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The Republican journal. [volume] (Belfast, Me.) 1829-current, April 29, 1869, Image 1

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Persistent link: https://chroniclingamerica.loc.gov/lccn/sn78000873/1869-04-29/ed-1/seq-1/

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farm, Garden, and Household,
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LOOK TO 105 M ( ELMSt*
N there are few ars that have not stv
< ral actual murderer? in :aem. You til. them
s wilfu rers Consumptions, Chills
and Fevers. Typhui i and S -rlet Fcvets, I»:p
therias, Dysentexi -.Let us see
tae nature .,{ th- -• ? i.4g - in '. when etheir
1 ' r° i D
1.. . i larg lass of th< me st esti n ■
tive i.;?eases, which iuc.ude? ah the above
named ■. x ■ consumption. a; i many besides
which arise from some poison taken into the
systf :...' ding it with the . intct
the lungs, where it mis., ? with, ait i i? thence
• arrled by the blood t .-very part of the body,
p -toning -he wh i- a- i* p ' and thi.? poi
son i tael I iri s fr putri-f Sou and de
■ ay of vegetab:- and autrua! substances. Hence
ikes. : c.d?. swimps. -cgnani po ,.? and
u.site heat to fS’.-Y dish the putr f-'ic-tive process
•n the nr.im;.. .nd v, tea'll- -c stare -- with
which they are charged, are y f. grr-a* source of
iiose 'li-oi ? i i? th- :e *?if wasting !:■
easts T i whh h to who !i th- y give rise almost
entirely prevail.
.A:.; very little dm? it depend upon the
■i ..• of the pc is oh generated • for as “a lit
tle leaven lent- neth the whole lump,"—so the
merest drop of thi- poi-.m entering the «ys
:■ m acts a? a ferment to establish the putre
factive process through the whole volume of
the blood Thus two ■d-tlugitilsh-d German
physi ian ire .... fi . : itrefying na
c rials a po.son, a hundr. th part or a gram of
which, infected int) tin- veins of a dog, pro
duced, In a rt timi til the violent symp
toms o: putrid •lysonterv and killed frogs
(prickly.
N w n rst cellars as they are i onstr ucted
and managed, have all the conditions in abun
dance to generate those p-.h-' and their od
spring, those horri : disease- What ire those
conditionsWarmth, mots' ire, animal and
■. egetabie substance-; the vegetable, In the va
rious articles by that tiame put there tor bet
ter keeping; the animal, in the millions of
minute, living creature? which the rn'croscopt
w.il show the stagnant water of atrv cellar.
And even the mould that gathers over It? dank
walls, or anywhere else, that wonderful instru
ment i\ lb a.so -how to Ire organ! beings, with
a vitality so low as to ea-lly permit tic putre
factive pic *-?.? in them. Mne tenths of the
cellars we sec and thi.? will probably hold true
through the Ian ! not only in cold weatin r,
when the hanger 1? not so great, but alltbrouh
the spring, summer and fall months, are reek
ing with decaying vegetables, broken boards
an ! barrels on with h > mi seek to navigate over
a sea ,d stagnant, putrid water; and with no
season sometimes
•t i* a! K ir often In mid summer have we
know 11 such cellar? to have 11c- window? close 1
a? in mid winter. If instead m “a shining
mark," the poei ha t said
‘' I * ath . *•- • uch y iitri'i. eUa.
It might be bad poetry, Imt i- a truth which
might, anil ought to torm the epitaph on many
a tomb stone.
if, therefore, you would avoid a go at dan
ger—one that slays more than war.—ijecau.se
perpetual in its work, so construct your cel
lars, and so improve those already built as to
secure, constantly, good. <i.. p drainage, per
mitting no stagnant water the bottom well
cemented. .Ah .' a- unite an intelligent person,
a few days ago, upon whom we were urging
this subject said, “these cemented cellars
spoil the oilJiOU’True: but are cabbages
of more value than human lifer ‘'But it will
cost something.'' True again -, but, even if
recovery ensues, a single case of severe sick
ness will cost far more than the sum necessary
to give a clean and healthful cellar. But while
you are waiting for the cement, and for the
ground to thaw so as to deepen the drains, take
out. the windows instantly, as they should have
been ill mild weather all through the winter;
for good, circulating air is a great agent in ar
resting the fermenting process'. Kemnve nil
decaying vegetables, and all dirt and loose rub
bish of every kind : thoroughly sweep over
head unit all the walls, and now, and every
spring, apply a good coat of whitewash to all
those parts; for this is a cheap and excellent
disinfectant, as well as ridding the cellar of
those posts spiders and other insects. In this
paper may be found an excellent, article on
whitewashing.
