REGALIA. HE subscriber respectfully informs his brethren of the I. AUGHTERS OF TEMPERANCE.-New York Union, TO. obs. tibet he is repared to furnish Tent, Officers, P. the belief, (in which they are joined by Brooklyn Union, No.h C. R.'s, and private members' regalia in a style superior to any that have yet been offered, and upon the most reasonable terms. Emblems handsomely embroidered in gold, silver, worsted, or silk, all kinds of embroidery and fancy work executed with neatness and dispatch. Mourning Rosettes at 12s per dozen. Regalias made of fine York Mills muslin at $2.00 per dozen. Also fine linen Regalias by the single one or dozen. He invites his brethren to call and examine specimens at his Hosiery and fancy store, 233 Hudson st., a few doors above Canal st., New York. N. B. Orders from the country punctually attended to. may30 1m* BENJAMIN ELY. and Friendship Union, No. 7,) that a connection with the self called "Grand Union of the Daughters of Temperance of the United States," with the styles, titles, and usages they have assumed and adopted, would be attended with no advantages, but would prove a positive detriment, in requiring the applica tion of part of our funds to purposes other than those for which they were raised, and in having a tendency to retard the pro gress of our cause and to bring our beloved Order into ridicule and contempt, would inform the public that no such connection exists, but that they continue to hold their original position in the Order, of which they were the founders, and which was instituted, and this Union organized, October 21, 1843.y The likewise continue the use of the simple and beautiful forms first established, being satisfied they are better adapted to the female character, and better calculated to illustrate and impress upon the mind the principles of our motto, Virtue, Love, and Tem This Union at present consists of 250 contributing members, with a fund. deposited in the Seamens Bank of Savings, of five Also a good assortment of black fur, French and German hundred dollars. They meet on each Tuesday evening, in AtMoleskin Hats. A very superior imitation Moleskin Hat atlantic Hall, No. 28 Catharine street, corner of Henry, where the reduced price of $2,25, which will compare advantageously ladies desiring to form new Unions, can obtain a Charter, with with hats sold at $2,50 and $3. If in any instance the above our forms and all necessary instruction in their application, free does not give satisfaction it can be fully obtained by giving in- of charge, other than the cost of printing. Application may formation to the subscriber. also be made by letter to Miss M.. Rich, No. 12 High street, may 30 tf Brooklyn. SUMMER FASHIONS. ELEGANT SUMMER HATS - unsurpassed by any, an dad perance."" legant summer HATS-unsurpassed by any, and at pearl Brush, white and pearl Cassimere, white and drab Bea vers. MCLE J. W. KELLOGG, 116 Canal st. BOOK-BINDING. CLEOD & POMEROY, 150 Fulton street, (over the of. fice of the "Protestant Churchman,") are prepared to execute all descriptions of work with neatness and at reasonable prices They have made arrangements for binding "HARPERS' BIBLE" in the best style of Morocco, Gilt edges; also in good plain. substantial work, that can bewarranted equal in strength to that put on the most costly. A trial is solicited, and it is believed satisfaction will be given, by D. MCLEOD. Ladies desiring to become members of our Union, can obtain J. C. POMEROY HARMt every THURSDAY afternoon, at 2 o'clock, in the [ARMONY TENT, No. 4, United Daughters of Rechab, a18-tf WATCHES! WATCHES!! All Goods sold are warranted to be such as represented; should they prove otherwise, the money will be refunded. All kinds of watches repaired by the most experienced workmen. Particular attention to repairing French and other Clocks. A portion of the patronage of his brethren of the I. O. of R. and S. of T. is respectfully solicited. mar28-1y UNITED DAUGHTERS OF RECHAB.-NEW YORK ENCAMPMENT, No. 1. will hold its regular meetings the first Tuesday of each month at Mount Vernon Division100, 95 Third Avenue, at 3 o'clock, P. M. The following is the bill for opening a Tent:- $2,50 50 Hymns, at $1 per hundred,................ ......5,00 With travelling expenses of two Sisters, who may be authorized to open Tents. Every explanation or information may be had by apply. ing to Mrs. D. C. Marshall, 149 Ludlow street-Mrs. E. Valentine, 18 Sixth street,-or Mrs. P. Peacock, 280 Grand street. All orders for Regalia will be received by Mrs. D. C. Marshall, 149 Ludlow street. all-tf MRS A. CARPENTER, Sec., 273 Delancey. sisters. room occupied by Washington Tent No. 1, corner of Cottage 44. Factory street. Mrs. Rhoda H. Young, S. U. 154 Twentieth street. Or of either of the following sisters: Mrs. Elizabeth Ketch um, 267 Bleecker street; Mrs. Hannah Ingersoll, 29 Perry st., Mrs. Roswell G. Allen, 164 Eldridge street; Rachel S. Cook 209 Thompson street. f7-3m NEW MRS. WM. COOK, Sec. protem. EW YORK TENT, No. 2, INDEPENDENT DAUGH ters of Rechab meet in the Hall in Sixteenth Street, between 7th and 8th Avenues, every Friday afternoon. Ladies wishing information can obtain a copy of the Constitution and By-Laws, or any other information relative to this Tent, by applying to Mrs. H. M. Underhill, S. M., 151 Prince Street, or Hannah A. Bird, Secretary, 178 8th Avenue. Mrs. H. M. UNDERHILL, S. M. HANNAH A. BIRD, Sec'y. a25-3m* JOHN MORAN, No 20 Ann