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farm, Men, and Household,
i ■ > M * l * ! I 1' 1*0 ITTNVM sM MONTON. 11 ion is who may have communications, ol - 1 facts. Miggcstions. or anything <>l interest, 'Mg to tnis department, are requested to commu ■ mi* to Or. Putuain Siinonton, Searspor!, who •t |r< the same tor publication, il of sufficient in - I i, ITIOI Kir iiu\\ the POlitKl - ct population liil— i ' ><>•■ t<-n thou-- u: i h mcful arts combined 1 ' l . iu;.. ; !uvu\ ;.n ! thin mankind.v •is lie reads and re-reads that great ; Gil midi's Inserted Village, from | tli ib >v( lines are taken, is not touch- ■ sad picture of a people enervated - iivl.i destroyed by the baneful influences •..itVicl society! Till of late, .it was; . at tu be but a flue, poetic vision; or, if a a is confined to old and elfete populations, i i have no existence in our virgin and .;nd But, alas 1 those evil influences i n shores, too. For the able i, Superintendent of Schools for ■ - • ■, s i -'artliug fact that our Maine ■’ 1 y decreasing, but in that j • "! it—the young—which shows that rv springs oi society are drying up,— having been, as the Report shows, a con- , nr lei reuse of scholars .sine.- l-r.o of nearly ' a' ' .n the whole- ;'.l" in the last year; a rate i .limueitiou whith. In no very distant will furnish some rising poet the theme j i he 1) .serted State. j h a fact in a territory with so salubrious | ,ia! : with means and facilities almost un- : . p.is-e.i for supporting population—and the j in- o a;ip.iri it the great natural law j eij got erus the amount of population —is as ,;,g, as it is startling Ami h behooves ev ;;; i: t of Un c.imm.mwealtii. and every j hilaulliropist everywhere, to inquire—What i Fie i ,.i: - .it that fact, and what the rein- | i.'s for the evil h • l!i —- suggest themselves —one, as a j two. as certain and sullicienl rea- I b, our juvenile population is, and will j n io be. diminishing—like < ruses con- j si is emigration from our Stale. This ...it tells a small percent upon the aggre- ' - "l our population; but it utterly fails lo I . ouui for the loss in the young element 0J 1 a while ,n this there has been u.ossoi': mil e .io ,u a lew year.-, the number of j persons in Lhe State have incm/m , dur .. hat. time, more than the other has lost,— voting lists show. Hence we must turn irr reasons, sad end painful as i- the eon- , . iiiou of them. • 1: tln-.se is .1 crime like that which the ■ i -retold the monster Macbeth should A deed with') I a tame;" but S) j . in - ■■■ atr-iji ms than his, as, while his i : u-ri.il victims were lew, these count by .-and-- and millions, depopulating States . nations; ;l crime lor which, alike upon wli-i. for petty gains, are accessory to it, j 1 i lose who, regardles.- ut personal danger, l th- moral and 1 gal turpitude of it, permit 1 ■v in s Heaven : i humanity cry .--"ni. and will tint spare.' Hie slaughter of . ml nits by Herod —wi. i, for which act, will j ■■-i-.l to the end oi time —was nothing, j . I-..H. and '.tro ity, to this modern infanti whii ■ d-'.'at-s our Si ate. as it does most ■ !-■ w ■ i I. every year. And a not less eg in-- eg i :n those competent to •v; - .jii.’in. :li!.t. with just exceptions g t ' • how J in g. neral the rule is, the -t pn'-L ■ mind is debauched and denioraliz ■u 'Ids ; ■;'■ i ci: more so among those of' a in - a; i cue:.,- than of tin- opposite classes. 1 , hope !. tiie prevail uce of this crime j ..in.;,, in part, to igu irauce of physiology: me to li.-i'.eve, and to sal isfy the conscience ! nbryoti • life is not lit —a belief which v ■ g i par: id. ol re as >u, and itself crim- i . •' when p.-rdated in against, the light, iia liis'i'e is s greater rea- on than this, be luderly a use, in i.lie poet's lines at the head oftnis article. For not .ni ;. :.on when tiie eor-t of living and of ippiiHii.g a la mi ly i - so great.—but all along edin; these high pri ■ for the last quar ■ r .a a i eutury, tin new wants that have rung ii| : le more osl ly sty ie of dress, of , , -, means oi living, and till the myriad I gs that enter into Iioum - keeping, hiwc, al-! .. -'.In i, so outstripped income—the means of j . .in! ii111;i•_•■ a family -that marriage hesitates ... •' w or if consummated, It becomes a ,. . -I. 'ii wiili t.i ■ human as with tiie brute p lpUl:ll ion. "r ■ ' -'■'■ ' V i,; 'f -d / -lyi.' And s , without marriage or with, the effect of these baneful arts oi ltixuty i- to i-Ui t mankind. 'lb leinovo these tn's and worse i rimes, by striking at the causes of them, by retracing -mr -teps to the more primitive, loss expensive, i.-i every way better, inodes ot living, may ,n to li - deserting the path of progress and -pi iVeiiicnl. lint in this done, in our judg s lies tii- iciindy. Tiie foundation of these - is the mistake of young people that they - is' I., gin life wlu re their parents and friends I anotlici generation end; forgetting that, ii. s in times in fifty, everywhere, all the ms ol the latter for larger, and, perhaps, . un ions living, have come from beginning ■ i.iII, working up, little by little, by the iudus . and frugality which the former now des . into their present abundant means. .huing iin-ii! Do you envy the line houses, ud the general prosperous condition ol most tin professional, mercantile, and men of whatever calling ? And are you lying back ■vailing, somehow, to get into this condition - lore you start to do, or to be, anything’/ 'l ist of them will be proud to tell you how my began; the little house, with its little fur nishing; plain food; few luxuries; the young -lie who was “a helpmeet indeed, herself in m-trions like the other, and saving up wliat ■ r she could to assist him to capital in ills . i-iness, and so by joint effort “to get on in die world.” I>ii you four derision, young friends, if you •< ! out in, and pursue tlie way which has alone U'ii your predecessors, as it will you, to suc cess and happiness? Remember, it is only snobs and pretentious nobodies you have to fear. I he sensible will both applaud the act a id cheer you on. For who does not admire, as some worship, heroes; but