Thus a day's labor a stormy day when
nothing else can lie done -in this business,
may not only save the health and lives of the
t'umiiy. but will add a pleasant room to the
dwelling, attaching to it much more the sons
and daughters, now too prone to wander from,
and to forget the homestead which they ought
ever to cherish, because they llnl there too few
of the attractions that can satisfy the wants of
the soul. If we could have but one—a hand
some parlor, elegantly furnished, ora nice, dry,
clean, whitewashed, well-ventilated cellar, by
all means give us the cellar.
niiEnmuivnt.,
Perhaps in our articles our own experience
Is so often alluded to us to savor of egotism ;
but an anxious care that the people should
have only reliable information, such as can
stand the great t^sL of trial, ought, and will, we
trust, relieve us from that charge. For the
slowness with which many people adopt real
Improvements comes from the disappointments
resulting from so many mere visionary and de
ceitful schemes. Thus so many garrets are
tilled with once bepralsed, hut now discarded,
lamp burners, washing machines, <ic.; so many
patent soaps and fertilizers have proved a
worthless cheat, that vast numbers lose faith
in everything except the good old days of pod
augurs aud woodeu-pltchlorks. Hence, in ac
cepting our position in these columns, we were
“determined to know nothing among you save"
what could bear the test of our own experi
ence, or came sanctioned by some reliable au
thority.
These rcmurks are highly pertinent to the
matter of underdraining land. As we travel
about, we are pained to see, almost every
where, the fortunes lost, the actual monni lying
burled ami unknown among the frogs and
rushes, when a little labor in draining would
bring It shining to the light. Tor there are
few gardens that do not have spots too wet to
cultivate, anil few farms that do not have acres
of now worthless swales and bogs, which, tak
lag the cold, sour water or.: of ‘hen, won.be
a- :• rt;’.-:- as the wc.-‘.t r:, ; fairies.
S me vears ago, wt urchased an acre of
high bog-lard, bearing n ' .hr but a f-.w stunt
ed ' rakt s and a little wire- n worth the
cutting; bnt on lavIng a gc 1 tin, four 1 et
deep, through the middle It. and deep
pi •• aghiug it, it proved to be a black, rich, fri
able soil, producing heavy crops with very lit
t e- dressing. And persons visiting our home
gv.'dou at Sear-port, often say— What warn;,
light, dry -oil you have: but when we began
upon it. thirty years ago. there never was a
hotter place for a ' '• —cold, tough, bine
clay; in dry seasons capable of 1 ting plowed
and planted the last o: May. or some time in
June. A dozen years ago we laid drains, five
■•t., thr mgh It, wl h - mp etelv chang
ed ’he cc-ndlti tut and productiveness of the
soil. making it at Ic-t a month earlier; for
t as s n as th< tow Is ofl it tan be
parte1 ■ at this dati. Apr. id. too hardy things,
as pee-and potatoe- have been planted, and
they will . . too.
Let us now consider some f the rca.-ons for
draining, and how to do it.
in the first ■ la< e. Iraiued 1 ruds wi 1 be ear
■" by some weeks; often, a- with oats and
notables, making the whole difference between
a good crop and its failure.— besides, by get
ting ahead of the genera! supply, getting a
much larger price for the produce, r. This
sour, stagnant watt-; which dlls the laud is
poisonous to most plants; as hardy trees, like
the '■pple, elm, :>.. frequently die when set in
such soil. All growing plants must have
air, nut only to all their surface above, but to
their r •-.*«. ak-o. ,.•/ w groun 1; and as it is a
- un-1 principle in philosophy that “two sub
stances cannot o upy the same place at the
■ ; v tli ie so gro ni 1 filh d with water can
■ v a.inilt air hence, in too wet soil plants
suffer and often die, from slr-iviS "ion: that
is. from the want of air at the roots. This is
one of the great advantages of frequent stir
ring the soil, as by hoe and cultivator, to make
the ground pen'll- for the admission of air.
4. The fertility of soils is owing largely to
trtaiu soluble salts. the phosphates, ni
trates. present in it. X"ow a soil usually
wet carries these salts far down below the
reach of the plants, and so losing what you
added at large cost, or what nature had kindly
placed there, Hut take out this water, open
the pores of the ground, and by the force of
capillary attraction, as it is called—the same
force which, and acting in the same manner,
sends the oil up through the lamp wick, -the
necessary water ■ • through the pores of
the - carrying •’ those silts and fertil
izing things to feed tin- plants. Tills is the
esa—. an 1 beautiful reason that a light, porous
soil stands drouth so much better than a com
pact on-. For as a lamp wick Is only a series
of capillary (minute tubes running zigzag
through the cotton, so a porous soil, even if
several feet thick, is only a series of those
tnlvcs running zigzag through the soil, carry
ing up refreshing .-bowers from below. And
the frequent stirring of the surface with rake,
hoe ami cultivator, is only the act of the good
housekeeper, with pin and scissors, clearing
out the pores of the upper end of the wick
that the blessed oil may freely ascend. And
in tins we see the great utility of mulching
shrubs, trees, ic.; the loose materials used
keeping the surfai e ports open by preventing
too much drying, and arresting, just where it
is needed, the fertilizing moisture in its ascent.
jr "to . .. and some other considerations
ni St week.
VTinri.washing In the- <• days of spring
cleaning, the whitewash brush and pail are
freely used by the good housekeeper, and none
too freely, for aside from the effect that white
wash has upon the appearance of the dwelling
rooms, its use in cellars, outhouses, etc., Is
doubtless of salutary effect. The essentials in
whitewashing are. good lime and a good brush.