street, respectfully nforms his brethren of the I. O. of R., and the public generally, that be is prepared to furnish gentlemen with fashionable garments of the first quality and at reasonable rates. RECHABITE RECORDER. Organ of the Independent Order of Rechabites, and devoted to the Cause of Temperance in general. Published every Saturday Morning, at No 192 Fulton Street, New York. TERMS-Country Subscribers, One Dollar a year, in advance-City do., Three Cents a number. A few days before his dissolution, his mother and sister found him lying on his straw bed calm and collected. The evening was chill and damp, he requested his mother to gather the bed clothes about him, and sit on his feet, for he said they were so very cold, as to be almost insensible to the touch. She did so, and his sister took her seat by the bed side. He then looked wistfully in the face of his affectionate parent and said "oh, mother, this is so kind, indeed, you know I told you it would come to this at last--yes, I told you so, oh! do not go yet mother--I hope to be soon-oh do not go yet-do not leave me." The keeper, however, whispered it was time to depart, and this was the last time that Ferguson saw these beloved relatives. He died in his 24th year-in the solitude of his cell in a mad house, amidst the terrors of the night-without a hand to help or an eye to pity-A Victim of Intemperance! Oh mother sit upon my feet As you did in days of old. That hand which nursed me in my youth, That I with dying eyes may see "Oh, mother, this is kind indeed," I do not see the gay green fields, No. XXIV. The night is chill and damp, mother, Oh, mother, deeply I repent, The foolish life I led, But do not leave me yet, mother, Oh, stay beside your son, Oh, do not weep for me mother, From the French. THE MINER'S BRIDE. 1 A THRILLING SKETCH. In one of the villages in the north of Erance, in the midst of a population composed entirely of miners, lived Peter and Margret. Peter was a son of the overseer of the mines. As soon as he could walk he ran to the mineshe descended into them-and by his cheerfulness and play, solaced the cares of his father. Afterwards, when his good childish qualities gave place to youth, Peter became a good workman-and after his father, was the most capable in directing the work. He knew how to select a place where the min ers could strike with the best assurance of success; he used to pass through the long subterranean galleries, without wandering from his course, and incapable of fearing the darkness, he playfully, and yet by reasons entirely natural, explained the mysteries which were the cause of terror to all his companions. He was, perhaps, the only man who did not tremble when the fire-damp, that pest to the miners, was mentioned. This soon arrived, and they were so much loved and so well deserved to be loved, that the day for their marriage was a general holiday. All left their labor, the mines were deserted, the tables were loaded, the young girls put bouquets in their bosoms, and the boys stuck them in their button holes. Every where shouts of joy were to be heard, and the sound of instruments of music, to which the rustics danced on the grass. In the midst of the rejoicing Peter went to his bride and embraced her. After that, he said mysteriously to his young companion, "Dont let her One evening, as Peter's father was returning from a neighboring village, he heard groaning. He stopped, searched in the underwood which bordered both sides of the road which he was travelling, and what was his astonishment to find there a child, covered with rags, who was struggling in the grass, and it lifted its hands as if to implore aid. Its little cheeks were wet with tears -and the hoarseness of its voice indicated that come for no short time it had been left-either through accident or malice-to the pity of the passers by; the old miner, at this unexpected sight, felt his heart moved. He thought of his son, his dear Peter, and then stooping down by the side of the child, he spoke to it, as if his words could afford aid-folding its tattered rags around it, to shield it from the chillness of the air-wrapped it in his leather apron and carried it home with him--ever and anon kissing it on the way, and striving to appease its gievou. complaint. "Wife," said he opening the door of his cabin, "guess what a present I bring you. Providence has chosen us, of all the inhabitants of the village, to afford aid to an unfortunate child; I am certain of it, for I know your heart." Peter's mother stretched out her hands to her husband in reply. Considering by what chance the little girl came to them, she looked upon her as her own child. It was in this manner that Margaret's life was saved-and she found a home, after having been abandoned and left a prey to the carniverous animals which often prowl through the woods and glades. This is the moment to surprise her. Now is the time to give her my present." So saying he left them smiling, placing his finger on his mouth to enjoin silence. He walked slowly around the house, appeared to take a byroad which led to the ancient mines, and then he was lost sight of. He did not return that evening nor did he come back the next day. They searched for him.Three days, four days, a month, a year rolled away, and Peter did not return. On the day of his marriage, as soon as his absence was known, all merriment was suspended. The bride wept and tore her hair. The miners, led on by Peter's