where is there nobler heroism- -mostly unwritten indeed— thun these brave architects of their own for tunes. If, from u false pride, you wait till you ■ an start and support a family at the cost, and :ii the splendor, which only wealth can afford; to the majority, the greatest of earthly bless ings, home and family, may never come; and so countless of the sexes unpaired and un blest; School Commissioners and Governors lamenting in their messages a population des t.royed, as the result. When a Spartan youth complained to his mother who was fitting him for the wars, that his sword was too short— fake a step nearer the foe” was the brave re ply. So, if your means are too short., take a step, sword In hand, nearer this cruel foe of mandlud -Fashion and Extravagance—and vie-1 t try and success arc vours. Fortune.' wailing for young men, will be our 1 theme iu a future number. rntTir treek. Everything in its proper season Is a golden rule. And if you cannot plant, and should not j prune, trees at this season of the year,—two or three important things should be done now. Now, with deep, frozen snow about the trees, is the very best time to get rid of ^pt pest the canker-worm; (or three good reason—a more leisure time, a better light reflected from the snow to see them in, and easier reached on this snow elevation. If, near the ends of limits, you see a greyish ring, looking like In- ^ dia rubber, it is a canker-worm nest, having in it many hundred eggs, each ol' which, under 1 increasing warmth, will become one of those vile worms. And the only remedy is to cut them oil . . uot forgetting to burn them. For we have known people to remove and throw them on the ground, where the eggs will grow j into tlm worm just as well as on the trees. A ! I few moments thus devoted to a tree, may save i you many dollars. If on limbs beyond reach, j our method is this : Tie some stout, cutting j shears to one end ol a pair of long, light sticks, j like beau poles; in this way the most distant I limbs of the largest trees may be easily reach- | eii. But most of them may be reached by at self-supporting ladder, which every home needs for a variety ol purposes, and which is seldom seen. Make a common, light ladder—say 10 or Id feet long; let the upper rounds go through and project three inches on each side of the j ladder; make two sticks like the sides of the I ladder, but lighter for convenience in carrying; [ bore a hole iu the tipper end of the sticks, | which put oil the projecting end of the round; ! fasten in place with leather washer and a nail; keep under cover when not iu use,—and you have for life a very simple, but very useful ar ticle. Try it. One other thing you can, and should, do to fruit trees now : Examine the wax where they have been grafted, or where used for other purposes. Winter’s cold basso contracted the wax that it lias either fallen off, or been so loosened as to be worthless,—leaving the bare wood, and the growing graft-split, to the fury of storm and sunshine, like an unhealed animal wound, without protection. In botli cases, lose no; a moment iu dressing up the wounds. s ests or i o\*uii'ii<n. We know of two families iu Massachusetts, of whom the following story may he told. Two healthy brothers married two healthy sisters. Both had large families of children. One lived on the old homestead, on the southern slope of one of the numerous beautiful and well draiiied hiHs in that vicinity. The whole house was bathed all day long in sunlight, and con- j sumption did not touch any of the young lives ! under its roof. The other brother placed his j house at a very short distance oil, but upon a : grassy plain, covered all summer with the rankest verdure. Iu its front was a large open i ••common.” in the centre of this, water oozed i up iroiu between the split hoofs of the cows, as ! they came lowing homeward at evening, and j the barefooted boy who was driving them used | to shrink from the [dace, and preferred to make j tiic circuit of its edge rather than to follow the | lead of his more quiet comrades. Back cl’the j house was a large level meadow, reaching to the very foundations of the building. Through this meadow sluggishly crept the midstream ol the adjacent village. .Still further, all three surroundings were enclosed by lofty hills. The life-giving sun rose later and set earlier upon this than upon the other fair homestead. Till late in the forenoon, and long after sunset left •die hill-side home, damp and chilling emana- : lions lose from the meadow, and day after day : enveloped the tender forms of the children that were trying in vain to grow up healthy withiu them. But all ell’ort was useless. Large fam ilies were born under both roofs. Not oue of the children born under the latter homestead escaped, whereas the other family remained healthy ; and when, at the suggestion of a med ical lrieud who knew all the facts we have told, we visited the place for the purpose of thor j oughly investigating them, we thought that i these two houses were a terribly siguiileaut 11 j lustration of the existence of this’ all power ; lul law. Vet these two homes had nothing ■ peculiarly noticeable by the passing stranger. They were were situated iu the same township and wiiliiu a very short distance oue from the other, and scarcely any one in the village with whom we spoke on the subject agreed with us in our opinion that it was location alone, or chi fly that, which gave lile or death to the inmates of the two. We might speak of other homesteads which seem to us now to be very nests of consump tion in consequence of this law, and yet not one parent- in a hundred acknowledges even theoretically his belief in the truth of our as sertion. Barents themselves, during a long residence, may escape from the dire influence of location ; and therefore they imagine, if their | children arc failing, that some other evil agou ; cy is at work, rather than this law. Illustrative of this error ou the part, oi par ents, we cauuot forbear relating the following l fact. We know of a house situated about a loot above and just ou the edge of a small