Freshly burned, hard lumps of lime are the
best. Rhode Island lime has long been cele
brated for its excellence, add is sent for long
distances away from the little State. The
brush should be a 'hind one; not a cheap affair
made to sell, but with long, good bristles, and
plenty of them. The lime is slaked by pour
ing boiling water upon it, stirring until the
lumps disappear: more water is added, until a
creamy liquid is obtained, of proper thickness
I.'i- application. the pail should have a stiff
wire si ret .bed across the top, against which t£
draw the brush, to remove the excess of white
■ wash. Commence by sweeping the ceiling and
walls, to remove all dust; then go over the
surface, making the strokes of the brush all
| in one direction, and parallel; when the first
coat is dried, apply another in a direction
across, or at right angles with the former. A
large paint brush will be found useful for cor
ner s and Intricate places. Those who have
never whitewashed must not be surprised to
see the work look very badly while it is wet;
the effect can only be judged of when dry.
With a little practice, the operation can be
done without spattering or letting a drop fall.
Stir the whitewash occasionally, dip the brush
In perpendicularly, and then draw it across the
j wire above spoken of, so as to leave as much
i in the brush as it will hold without dropping.
I Salt, white vitriol, starch paste, and other
; things are added with a view to prevent the
; was-h from rubbing off, but there is little white
1 wash that will noi rub off. For nice work, the
lime may be slaked several weeks before it is
used. A thiu pellicle or crust of carbonate of
nine will form on the surface, which is to he
i skimmed off, and then the wash may be poured
off from the gritty particles which settle to the
j bottom.
Kai.soming Is a term given to another metb
[ od of whitening walls. It is Paris white, which
is a very fine whitening or chalk, to be had at
the paint and drug stores, and put on with a
glue size. The proportions are a quarter o 1 a
pound of white glue to six pounds of Paris
white. Put the glue in water enough to well
cover it, and let it stand until perfectly soft;
then put the vessel containing the glue into a
kettle of hot water, and stir until it is thor
oughly dissolved. Put the Paris white Into a
pail, add hot water gradually, slirringull the
time, until It is brought to a smooth, creamy
consistence; add the dissolved glue, and then
I water enough to thin It sufficiently to work
well with the brush. It is applied in the same
manner ns whitewash, and is used for hard
finished ceilings and walls that have become
discolored. [Agriculturist.
Ci.oveii. The best time to sow clover Is
probably in August. It should then be sown
on well-mellowed ground, with a dressing of
plaster, say 10 bushels to the acre. The kind
i of seed we prefer Is the medium, or common
| red. The pea-vine makes very coarse bay, put
t is best for ploughing under green. Sown In
I the spring, it is best to take a quiet morning
j in March, when a light snow has fallen on
j ground that has been bare and has thawed,
j Clover does very well sown upon winter grain
or with spring grain, but better by itself. Sult
i able top-dressings for light land plowed in the
spiing to be sown with clover, are plaster,
ashes, any Hue compost, Peruvian guano, made
line and mixed with plaster and soil, or super
phosphate ol lime. It is worth while to roll
the land alter sowing. It may be done any
time before the first, of May, or even later.
[Agriculturist.
Flogging a Pupil.
An Ent(*reMinsr Story.
Should any ot the statements embraced
within the following narrative, wear an
appearance of injustice, the writer can only
remark that he state- facts, and cannot be
held responsible for events that actually oc
curred : but we think there are few of our
readers who will sympathize with a tyrant,
or condemn the infliction upon him of what
we are disposed to consider a well-deserted
punishment.
In a large school-room were assembled
some fifty pupils of both sexes, all busily
engaged at their studies. [The institution
of learning to which we refer is located in
a flourishing town not far from the gieai
city ot New York. I These scholars we.e
from eight to sixteen years of age. Amuse
the females were several girls whose age
entitled them to be called young Indies.
One of them in particular was exceedingly
beautiful, and even the stern master's face
relaxed into a smile, whenever he looked
toward the corner in which she was seated.
The dress and general appearance of the
young lady in question announced that she
belonged to a most respectable class of so
ciety. In age she was scarcely over fif
teen. yet she possessed a matured form,
while her action- were grave and woman
ly. S! e never participated in the levity or
whisperings which took place whenever the
master's back was turned : for she was
ambitious to excel in her studies, and had
neither the time cor the inclination to in
dulge in childish folly. The master ol
this school, whom we shall call Mr. Rath
burn, was a gentleman pretty well in years,
and of a solemn, sanctimonious aspect. lie
had -several assistants, but with them we
shall have nothing to do, and therefore we
refrain ftom describing them.
It lacked but a few minutes to the time
when the school would be dismissed for the
day. when Mr. Rathburn approached the
young girl to whom we have referred.
“Miss Clarke," said ho to her in a low
tone, “you have been whispering, which
you know is contrary to the rules of this
establishment.”
“You are mistaken, sir.” said the young
girl, respectfully ; ‘T. have not once open
ed my lips during the whole afternoon.”
••Do not contradict me,” rejoined the
master, affecting au anger which he was
far from feeling; “do not add falsehood to
your other fault. As a punishment for
your transgression, you will remain in
school after the others have departed. I
shall not whip you this time, but merely
detain you half au hour or so. It is my
object to make you a good girl: my dutv
to your parents requires this. The school
is now dismissed.”
The scholars arose aud hastened out,
many of the girls casting looks of comical
pity upon Miss Clarke, who was thus --kept
n” after school as a punishment.