father, went through all the passages of the mines, unexamined, but nothing appeared to afford them any hope of finding their companion, their friend. Margaret all but died. She returned to life but to consecrate her days to the father and mother of Peter. They so much deserved pity! And so she, for gratitude inspired her with supernatural courage. She took off her bouquet and her marriage garland, and laying them away with care, said, "I will wait for his return." Sixty years after this adventure so terrible, and at the same time so singular, many things had passed in the village. Margaret had closed the eyes Almost all those who were These two children grew up, and as they were always together, as their only desire was to please each other, they loved each other tenderly. To the titles of brother and sister, sweeter ones suc- of her benefactors. ceeded. Their hearts understood each other-at her intended marriage, had gone to their last they thought of a future happiness which they rest. A new generation had sprung up and the remembrance of Peter's adventure, of his sudden | with him. They made plans, drew lines, pointdisappearance, no longer existed, save by those ed out the new routes, and soon the dull sound traditions, which passing from age and increased of the pick was heard against the granite block, by the reflection, the thoughtfulness with which and the blows of the mattock and the rumbling of superstition is capable of inspiring persons of little barrows told that the work had commenced.-education. The work had gone on for four days, and the par diminished. The young girls and the youths who had come to attend the miners' holiday, at the opening of the work, had returned to the city; and all were going home except a few intimate friends and engineers. These were incessantly calculating, for they wished at the same time to increase their master's fortune and provide for the safety of their miners. They spoke of Peter in his country, as a super-ty who had accompanied the master was much natural being. They accused him at all events, of having a league with the evil spirit. In the cold seasons when the winds bore the hoar frost over the earth, and made the dry branches of the elms and beeches creak, or rather when pent-up in the chimney, its sounds resemble long and 1: mournful groans, the good dames pretended it was #Peter, who was come to ask their prayers and a last asylum. They used to say that they recogt: nized his voice in the howling of the storm; when the snow no longer hid the smiling aspect of the field; and when the sun had clothed the wheat and the vine leaves on the hill-side with a golden hue. The cry of the night raven, the murmur of the wind among the leaves, the noise of the adder, concealed in the thick grass, the distant howling of the wolves, all carried fear to the breasts of the inhabitants, when they were obliged to leave their cabins. The woodman, when these sinister warnings met his ear, would bring down his axe with greater vigor, and would work on in silence, knitting his brow, and ever and anon casting troubled glances around. The mother collected her children around her, as if she feared that the cold hand of Peter was going to descend from above, and harm her little innocents. Peter was every where. Prayers were offered to him, tapers were burned in honor of him.— The terrible imagination of the poor peasants led them to look upon him as always busy in plotting harm for them. In this manner did they fear him, who, during his short career, had no other design but to do good to those about him. At last it happened that, after much labor all the veins of the mines were exhausted, and it was necessary to commence upon a new one. For this purpose the master came, and his arrival was the signal for holidays and pleasures. He was only a man, and yet was adored as a sort of divinity. He assembled them to communicate the project of the engineers who had come Suddenly an unusual noise was heard. It was a dull murmur, like a distant warning of a storm. It increases-cries are heard, painful cries. The earth trembles. The master is soon at the mouth of the mine. The bell is rung with all haste, all the ropes are put in motion. He wishes to leap into one of the basket to go to the aid of the unfortunate miners, whose death he thinks is inevitable. All come up. The miners have escaped.They are pale, trembling, and the sweat rolls down their faces. "What is the matter?" cried the master, as pale and tremulous as the living spectres before him. "A man? death! a miracle! an apparition," Such were the words, the exclamations which escaped from their mouths, which were cold through fear, and horribly distorted. Soon however, the master was able to collect a few words, to form an intelligible sentence, of the exclamations dictated by fear. Whilst engaged in opening a communication between the new mine and the ancient ones, the workmen had discovered a stratum less hard than any they had before met with. Stones and earth were not only its ingredients, but the foreign substances, which they found in great abundance, seemed to indicate that in times gone by an immense sinking had suddenly happened at that place. The work was not difficult. A miner loosened large masses of earth and stones by a single blow of his pick. All of a sudden, a very large mass, which had nothing to support it, slides down, gas escaped from the aperture which it left; it took |