lake. The cellar, if there be one, must be below the level of the water. The house, built with taste, nestles amid over-hanging, thickly leaved trees, j through which the sun’s rays cau scarely per 1 ctrate even at mid-day. The homestead is i overrun with the springing woodbine, clematis, and honeysuckle,—coolness, dampness, and a little sunlight arc the characteristics of the spot. Iti the midst of summer it the beau ideal of a quiet, relined country house, which any one, even the most fastidious, would desire to occupy. Vet as we have looked at it, and have remembered how oue by one the children born j in it have been cut oil’ by consumption either I at puberty or at early manhood or womanhood, we have turned with loathing from all its ex ternal beauties, and have regarded them all as so many false and fatal allurements, bringing j inevitable ruin to those who should fall within the sphere of their influence. These tales are no creations of our lmagiu- ! lion, but positive and undeniable facts. [Dr. Henry i. Bowditch. THE4TMEXT OF IIA IIS. Mr. Stephen Bowman, ltensselaer Co., N. V., having in early life become dissatisfied with ordinary ham and bacon, tried to improve upou j them, and at last concluded he could accom- j plish his purpose by smoking the tub instead of the meat. He is satislled with his plan, which he has practiced for llfty-two years, and communicates it substantially as follows : Place the tub over a small lire, made of corn cobs, green walnut, or rock maple, and smoke for about four hours. For one hundred pounds of meat, use four quarts of salt, two ounces of saltpeter, and two pounds of sugar. Before the meat is put into the tub, rub a little salt in near the bones, and place a part of the salt in the smoked tub; then put iu the meat rather loosely, cover with cold water, and put in the sugar, saffjrcrcr, and the remainder of the salt. The hams will be ready for use In three weeks. The above is for cold weather; as warm weath er comes on more salt is to be added, and if a stronger flavor of smoke is required, remove the meat and brine, and smoke the tub again. Beef may be put in the tub with the hams and iu about six weeks taken out to dry. Mr. B. i claims that this method is easier, cheaper, and j better than the usual way, and that the hams ; are completely kept from the attacks of insects, j Any portion of a cut ham may be returned to | the brine. He states that he has kept hams in this way until October. The Tower of London. Who that has a human heart does not shrink and grow pale at the sound of that, name? Within those walls what scenes j have been enacted ! How many souls have endured martyrdom there, while waiting for the less horrible martyrdom of the body ! Could its history be written, truth fully and without prejudice, what a volume it would be ! But no English pen ever did, ever could treat the subject faithfully, and uone but Englishmen know its horrors. The bright sun of an October day was shining over London, iu the year loot). The young King Edward was dying, iu the■ 'very flower of his youth, and at the mo ment of his death, she who afterwards at tained to the terrible and most unwomanly titles of Bloody Mary and Scarlet Queen, ' was on her way to take his place as reign . iug sovereign. One chance in many brought : about the result she so much desired ; and | she passed onward to the throne which she stained by her after deeds. The few good acts which she performed stand out bright- ( ly from the dark back ground of her reign, like stars from a midnight sky. The daughter of Henry YIU must needs have within her a reckless and selfish disregard of others, save in a few instances. She did not belie Iter parentage. Mary had a triumphal entry into the' tower, which was then the gloomy abode of Gardiner, Bonner and Tonstall. The three bishops were allowed to meet her on Tower green and implore her grace and protection. They were then, with others, restored to liberty. There was another inmate there—a bright-eyed youth, whose handsome face brought a strong throb to the heart of the unlovely queen, whose own youth had long since passed away. This was the young Courtney, son of the attainted Marquis of Exeter, whose childhood, pure and guiltless as it was, had known no other shelter. As he knelt beside the venerable bishop, Mary forgot that she might have been his mother, so great was the discrepancy in their ages— forgot everything save that she was Queen of England and might be also Queen of Hearts. Courtney was not only released from confinement but raised to honors at once. He was created Earl of Devon. At court lie was distinguished for grace and accom plishments, as well as for the perfection of that manly beauty that had so speedily touched the heart of his sovereign. One would have deemed that he had always breathed the charmed atmosphere of a court instead of that of a prison. Mary was proud of the treasure she had rescued. Alas 1 she could not reach that youthful heart. There was auother attraction in her train—her young and beautiful sister, inheriting the spirit of her father and the beauty of her unfortunate mother ; and to her the young earl turned as naturally as the sunflower to his god. The queen sat in her own apartment, somewhat apart from her ladies. Her sal low face ill accorded with the rich apparel which she wore, and which, though superb in material, was tasteless in form and col oring. The pearls she wore were in strong contrast to the yellow and withered neck. By a curtained window, in whoso deep shadow one might have been easily screen ed from an observation less keen, Mary had caught a glimpse, now of a fair white neck, shaded by golden tresses, now of a beauti ful arm gleaming through its transparent hanging sleeve. Beside her own chair, which was raised a single step from the floor, knelt Courtney, Earl of Devon. Her penetrating eye marked the wishful glance that was so often directed to the fair girl at i the window, and her whole soul kindled with ill-suppressed indignation. Within a brief half hour she had whis pered words that, had they fallen from Elizabeth’s