In a few minutes the school room was
deserted save by the master aud his pupil.
Mr. Rathburn seated himself by the side
of Miss Clarke ; and takiug her unwilling
hand in his, he said to her.'in a tone which
he tried to make tender—
“My dear Nellie, you must pardon the
plan which I was compelled to adopt iu
order to secure a private interview with
you. 1 invented the whispering story mere
ly as an excuse for detaining you, so that
I might have a chance to tell you how I
love you. Yes, you darling little witch ! I
dote on you to distraction, and you ought
to know it by this time. Yet you always
look cross at me—never smile upon me—
and once when we were alone together,
refused to give me even a kiss.”
Nellie forcibly snatched her hand from
the manipulating grasp of Mi. Rathburn,
and said to, him as she glowed with indig
nation—
“You have no right to talk to me iu that
manner, sir. You have long seemed desir
ous of playing the part of a lover to me.
but I tell you, once for all, I will not allow
it—I do not like you—and I insist on go
ing home at once. Nay, if you detain me,
T will inform my parents of your conduct,
and they will remove me from the school.”
“You are mistaken, Nellie,” said Mr.
Rathburn with confidence—“your patents
are not insensible to the advantage of your
securing as a husband a steady, respectable
man Kke me, in preference to some wild
young fellow who would only make your
life miserable ; for, my dear girl, I wish to
make you my lawful wife. Only think of
it !—the wife of a gentleman in my posi
tion, with means to keep you as a lady, and
make you comfortable. You should not
refuse so good an otter—aud 1 am sure you
will not.”
“I tell ycu, sir,” said Nellie, with in
creased anger—“I will not listen to you.
You compel me to assure you that I actual
ly hate you, and would not marry you if
you had millions.”
“So—you hate mo, then,” remarked Mr.
! Rathburn, with a cold sneer—“is it on ac
count of my age ?”
“Partly that—and partly because your
manners are distasteful to me. Excuse
me, Mr. Rathburn ; I do not wish to be
disrespectful, but. you oblige me to speak
plainly.
10U Dave not told me all,” said the
master, growing furious—“you reject me
chiefly because you are in love with that
notorious young vagabond, Charley Lewis.
I am no stranger to your secret meetings
with that scamp ; and let me tell you, miss,
that your character will be ruined for ever
if you continue your intimacy with him.”
“Charley Lewis is ueither a vagabond
nor a scamp,” cried the young girl, with
spirit—“and you dare not eall him so to
his face. And, as regards my character,
it is more likely to sufl'er from being seen
ip your company. What will people think,
my being here alone with you in this school
room? Charley Lewis is my honorable
lover—I confess it—I glory in it; I shall
one day be his wife. Let me pass sir!”
“Beware!” hissed the master, through
his clenched teeth.
“Beware of what?” demanded the girl,
pausing and looking at him fearlessly and
proudly.
“No matter; I suppose you will tell all
amongyour acquaintances and schoolmates,
how I offered myself to you and was re
jected.”
“Mr. Rathburn,” said Nellie, with dig-j
Dity—“I shall say nothing about this affair, I
provided you do not repeat your odious of-1
fer. You have not insulted me—only pro
posed to marry me : this I positively re
vise, and that ends the affair. I shall come
to your school as usual, aud continue to
reepect vou as formerly. You will always
find me an obedient, well-conducted scholar.
Good evening, sir."
With these words Xellie swept out of
the room with all the majesty of a queen.
Mr. Rathburn looked after her until she
was out of sight, and then mattered savage
ly—
‘T shall fix her for this !"
That evening. Xellie took a long walk
with her lover : but she did not tell him of
the master’s conduct toward her, for fear
that the riery youth might, in his rage,
might commit an assault on the amorous
pedagogue, and thus get himself into
trouble. Besides, she had promised to a ay
nothing about the matter, and she was not
a girl t s break her word. Doubtless, ou
the occasion referred to, the lovers uttered
much sweet nonsense, verv interesting to
themselves, but of no consequence what
ever to the reader. Whui Xellie returned
home, which she did at a reasonable hour,
her still handsome mother observing the
rich glow upon her face and he dewy fresh
ness of her lips, remarked—
'T declare. Xellie dear, these little even
ing walks seem to do you a w<rld of good,
child. They make you so animated aud so
pretty. After the tiresome studies of the
day. you ought to take a walk every even
ing.”
•T think I shall, mother,” sail the duti
ful Xellie, demurely. She didn't explain
to her maternal parent that the crimson
hue of her face was caused by a tender
whisper irom her lover, while die moisture
of her lips was owing to a pressure from
another pair of lips belonging to the same
highly favored young gentleman.
I lie next day, .Nellie attended school as
usual. The master treated her in his ordin
ary manner, but occasionally be darted at
her a glance that boded her no good. Late
in the afternoon he approached her with a
severe aspect, and sternly said—
“You have been whispering again, miss.
Do not deny it—I saw you !”
It was true. Nellie had, in a moment of
forgetfulness, addressed some commonplace
remark to the girl seated next to her. Rath
burn. who had been eagerly watching for
something of the kind, was in ecstasies.
This was just what he wanted, for it would
afford him a pretext to inflict punishment
upon the young creature whom lie now
hated with all the intense malignity of his
cold and cruel nature.
