mod leaving me, and l paiitcd like a hunted hm'c. Should I find Emily there, or was it a stranger's light that was leading me to a. lost home?

Itottcrcd (m. Would any one believi- that this night, of coming home was the hardest I had ever known—so full of tur- i'or—so strange—so dark and uh welcoming to the poor worn being approaching it?

Somehow, I found myself beforotlielnw window. I clasped my hands over my eyes for a moment afraid to look in. In that same moment I heard a voice uttering cii. dcnring caressing tunes. I should have known it lrid I heard itin that fnrland from which I had come, and [safely must know it in my own home. Emily was alive then and my heart told me she was talking to my child. I had courage then to uncover Iiy eyes and to look through the window. There was my darling! For many minutes

I saw nothing blit. that door face, fair and pure and chctns ever; only changed a little by years. It was lint cvcii sorrowful, as I had expected, but were a cheerful us- pecl, as of one content and happy. I wiped away the mist that my breath was making on the window, and then for the first time since I stood there, I saw that she held a child upon burlap. Not the fair rosy boy of ten years, that I had pictdi'ed to myself, but an infant of a few weeks or

months, lying I'It'lpluss and quiet, as ifl’ a. I.

could not be mistaken, or perhaps I was going mad again, as in those dreadful nights long ago.

She spoke once more, and as she spoke she looked up fondl ' to another face which [now perceived, vv icii I had again cleared the mist away. The fnco was that of John IIarnioii, my old friend and associate. My hand clutched the door-handle and turned it. but I knew notliinguntil I heard awild shriek rising l'enrl'ully above the terrible noises in my ears. Nevcr shall I for ct that awful hour. Never have I tol this tale to human ears before; but each night I tell it to God, and implore his pity!

[Emily had mercifully fainted, but John Harmon, quivering in every limb like one who sees 3 spectra, and pale with agony and distress, yet held out his trembling hand to me.