lips, would have made that young heart’s pulse quiver with delight. He had heard and understood them, but he bad been wise enough to conceal his knowl edge ; and Mary, half vexed that he could not appreciate the honor which she would gladly bestow upon him, and half mad with rage that he should prefer, as he evi dently did, the princess to the queen, sud denly dismissed him from her presence. i lie look which passed between the two as he passed out was not observed by the ; jealous queen. Elizabeth craved permis sion to withdraw, but was refused with a i flash of the eye that spoke the daughter of Ileury Y11I. She bade her draw nigh, and then and there she administered a volley of invectives to the youug princess which vied in quality with those that Elizabeth so often afterwards bestowed upon all who awaken ed her frequent jealousies. She did not spare her any more than she would have spared the meanest of her attendants. Even then the young princess had within her the germ of that strong and bitter sarcasm, | that ungovernable thirst for love, and that passion for coquetry that distinguished her after years. She replied wittily and saucily to the jealous sister forgetting for the mo ment that she was her queen ; and Mary who had ever hated the daughter of Anne Boleyn, resolved that hence forth, she would exclude her from those interviews which she had intended should'take place with the young earl and herself. Elizabeth’s life was therefore one of per petual restraint. She was sedulously kept from seeing Courtney, except for a few hurried chance meetiugs in the galleries or upon the staircase of the royal abode. Then, indeed,the rapturous love of the two fond hearts found amends for absence in the pressure of hands or the thrilling kisses which they contrived to give when the at tendants were called another way, and which had Mary seen or suspected, would have caused uot only banishment, but per haps death. Once indeed they met, and, strangely enough, their interview was neither watch ed nor forbidden. At the end of along gallery there was a deeply arched window, over which the drapery hung so heavily as to exclude the light almost entirely. With in its deep shadow three or four persons might have been utterly hidden from obser vations ; and it was to this window that Courtney led the golden-haired princess,1 both trembling at the unwonted good for tune that gave them the opportunity to meet unmolested. “I have strange news for your ear, fair princess,” said the young earl. The kind eyes beamed lovingly upon him as he told her the tale of the Emperor of Spain having planned a match between the queen and his own son Philip, aud that Mary had seriously inclined to accept his proposals. ! “I hope 1 shall be freed from her too palpable hints,” said the young earl, speak ing louder than was altogether safe in a spot where echo was busy. “Hush!” said his alarmed companion. “Remember walls have ears in this detesta ble court.” “No dauger, uow that the queen has a prospect of marriage, ladybird,” he answer ed gayly. “Aud is this Spanish wooer old or young?” ■ “Just twenty-seveu. A widower, too, aud eleven years younger than her majesty, who adores young men.” “Shameful!” cried Elizabeth. “Has she the lolly to believe that he will remain true to oue who has outgrown even the charm of youth, which, truth to say, was all the charm my royal sister ever possessed?” The white baud was more tenderly pressed, the red, moist lips more lingering ly touched, as the young earl breathed out his own love anew. “We will not vex ourselves with these matters,” he whispered, “ so loug as we have youth aud health—aud beauty, too, my princess, although it lies all with you.” “Nay, Courtney, the court damsels say differently. They give you the palm for being the handsomest knight at court. Of course I do uot agree with them,” she cou tiuued, coquettislily, “ as you know 1 con sider old Cardinal Pole second to no man for beauty, although his years would make him a more suitable lover for the queen than for myself.” She added this last sentence because she ; fancied a jealous flush had riseu to the noble brow on which she was gazino: so earnest ly, thinking, perhaps, how well his massive beauty would become a crown. Visions of | the future flashed across the young girl’s mind. There was but the one weak and dis eased life of Mary between her and royalty, aud would uot Courtney be a king before whom Philip of Spain might hide his dimin ished head? She looked upon the swaying curls, aud wondered if her hand might uot one day cover them with a regal coronet Yes, truly she ought to be tire ipieen. No one would marry Mary for love, lint she,—O, she could win a man’s heart out of him by her grace and beauty, and then—O, what joy to crown him king! Such were her meditations, until Courtney touched the small white hand that lay caressingly on his arm, aud said : “Of what is my princess dreaming?” She started and blushed as she answered : “Of the future king of England.” “O, of Philip. Well. 1 do uot envy him. He may be king, but I only aspire to be king of one little heart.” Elizabeth give him a curious look. Had he diviued her thoughts, that he was thus j depreciating the honor she would fain have bestowed? No. His whole soul was iu his eyes, and they were gazing upon her beau tiful face. There were no ambitious hopes beaming from their crystal depths, save those that poiut<.,l to the accomplishment of his marriage with Elizabeth Tudor. Of her right of succession to the throne of England, he never thought. Courtney was uot worldly. The childhood aud youth spout iu prison, cruel and wrong as it might be iu his oppressor and the oppressor of his father, had yet its unmeant kindness for the boy, that had penetrated into tlie in ner depths of his manhood, and saved him from the curse of that sin by which the an gels fell. Little dreamed the young and noble lov ers that this was their last interview. The Spanish match, insisted on by Charles V., not from any good or noble motive, but for a hope of beuefitting himself from the coffers of England, the match, consented