Poor Nellie colored up to the eyes ; she
knew she was guilty, and she was too truth
ful to attempt to deny the charge.
“I confess my fault, sir,” she stammered
—“I did it without thiuking. Pray forgive
me this time, aud I will not offend again—
indeed I will not.”
“When you transgressed yesterday." said
the master, with deliberate emphasis—“I
mercifully let you otf with a mild punish
ment. This time I must be more severe.
If I spare the rod. I shall spoil the child.
Were I to overlook these offences in a pupil,
there would bo an end to all discipline. I
must do my duty to your parents, miss ;
while you are here iu this school. 1 re
present them—their authority is delegated
to me. So come with me, if you please ;
there must be a stop put to these infractions
of the rules and regulations of this educa
tional institution.”
The habit of obedience compelled the
trembling Nellie to arise from her seat and
follow the master out of the school-room,
lie led the way into a small adjoining apart
ment ; and having closed the door aud
fastened it, he thus addressed the pretty
culprit, who, in spite of herself, was tilled
with vague terror :—
“You were out walking last night.”
“Yes, sir.” Speke very faintly.
“In company with that young fellow,
Lewis.”
“It is true, sir.”
“ You permitted him to place his arm
around your waist, and keep it there.”
Nellie blushed painfully, and could make
no reply to this.
“When you parted from him at your
door, you allowed him to kiss you repeat
edly.”
A still deeper blush.
“And you kissed him in return—repay
ing him with interest.”
Nellie wished that the floor would open
and swallow' her so that she might be sav
ed from these torturing questions. She
' wondered how the master became acquaint
ed with all these particulars. Was he
j merely guessing at them ! Not at all. Ho
I had played the spy ou Nellie and her lover
the preceding evening ; following them in
the darkness, watching their every move
ment, and overhearing a great part of their
discourse. Their conversation, being for
the most part of a very tender and affec
tionatc nature, did not tend materially to
raise the spirits of the amiable Mr. Ratli
burn ; and when he witnessed their swreet
kisses at parting, his jealous fury knew no
bounds. However, he consoled himself
with the oow'ardly thought that the next
day he would have the opportunity to
avenge himself ou the persou of Nellie,
when there was nobody on hand to protect
her from his brutality.
The enraged schoolmaster continued his
tormeutiug examination :—
“When you parted from your lover last
night, did you not call him your dear Char
ley ?”
Nellie wras silent. The native fearless
ness of her spirit was beginning to assert
itself within her breast.
“How soon, pray, are you and that
young loafer going to be married?” asked
the master, with a bitter sneer.
“It is none of your business,” cried the
girl, her anger now banishing her terror—
“take care, sir, or I shall consider that
promise of mine no longer binding. If I
tell Charles Lewis about these insulting
questions which you have asked me, he
will (log you like a dog!”
Her eyes flashed, her bosom heaved, and
she looked like a young tigress in her fury.
“He’ll flog me, will he?” roared themas
ter, now foaming at the mouth—“not, at
all events, until after I have flogged you—
impudent, audacious, shameless jade that
you are ! Strip off the covering from your
shoulders—this iustant—and I’ll teacli you
what it is to deny the authority of vour
school teacher.”
With these words, he took from a desk
a stout rattan—very elastic, aud quite ca
pable of inflicting the most excruciating
torment, when wielded by a tyrannical mas
ter who was accustomed to the recreation
ot flogging his pupils, and who rather liked
the excitement of it.
Flourishing the rattan, and making it
cut the air with a whistling sound, Rath
burn turned to Nellie, and said to her. sav
agely—
“How 1 do you still persist in disobeying
me ? Did I not order you to remove the
covering from your shoulders?"
Terror again obtained the mastery over
the poor girl. She was alone, and in the
power of that bad. cruel man. whose in
stinctive brutality was inflamed by that
jealousy—a passion that converts good peo
ple into demons; judge, then, its eflects
upon a base and unprincipled nature 1
Nellie fell upon her knees at the feet of
the tyrant, and sobbed out an appeal for
“If I forgive you,” said Rathburn, knit
ting bis brows and looking down gloatingly
upon the kneeling maiden—“will you sol
emnly promise to discard that young Lewis
and listen favorably to my proposals?"
“I cannot—I will not.” cried Nellie,
wringing her hands and weeping bitterly—
"you may kill me, if you choose, but I will
never give up Charley.”
“D—n Charley?” growled the brute,
with increased ferocity, and with a ruffian
hand he tore open the dress of Nellie, so
as to expose her white, naked shoulders,
to his merciless inflictions.
This act of profanation was speedily fol
lowed by an exhibition of the most unmiti
gated barbarity : for Rathburn, raising his
rattan, brought it dowu with frightful ef
fect upou the fair shoulders of Nellie ; and
a hideous red streak was left on the white,
plump and polished flesh.
I iie persecuted girl gave utterance to a
piercing scream.
That sound was heard iu the school
room, and caused all the pupils to shudder.
It also reached the ears of people living
in the immediate vicinity. Some of them
shook their heads and remarked,
“Rathburu is dogging some of his schol
ars again ; he is a good man, but altogeth
er too harsh.”
Charley Lewis, who happened to be pass
ing near, heard that agonized scream, and
thought to himself—
“That old codger is exercising his brutal
itv on some unfortunate girl; I should like
to punch his head 1 My Nellie is one ot
his scholars ; but he wouldn’t dare toueh/ier ”
Ah ! if Charley had only known that it
was his beloved oue who, at that very mo
ment, was writhing in the ruffianly grasp
of that infernal miscreant !
But the youth passed on, iu ignorance of
the fate of his Xellie.
Down upon her lovely shoulders came a
shower of blows. With oue hand the mas
ter grasped her long and luxuriant hair ;
with the other he brandished that cruel,
cuulug ruuau, every stroke of which left
behind it a dark, purple stripe iu proof of
its savage efficiency. Soon the blood be
gan to trickle slowly from the wounds, and
Xellie fainted. Then, and not till then,
ilid the brute desist from his horrible task.
Calling in oue of his female assistants, he
directed her to restore the iuseusible girl to
consciousness. This was accomplished
with difficulty. When the school was dis
missed that afternoon the suffering girl tot
tered home, quite weak and sick, and was
obliged to betake herself instantly to bed.
She felt herself degraded by that unmerit
ed castigation; she was ashamed to look
her parents in the face ; and, in answer to
their inquiries as to what ailed her, she
gave vague, unsatisfactory replies. She
had all the pride of a woman in her heart,
and could not bring herself to confess how
she had been humiliated and abused. Care
fully. therefore, did she conceal her lacer
ated shoulders from the gaze of her anxious
mother. That good lady tinally attributed
tiie girl's illness to some trifling cause, and
ceased to eutertaiu any serious apprehen
sions iu regard to the matter. Little did
she suspect that the esteemed “Brother
Rathburn” was the cause of her daughter’s
misery.
Charley Lewis, failing to meet Nellie
that evening at the usual trysting-place,
ventured to call at her place of abode.
Here he was informed of her illness ; and
the young man, quite ignorant ot the cause
of it, went away much disappointed and
deeply concerned.
The next day, Nellie was of course ab
sent from school; and then did Mr. Rath
buru begin to fear that he had gone too far
iu gratifying his personal malignity under
the cloak of maintaining school discipline.
As he thought of the fiery aud impetuous
Charley Lewis, a thrill of terror shot
through him.
“1 like not the looks of that young fel
low,” thought he—“whenever I chance to
meet him, he gives me a glare of ferocity
that fairly makes my blood curdle. He
instinctively hates me, I am sure, already ;
aud, should ho be informed of what I have
done to Nellie—my God 1 I hope she will
not tell him 1 I ought to have thought of
this before, and not allowed my passion to
get the better of my prudence.”
During the whole of that day, the tyrant
experienced all the agonies of uncertainty
and fear. His punishment had commenced.
In the evening, feeling somewhat better,
Nellie stole out of the house and met her
lover, to his intense joy. But she looked
pale and wretched. The youth tenderly
inquired the cause of her evident prostra
tion ; whereupon she passionately said while
lire sparkled in her eyes and honest indigna
tion suffused her beautiful countenance with
a sudden glow—
“Charley, I have been grossly, shame
fully, cruelly abused 1”
“Abused—my God 1—who has dared—”
“Listen to me, calmly if you can. A
cowardly scoundrel, taking advantage of
my sex aud helplessness, has beaten mo as
he would a negro slave, yes, worse—a thou
sand times worse 1”
“Almighty heavens 1—beaten you, my
darliug? Give me the name of the wretch,
that I may tear out his heart and cast it to
the dogs 1”
“Listen, Charley; this cruel man beat
me because I would not promise to discard
you and become his wife.”
“His name—his name !”
Charley was fearfully excited ; he was
deadly pale, aud the perspiration poured
from his face in streams.
“Wait a moment,” suid Nellie ; “I am
wearing a low-neck dress to-night on pur
pose that you might see with your own eyes
the evidences ot the tvrant's brutalitv.
Look. Charlev 1"
Removing her licht shawl, -ho displaved
her uncovered shoulders to the gaze of her
lover. The moon was shining brightly,
and he could distinctly see the hideous marks
caused by the cruel rattan.
••He beat me until I was senseless." said
the girl—"and all because I would not \ ield
to his solicitations."
‘•Tell me his nann1—or vou will drive
me mad!"
"His name—is Rathburn."
‘•What 1—your schoolmaster 1"
"The same.”
"May lightnings blast him ! But come.
Nellie—you must go home, for I have busi
ness before me 1"
They returned to the house iu sileuce.
Ere they parted at the door, Nellie whisper
ed to her lover—
"Spare his life, for o/sake. You know
I must not lose you.”
The young man, without making any re
ply, strode away in the darkness.
Halt an hour afterwards Mr. Rathburn
was summoned to his door to see a person
who professed to have something very par
ticular to say to him.
Scarce had his foot touched the threshold
when he was seized and gagged by several
men who were lying in wait for him.
They hurried him through the street and
tar out into the open fields, remote from
the habitations of men. Finally, they
paused at a lonely spot where surrounding
hills formed a sort of enclosure well adapt
ed to anv secret or lawless purpose.