to by Philip without a feeling towards the royal bride chosen by his father, save of utter and supreme indifference, that match became a source of unutterable strife be tween the maiden queen and her subject. Sir Thomas Wyatt, the poet-lover of Anne Boleyu, Sir Peter Carow, the Duke of Suffolk, Lord Thomas Gray and others, headed the revolt and made determined re sistance to the union of their queen with a Spaniard and a Catholic. The insurrection failed in its object, and Wyatt and many of his followers were executed. During its existence, the queen had strenuously re solved to identify with it the two beings who had thwarted her ridiculous love scheme. She sent tlie young earl to Toth- j eriugay Castle, and placed Elizabeth at Woodstock, under the strictest surveiiauee. and, during this state of things, the detest ed match had gone on and the royal pair had removed to Windsor to spend a honey moon of which there was only the weak est and most absurd fondness ou tlie part of the too mature bride, and the merest indifference on that of the bridegroom. Xot only’ tlie gentle Wyatt, but Lord Thomas Gray and the Duke of Suffolk were executed for their share iu the revolt. To the prisoners some show of mercy was exhibited. To Elizabeth she offered a re lease, ou condition of her becoming the wife of the duke of Savoy, hoping by this plan to rid herself and the kingdom of her presence. She was mistaken. Elizabeth’s eyes were opened by Mary’s own conduct. England had refused to Mary what they had granted to Henry VIII—the right to name a successor to the throne—and the princess now learned the fact that Phillip’s adherents had hoped to prove her illegiti macy iu order to press his right of descent from the house of Lancaster to constitute him the heir of Mary. Added to these rumors were tonder remembrances of him whose young life was again wasting iu a prison, and under all these circumstances, Elizabeth decided wisely to bide her time. Philip did not even succeed iu being crowned, as was his own and Mary’s re solve, but determining to lessen bis excess ive unpopularity with the nation, lie went to the extent of proclaiming the release of several distinguished prisoners, of whom 1 Elizabeth was tlie most illustrious, and al so of protecting the latter from Mary’s pretty and annoying spite. The earl of Devon was included among those who were released, but his freedom was accompanied by a significant permis sion to go abroad, so the lovers were prevented from ever again meeting. At Padua the earl was seized with symptoms that left no doubt of poison, and rumor as cribed the cruel murder to the imperialists. Who can tell how powerfully this unhap py love passage, occurring in the first flush of Elizabeth’s girlhood, and rendered deep er and more lasting perhaps by opposition, might have tinged her after life ? And may not some of the waywardness and strange ness that has been laid to her charge in all her affairs of the heart, be traced back to this cruel blighting of a youug heart’s first romance ? A Clear Case of Luck. “A good many singular things happen ed during tiie war,” said John, as he lighted his after dinner cigar, “but somehow I con sider my own case about the funniest of all.” “Ah !” said I, “how is that?” “Did it never occur to you that it was a little odd that iu so short a time I should have got to be a partner in the firm, and a married man, aud all that sort of thing?” “Oh! you speculated?” “Not a bit of it; or rather I did, and I didn’t, for you know that I detest speculat ion. I’ve even made old Mitraille swear off.” “So far it is very clear ; but if I knew how you secured a French wife, and a rich one I could understand a little plain Eng lish.” Before 1 went to the war John Develiu aud I were fellow clerks iu the banking house of Mitraille & Co., New York. A slight lameness prevented John going into the army ; and an utter absence of capital prevented him from proposing for the hand of the pretty Lucille, though I always be lieved he had more to fear from the gruff old papa than from the lady herself. Poor as he was, and on a moderate salary when I returned at the end of the war—a good deal lamer than John hadbeen before it—I found my chum in the full en joyment of all he had longed for, and with a brown stone front to enjoy it in. So when he volunteered something which promised to explain the mystery, my curi osity was set on fire in a moment. John was a right good fellow and I did not envy him a particle ; but I must say I was curi ous about it. “Well,” said John, “the way of it was this: Have another cigar? You know a good deal what I was after when you went away ; and my chance of getting it then ; seemed about as far off as the Presidency. < It was a clear case of luck, I tell you, aud a little more. Old Mitraille had always liked me pretty well, though I was hardly the man he would have chosen for a son-in law ; and I kept his private books, you know. You know- all about the unbounded gold speculation in 18G2 and 18G3 ; well he some how got into.it, steady old hard-headed bank er as he is. Almost everybody went it more or less. “ The old man had rather missed it once 1 or twice, and got hit pretty hard, though no j one but myself knew anything about it—so j hard, in fact, that I was a little alarmed for ; the result.” “I got it into my head about that time that I would like to run down to Washing ton ana take a took at the forts ana camps. Souehow it always galled me a good deal that I could not take my part with the rest, j and 1 wanted to have look at the tiling any- j how. So J called at the house to see Lu cille, and get a short furlough, and 1 sue-! ceeded well. That is, 1 did not see as much of Lucille as I wanted, but the old gentle- i man gave me leave of absence readily, and added : ‘Suppose something may happen while you are dare,eh? You send me telegram, quick.’ “Yes,” I replied, “but you know the War Department don’t allow a fellow to send over the wires just what he wants to.” “Oh, never miud all dat,”said Mitraille, “just you send something, good or bad, no matter, just the words. I understand mighty quick, ha! lia ! Never you mind the War Department.” “And so,” continued John, “off I went without a very clear idea of what was ex pected, or how I was do it.” And now the rest of it sounds tremend ously like a page from Munchausen, but it is all a clear historical fact. Mitraille wrote a letter which got to Washington about as soon as I did, urging me to keep my ears and eyes open, and promising if I sent him anything of importance he would halve with me on the profits. I saw by that how ter ribly nervous he was getting, and conclud ed that affairs must be even worse with him than I knew of. Nevertheless 1 began to be a trifle excited, myself, and though I had a sort of horror of speculation, especially gold gambling, I commenced to look around me pretty sharply for items. Amoug other adventures I fell in with old Sam Gorham of Cincinnati, one of our correspondents, and a nephew of his a queer spoon of a fellow, and we went around sight-seeing together. “Nothing would do for either uncle or nephew but a continual succession of cock tails, and I Lad to leave them in their rooms soon after dinner, somewhat the worse for wear while I continued my searcl for in tormation under difficulties. “I didn’t find out anything in particular all that uight or the next forenoon, but I saw the sights pretty effectually, and about noon I went into my friends’ room to wake them up. I found the uephew lolling dis consolately in a chair, and the uncle in bed with a high fever, the natural result of his foolishuess the day before. The hopeful youth began the story of his tribulation, by stating that he had expected his aunt there that day, but had received a letter from her saying that she had been delayed and could not come at once. “I asked him what the doctor had said about his uncle. “‘Oh, the old man’s right sick, and I reckon I’d better telegraph to Aunt Sally to come ou right off.’” “On the plea of a splitting headache, he begged me to send his message, and I thought I would send one at the same time to Mitraille & Co. Well, his telegram, save the direction, read: ‘Dou’t wait for auythiug. Uncle Sam very sick indeed.” “While mine was simply; “Nothing stirring. Having a good time.” “Now how ou earth these two little af fairs got interchanged is a mystery to me to this day. Perhaps I did it; I don’t know ; but twisted they certainly were, and some how both of them passed the censors. When Mitraille opened his, he straightway imagined that something had gone to smash in Washington, and that I had taken a neat way of giving him a hint, and lie rushed out and bought all the gold his credit would cover. “lie wrote me an accouut of his transac tions whose magnitude almost turned my hair gray ; and while he thanked me lor my hint he begged me to be sure that my infor mation was correct. I thought at first he was crazy, and then I became pretty near crazy myself, thinking what might be the consequences of the mistake. The first thing I did—this was the next day, you kuow—was to rush into Rigg’s, aud ask the latest gold prices. “Guess my delight when I found them fairly jumping upward. It was wonder ful ! Still I was terribly nervous, for all sorts of rumors were afloat; aud I knew that gold would fall quick as it could rise. The feeling grew on me until, pretty nearly half demented, I went into the telegraph office at Willard’s aud dashed off— “It’s all a sell, aud a big one.” “Well, the old gentleman took that as he had the other one, and not only sold out, but went short to the full extent of his liue. It was the luckiest thiug in the world for sure enough, within forty-eight hours filings did go down with a crash. [ began to feel superstitious ; there was something uncanny about it, and I packed my kit and made fast for New \ork. 1 did not attempt an explanation, but steadily resisted all the old gentleman’s entreaties to go on with it any further. I even managed to persuade him to close up his gold accouut aud quit it. 1 had Lucille to help me in that. “The net figure was a very handsome one I tell you, aud there was little trouble about making the other arrangements after my bank account wa3 made up. My honor ed father-in-law had the blindest faith iu my judgment ; but I told Lucille all about it. What’s more, I don’t aud won’t specu late, and I wont do business for any firm that does. It’s all a clear case of luck.” John threw the stump of his cigar into the ashes, aud I pulled away at mine, won dering if there was any luck iu my getting that piece of shell iu my ankle. The Newburyport Incendiary. No topic has excited a more lively interest during the past two years than the matter or' the identity of the man who lias created a ter ror in the hearts of the people of Newburyport by his numerous acts of Incendiarism. The public has from time to time learned through the columus of the newspapers of fires in that somewhat ancient city, aud have been inform ed of the excitement that prevaile d there. But uo one not a resident can for a moment realize the fearful state of terror and alarm into which that community has been thrown by the unob structed and remorseless conduct of this fiend in applying the torch. Fires were so numer ous that they were expected every night, and uo man could retire to rest without feeling a probability that he would be aroused from slumber ere the morning dawned by the peal- ! ing notes of the alarm bells. Every one was suspected aud every one was under the sur veillance of the police and of his neighbors. Sometimes the efforts of the “fire bug/' as be came to be called, were futile, but his tracks | were apparent in the morning in the discovery : of his patent tire box, leaning against some j building which he sought to destroy. These I boxes were uniformly of one size and shape, j made of the same wood, fastened with the ! same nails, and constructed in an uniformly bungling manner. In the boxes was a caudle, I a few inches long, set in a block or' wood, and ! surrounded by shavings saturated with kero- 1 sene oil. The candle would bum a certain number of hours according to its length, be- I fore it fired