A broad flat rock occupied the centre of
this natural amphitheatre. The trembling
Rathburn was roughly thrown upou this
stony platform, and then his abductors seem
ed to consult together.
"His life must be spared,” said Charlie
Lewis, in a low tone, to his three friends—
"but whip him—whip him —whip him—
until he is flayed alive."
‘•He deserves to die. the beast!" mutter
ed one of the men. discontentedly—"but
of course it must be iust ns you say.”
Mr. Rathburn was now stripped of nil
his clothing. The gag in his mouth effect
ually prevented all supplications lor mercy,
which would have been useless. AY hut
mercy had he shown that poor girl ?
The moon, sliming with unusual bril
liancy that night,looked down upou a fright
ful scene.
Armed with a stout raw hide, those tour
powerful young men in succession flogged
that naked, writhing wretch until they were
tired and out of breath.
Then they rested.
Rathburn was pitiable spectacle to be
hold ; from his neck to his heels he was
one mass of mangled flesh and gore.
Dearly did he pay for his cruel tyranny
over a helpless girl, whose oulv fault was
her very oveusahlf* aversion to him and tier
constancy to her affianced husbaud.
Having sufficiently recovered from their
fatigue, the four young men resumed the
flagellation of the miserable schoolmaster.
When at last they left him, they believed
him to be dead.
A country fellow, ranging the fields at
an early hour the next morning discover
ed a mangled and bloody object lying upon
a flat rock, several miles from the town.
This miserable being, although horribly
mutilated, showed some signs of life. The
countryman, frightened, hastened to the
nearest house, told what he had seen, and
then guided several persons to the spot.
The gag having been removed from the
mouth of Rathburn. he with great difficulty
told his name and place of residence. A
covered wagon was then procured, and in it
he was conveyed to his home.
This affair being noised abroad the public
were unanimous iu their verdict of "served
him right.” Rathburn recovered very slow
ly ; and, as soon as he was able to travel,
ho left the town, and was never heard ot in
that section again. Rut, go where ho will,
lie will carry to iiis grave the indellihle
marks of that terrible punishment which he
earned by his own stupendous brutality.
Charlie Lewis, overcoming tho prejudices
of Nellie’s parents, will soon lead that
charming girl to the altar ; and she, in her
happiness, has almost forgotten the events
we have been narrating.
Whenever \i e read about iustauces ol
brutality iu school, we think of Rathburn’s
punishment, while we are irresistibly led
to tho conclusion that it would lie a healthy
thing for tyrannical pedagogues, who are
fond of flogging their female pupils, *o get
a slight taste ot the rattan tor their own in
dividual beuefit ; and wo would like to be
the one to “lay it on.”
The Reconstruction bill which tho Presi
dent signed committing their State Consti
tutions to the final disposal of the people ui'
Virginia, Mississippi and Texas not disfran
chised and newly enfranchised, had tacked
onto it the condition that before being ad
mitted to representation they shall have
ratified die Fifteenth Amendment; and the
further provision that, after all, in case of
their compliance with the terms by Cou
gress, their proceedings “shall not be deem
ed final or operato as a complete restora
tion,” until Congress shall signify its approv
al. Tho President moved iu the matter at
the end of tho session, iu order, as he said,
to allay all irritation that existed in the
minds of those people. lie professed to de
sire harmony, union nnd peace. St ill, lie
signed a bill than which no provision could
well be more insulting to an intelligent peo
ple iu any measure than the ono requiring
them first to adopt the Fifteenth Amend
ment. But it is evident that Congress wants
no restoration of these Slates. It prefers
to keep them at its feet, that it may have
them for convenient party purposes, to use,
as it would use them now, for forcing au
unrepublicau and revolutionary amendment
to the Constitution upon the country. [Bos
ton Post.
The negro Lieut. Gov. of Louisiana, was
formerly a barber on a Mississippi river
steamboat. Now be is very “ learned, ac
complished and gentlemanly” associate of
Sumner & Co., at Washington, where he
has been “ sporting” on his 81000 salary.
A Western paper says: — “Grant's
pledges that he would appoint only honest:
men to office are being rather strangely re
deemed. He evidently thinks that all his
relatives are honest.”
Horrible Tragedy in Minnesota.
An £nftau<» yi*n KurJcr« hit wholo i utniW.
Chicago, April i*.
A desptcli from St. Fauh to the Tir.es.
gives fall particulars of the murder c Ids
wife and our children, by Job:. B. Grav.
at Oakdale township. Washington cotf.tv.
Minnesota. on the 7th insts T; t nt r
derer is a farmer, and w.-.s lah vg under
temporary insanity nt the time he e mitr.kted
the dee 1. Gray is a mar. a: tit f» rry years
Ci age, a native of Harrisburg. Pet * - .
n.a. His wife. Alice, formerl Fartev was
08 years old, they were married a 1 is t -
mgs 11 years age. Fhe children were two
hoys and two girls, as to «•« : Margaret,
aged IQ : Jas. B.. age 1 8 ; David, age.: 3,
and Nellie Jane, 3. About dav ight oh the
morning of the murder. Jas. Armstrong, a
neighbor, heard loud cries coming trout the
direction of Gray's house. lie immediately
went in that direction, and when near
enough to the place heard Grav cry out.