the shavings. These implements j finally came to be looked for as regularly as the morning recurred, i in' people wore in a i state of frenzy. The 'firebug" came and went noiselessly as the shadow aud secretly as a 1 dream, escaping all eyes that watched for him, eluding all hands that twitched in a nervous ! desire to grasp him. A citizen could not go j abroad at night with a bundle that he was not followed, scrutinized, and in many cases, under l official authority, made to give an account of himself. Kays from dark lanterns were sud- i deuly flashed in the eyes of pedestrians by po- i licemen, who, with the illuminating apparatus in one hand and a revolver in the other, were impatient to explore and reveal the mystery. To cross a man’s garden, to scale a fence, or to be seen under any circumstances that were not ; perfectly natural and quickly explainable, after j dark, subjected one to the danger of a bullet j from the hands of house owners who came to guard their property with zealous cire. Men i who all their lives had borne irreproachable j characters, were regarded by their fellows with j suspicion, and watched with untiring vigilance ! uutil their innocence was made apparent by the occurrence of another tire which it was known '■ they could not have caused. The Mayor aud police authorities were im portuned in vain. They exerted every faculty and strained every nerve, but the “fire bug" ranged unharmed and unrestrained. A party of leading citizens formed themselves into a secret vigilance committee, with tiie avowed purpose of unearthing the fellow if possible. Not wishing to act entirely on their own re sponsibility, they consulted the Mayor, aud I advised him to call into requisition the ser- i vices of some detective more experienced, and, as they hoped he would prove, more acute than the very respectable but thus far unsuc- 1 cessful local authorities. Acting upon this advice Mayor Pierce, about a year since, went to Boston and implored the or advice of the authorities there. Upon the i recommendation of Jfcputy Chief Savage, Mo ses Sargent, formerly of the Boston detective police force, but of late years a private and in- ‘ dependent detec tive, was employed to iuvestl- , gate the case, and if possible bring the olTender to justice. The facts above related are perhaps mostly familiar witli the public, aud desiring if pos sible to give our readers a more minute and ! reliable accouut of what followed than lias yet j been printed, we have consulted a well-known 1 and responsible gentleman, who is a resident of Newburyport, and has interested himself particularly in the investigations, which it is believed have now been crowned with success, and from him aud in other ways we have learn ed some matters which may be regarded by the public with interest while the trial of the al leged incendiary is pending. Detective Sargent, alter looking the case over and digesting the tire-boxes on exhibition at the City .Marshal’s office in Newburyport, together with all other matters bearing upon the identity of the culprit, which had at that time been exhumed, and which, by the way, were very few, lorined his theory and set to work in its verification. Taking a list of all parties on whom the slightest circumstances had thrown suspicion, he and one of his confi dential assistants placed under surveillance each and every one until they became satisfied ot their innocence in turn. One very respectable gen tleman was under espionage night and _day lor nearly the whole of the winter of 1SG7-GS be fore suspicion was entirely diverted from him. This was not until the advent ot last spring, when it was supposed the “season” of the in cendiary was over, as he had in years past op erated exclusively in the winter season. Finally, when last December came, it was assumed that the “fire season had at rived again, aud watch was set upon the party last alluded to. He had been under espionage from the 22d of December until the Gist, when Tap pan’s barn was burned. It was then certain he did not do that job of incendiarism. When news of this confiagration reached Mr. Sargent ho forthwith repaired to Newburyport and went to work in person. It was entirely against the judgment of the Mayor anil author ities of the city and many of the private citi zens as we are informed, that Mr. Sargent insisted on watching Leonard Choate, who was regarded by them above suspicion. A strong circumstance iu his favor was that the tires du" ring the past few years had destroyed a great deal of his own property and that of his rela tives; but the detective had Iris own notions and acted upon them'. The house next to Mr. Choate’s, ou Tyug street, was occupied by Benjamin Ackerman, and from the windows of this house Choate’s premises could be surveyed. Here the detective took up his place of wait ing. Choate had a carpenter’s shop adjoining his house (his business and that of his father before him was ship building or joining, or something of that kind,) where lie spent much of his time. One day deticdve Sargent sent alt. Ackerman into the shop to get a board planed; after it had been smoothed it was in dented with a blow from a hammer which laid upon a bench. Subsequent examinations show ed that the impression made by the hammer was precisely like those made by the hammer which had driven the nails into the boxes which had been picked up tiiere at different times, the peculiarity being a ilaw iu the face of the hammer; and the imprint of the teeth of tin bench hook upon the board also corresponded with those upon the boards of whieli the Un boxes were constructed. It was also noticed that Choate when at work iu the shop, was alone and locked himself in and hail a screen be fore his window. Timber corresponding to that of which the lire boxes were composed, tiuishing nails, <rcks, Ac., like those used to fasten the pieces together, were also discover ed. This discovery was made the L’Oth of last Jauuary. The Mayo r was informed of the state oi the case, and soon afterwards City Marshal Fitz, who had from the first been sharply looking about for evidence, was made acquainted with the lull particulars of this last discovery, and the two arranged to get the hammer, bench hooks, As., from the shop ou the firs’ dark uight, and also to see what else could be found there that would tend to -ubstautlate the theorv of Choate’s guilt. Fitz, however, ami two of Id-, men, it may be mentioned, went anil got tin articles one evening, anil informed Sargent of the fact afterwarus. Among other thine* bearing upon the supposed guilt of Choate an these facts : That during his absence from the •ity no tires occurred; at one tire was found a iottle which had contained kerosene oil, wrap ped in a copy of a Minnesota newspaper, Clio ate being shown to have been the only sub senber of that sheet in Newbury port ai that time. Further evidence, anil lhal which is of a very important character, has been obtained through Mr. Sargent’s instrumentality, hut as its if,, closure might possibly tend to defeat the ends of justice we refrain iron; giving it publicity at the present time. These facts being made known to the Mayor it was deemed expedient to arrest Choate; but before this course was determined upon Cho ate left the city, audit was learned|that he had gone to Lilly l’oml, Minnesota, 50 miles from the Fulls of St. Authouy, and the necessary papers having been procured Detective Sargeni and City Marshal Fitz started in pursuit. They left Newburyport the 13th of February, anil without any but necessary stops pushed for ward until the night, of the 17th, when the> reached Si. Paul. There Major Mellrath. the Chief of Police, was consulted, and the next morning he and Mr. Sargent started for Min neapolis. There they learned that a Massa chusetts man named Chut' had gone forward into the interior about fifty miles, and was en gaged in getting out railroad ties from the for est. Taking a double team they pushed rapid ly forward, and eventually reached the neigh borhood ot Lilly Pond. Neither of the officer knew Choate, and Fitz had been left behind because he did. Under various pretences the officers, on the uight of their arrival, called at uumcrous houses or cabins in quest of their man. Finally a party appeared at the door ot a cabin, in response to a summons, and hi-id the candle that the officers might light their ci gars. While this process was going ou Sargeni remarked to the stranger that he did not look like a Western booster, to which was given the response that lie was not: that lie had beeu iu those parts but a short time. M:-. Sargent then suggested that lie looked like a “down E ester,'' and he replied at once that he belonged in New - buryport, Mass. Sargent then inquired his name, and he said it was Leonard Choate. Major Mellrath then informed iiim that he had a warrant for his arrest. Choate manifested no surprise ami did not cure to hear ike war rant read, saying merely if he was to be taken he would be ready alter collecting a lew things He was then put into the carriage and started once more for Massachusetts. On the way to St. Paul he asked for what he was arrcstc-d, and on being informed that he knew as well a* any one, replied “Very well, you say so; tin next thing is to prove it. Having heard .Sar gents name called he asked the latter if In wasn’t the party who pursued and arrested Samuel Mills, a New Hampshire murderei. and ou receiving an affirmative answer remark ed, “Well, I’ve heartl of you and recollect al! about that case, but l ilidu't expect to be in troduced to you out this way, though.” Mar shal Fitz was rejoined at St. Paul and started with Sargent and his prisoner for home on Lin following day, reaching Newburyport last Fri day uight. Two melancholy suicides lately occurred in 'sail Francisco, both ot which were in the regular army. The body ot' Lieut. .John F. Small was found in hi- room, dressed in full uniform, aud completely . n ered by tbe clothing of the bed. On i stand near the head of the couch was a large vial which contained chloroform, lie left several letters, one of which read as fol lows:— “Sin Francisco, Ki.n. r.i. lSfla Mv Dear Brother : I cannot endure life Ion ger. Go to the Fort aud get everything there that belongs to me. Should any one ever speak ol me In your presence in terms that reflect upon my honor as a gentleman, or m\ integrity as a man, shoot him on the spot. Good-live, dear brother; live aud be happy, it possible, aud when you die, die game. ‘ Your brother, “John. ' A part of the counterpane bad been saturated with chloroform; lie bad also covered his face with it, and thus passed oil' into the sleep of death. He had plenty ot means, anil held an honorable position, and no reason is known why lie should have destroyed bis own life. The same day tbe body of Lieut. Col. John G. Scott was tbuud on bis bed, with both bis wrists cut on both sides, completely severing the arteries, the blood from which had flowed into a wash ing-bowl at one side aud in the water-pitch er on tire other. Everything went to show that after cutting his wrists, he must have held them over the two vessels until Hi'. became almost extinct, aud it must have re quired wonderful coolness, considering hi - terrible position. An empty bottle marked laudanum aud poison, and half a bottle ol chloroform, were found in the room, but there was no evidence that lie had taken poison. Many years ago a Boston lawyer got lost while traveling in the woods, <<u Cape Cod. Coming to a house, he rode up to the dooi and accosted the lady of the house a follows : “Madam, if you tell me who 1 was, who 1 am, where l am, and where I am going, I will give you a dollar.” She eyed him a moment, and then said: “You were Kent the minister, you are now Kent tho lawyer : you are in Falmouth woods, and you are goiug to the devil.” He handed her the dollar and rode on. The lady happened to know him. Two medical men were recently called to decide the cause of illness of a very sick man. “It is asevere case ot typhoid fever, said one. “1 think not, said the second. They disputed and discussed, till the tirst said: “Never mind, we shall liud out when we make the post mortem examina tiou.” The sick man did not smile.