"Oh. come and hang me," continually re
peating the cry. Armstrong walked near
er and saw Grey sitting on the steps of the
granary with a rope in his hand, alternately
whistling and screaming.
It was soon discovered that Gray had
murdered his wife and al: his children. The
following are the particular* of the awful
affair. The coroner thou opened the door
to the granary and all entered, when a scene
greeted them which chilled the blood ot
every one. The tloor was covered with
blood, and near the middle of the room
there was the dead body ot a woman cov
ered with a gory quilt, flu turning this
covering down every one involuntarily
started back with sickening horror. The
corpse lay or its back, with it* throat cut
from ear to ear. The hair, black as a ra
ven's wing and quite long, was matted with
blood, and the head was all bruised and
mangled as tl ottgh it l ad been beaten with
some heavy, blunt instrument. Titere was
no clothing on the body save a night-gown
and a pair of shoes, that ha ! evidently beet,
slipped on in haste. The garment was
soaked in gore so perfectly that there was
hardly a thread of it but what \\ as crimson.
On opening this the body presented a fear
fully mangled and gashed appearance.
I here were numerous cuts, gashes and
bruises about the breast and arms, while in
the region of the stomach there were tiso
great gashes made by a butcher-knife, ei
ther of which, m the opinion ot the surgeon,
would have proved fatal.
A closer examination showed that site
had been dealt some severe blows on the top
ot' the head with a blunt, heavy instrument,
probably the polled’ an axe, which lav near,
covered with blood and hair. Sick at heart
and stomach, the jury turned from this
revolting spectacle to witness one four-fold
more horrible. After the examination of
this body was concluded, the jury f roeeed
ed to the house near by, and the door was
unfastened and opened by the coroner, when
a scene met the eye which was sickening
and revolting beyond anything we have
ever witnessed. The room was about lb
by 18 feet, and contained two beds, arrang
ed parallel with each other, in the tar end
of the room—a cooking stove near the
door, a rough table, a few chairs, and a
clock which rested on a bracket against the
wall. Out ot the, beds was covered with
blood, from the pillow down to the middle
ot the tlek ; while oti the other, which was
unstained. )nv along case-knife, sharpened
to a keen edge, and which had evidently
been used by the fratricide. Between the
beds the floor was covered with a deep pool
of blood, presenting much the appearance
of a battle held dissecting table : and near
the center o*' the room lay the bodies ot'
four little innocents—two girls and two
boys—all arranged in accordance with their
ages, lying partially on their right sides,
with their little taees turned in the same
direction, besmeared with blood and cold
iu death.
1 hey were covered to the shoulders with
a bloody quilt, which the maniac had taken
from the bed, and with tender care, had
edvored them for the long, long sleep of
death. No peu can paint, nor words can
tell, the heartrending agony of that sight.
It was enough to make detils weep. Four
little heads, beautiful even through their
crimson stabs, lay side by side in the dream
less sleep of death ; tour little li.-ptug mouths
sweet ns opening rosebuds, and crimsoned
with a brighter hue, were fixed as if to re
ceive a parting kiss from fond mother's lips.
1’heir little eyes were uot staring with that
opou, ghastly look ot death, so repulsive,
but all were closed as perfectly and as
smoothly as if the “ N ow 1 lay me down to
sleep' had beeu whispered at mother’s knee,
and their balmy slumbers had descended on
them gently as 1'veuing di w
The cheeks of the three elder w, re flush
ed, as if iu a glow of healthful excitement,
but tin baby, Nellie, with silken curls ot
flaxen hue clustering closely about her head,
was white as the purest wax, and lovely
as a budding pink.
On the floor near the bed lay a heap of
little clothes with shoes and stockings just
as they had been removed the night pivi i
ous when they undressed for bed. None ot
them had anything on save their night
clothes, and they had evidently been taken
up one at a time and their throats cut from
ear to ear, ami lmd then been arranged on
the (lour a ml carefully covered hv the ma
uiae lather.
from all the circumstances it was stir
niised that his wile was the tirst one killed.
She probably saw some indications of in
sauity, aud iiastily slipping ou her shoes
and throwing the shawl about her that was
found on the fence, attempted to escape.
lie overtook her near the bars, and mav
have kuocked her down with the bloody
club ol sapling referred to iu the description
ot tlte premises. Alter this, he may have
used the axe, ntul then probably dragged
her from there to the granary, and alter
! throwing her upon the floor, cut and man
gled her body with the knife, as described
| above. From the granary he evidently re
turned to the house, where lie sharpened the
| case-knife ou the grindstone near the door,
las it was marked with bloody lingers, both
Ion the side of the stone and ou the hnudle.
! When fully prepared, he entered the house,
aud, after fastening the door, began the
slaughter of the children. Which ouo
eume tirst, or in what order they were taken,
none but God kuows. It is probable that
ouo ouly was murdered in the bed, the oth
ers each being taken out aud killed upon
the lloov between the beds. There were
marks about the person ot tho oldest girl
which would iudicuto that she had engaged
in tv struggle with the madman, hut the
younger ones may have never awakened
from sleep. It would he a blessed consola
tion to kuow for a certainty that such was
the case, blit it is liorriblo to think that ho
ma,y have chased them about the room with
the bloody knife, and made the last ones
witness the death of the tirst victim.

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