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Hra- Orleans §R[raMiom -dFFTcTAL JOURNAL OF THE UNITED STATES -*♦♦- 'OFFICIAL JOURNAL OF NEW ORLEANS MATINS. [From Uppincott's Magazine for December. Gray earth, gray mist, gray stty; Through vapors hurrying by, larger than wont, on high Floats the horned, yellow moon. Chill airs are faintly stirred. And far away is heard, Of some fresh-wakened bird, The quernlouB, shrih tune. The dark mist hides the face Of the dim land : no trace Of rock or rivet's plsce In the thick air is drown; But dripping grass smells sweet, And rustling branches meet, And sounding waters greet The slow, sure, sacred dawn. Post is the long black night, With its keen lightnings white. Thunder and floods: new light The glimmering low east streaks. The dense clouds part: between Their jagged rents are seen Pale reaches blue and green. As the mirk curtain breaks. Above the shadowy world, fltill more and more unfurled. The gathered mists uncurled Like phantoms molt and pass. In clear-obscure revealed, Brown wood, gray stream, dark held: Fresh, healthy odors yield Wet furrows, flowers aud grass The sudden, splendid gleam Of one thin, golden beam Shoots from the featheied rim Of yon hill crowned with woods. Itown its embowered side, . As living waters slide, So the great morning tide Follows in sunny floods. From hush and hedge and tree Joy. unrestrained and tree, Breaks forth in melody, Twitter and chirp aud song: Alive the festive air With gauze-winged creatures & That flicker everywhere, Dart, poise and flash along. The shining mists are gone, Wight Aims of gold swift blown Before the strong, bright sun Or the deep-colored sky ; 9t world of life and glow Sparkles and basks belo», Where the soft meads a-row. Hoary with dew-fall, lie. Coes not the morn break thus. Swift, bright, victorious, With new skies cleared fot u». Over the soul storm-tost ? Her night was long and deep, Strange visions vexed her sleep, strange sorrows bade her weep „ Her faith iu dawn was lost. Ho halt, no rest for her, The immortal wanderer From sphere to higher sphere; Toward the pure ssurce of da^. The new light shames her fears. Her faithlessness, her tears, As the new sun appears Ski light her godlike way. ALL. ABOUT IT. [From Lippincott'a Magazine. J '•''Have you thought," said Phoebe, looking lip suddenly, "that to day begins the tenth year since juothet died, and we are still cafe ?'* "No. I had no* counted the time. Father eeems so happy with us, and so indifferent to all outside people, That l have stopped lionowiug trouble about that. Beside*, he S» seventy years old." ••Mother was eery certain that tie would Sparry again." "Yes, she had Worried herself into tbe lielief, thinking of your lainencea; but if the sword that she saw so plainly does fall jit last, we can go away and live in a room ®r two together." •'But what should we live on?'* ®* 'The dinner of herbs, and contentment therewith.' It. would he hut a lean stalled «>x that we ehould leave behind vs, you how." "We Will never Take anything from fatli «:f's income. He is too old to spare any of Ids small luxuries." "What's the use of talking about it! The first ten years are the critical time for a Widower If he conn s out of if unscathed, lie's eafe. We «hall live and die in our old Siome." •'Amen,'* said I'lm-he. Our mother had been a woman of great Strength of character, unconsciously bear jpg up her husband in business and society, When she died he seemed to lose all inter »st jn his old pursuits; he gave up his bu3i Cess, invested the money as safely as pos »ible, and settled down to live on his income «nd nurse the growing infirmities of age. f was twenty-sight and Phoebe three spears younger on that black day when she impressed upon me her last words: ' "You tire not children to be spared all annoyance, hut women to endure it with silence and patience. •Toot father will marry again, »nd you will lose your home. I have no .liiorhid feeling about if, for it will make liim more happy, and he cannot do with out happiness so well a»you can. I hope jtou will be capable of making duty take the place ef it. Eleanor, you take care of Wuebe as S would if 1 had lived. If you tuarry, take her with you; if not, marry her to the extent of making her a part of your •elf. I prefer that you should go away if possible, leaving your father and his new wife to begin lile again. Any reminder of foe would be awkward to them and painful to you. 1 have left you the little property that wai my own, keep it safe for the day of Seed." , Bhe hail compressed so much emotion into fhese svords that she never spoke again, and they sank deep into my mind. We watched find Waited for the' fulfillment of her prophecy, nothing doubting, and if our lather spoke a word of praise of any worthy ftpinstev or widow we began to plan for our • xodus. As year after year went by, and my father tft*emed to ask no greater happiness than to •it opposite to I'liu-be through the long eve fiings, listening to her sweet-voiced read ing, and placing her crutches finder her arms when she went up stairs, our jealous watch relaxed, and the ground grew tirrn Sender our feet. On this tenth anniversary »f our great lose my father was gone to St. Bo's; it was a long journey at his age, but lie had received a letter from an old friend sn trouble, asking his aid. Phoebe bail asked the name of the friend, but he had replied that it was no one whom we bad ever heard of. I expected him early in the morning, and left my door ajar that I might hear the first sound of the hell. Justin the first dawn, • he drowsiest hour in the whole night, I heard it touched lightly, as my father al ways did, having Phoebe on his mind. I threw a shawl over my night-dress and ran • own to the door. "I am so glad yon have come home eafe. It must have been a tiresome Journey," 1 •aid as I leaned out of the doorway to kiss him. "Not at all tiresome, for I have brought borne the friend whom I went to see. Won't you give hei a kiss too 1" In the semi-darkness 1 distinguished a Vail lady in a traveling dress. "Who—who is it, father 1" 1 stammeied w ith my tongue cleaving to the roof oi mv auiuth, "My wife. 1 did not have time to write." My head seemed to spin round, aud 1 fell back against the wall, i had never fainted in my life, but this cruel surprise was too much. "Don't take it so hard, Eleanor. 1 did it for the happiness of us all," said father, in » tremulous tone. "Let her smell of this," ea id the lady, taking a little bottle ot hartshorn from a traveling bag. Her clear, even tones acted on me like cold water dashed in my face My own mother's words sounded m my ears as if j then heard them for the first time; ''Your father can nor. do without happiness, hut von can make duty take its place." "Thank you very'much," I eaid, "but 1 shall not need it. You must think it a sorry welcome to your new home it 1 faint at the sight of you. It was the sudden touch of night air when 1 had come from a warm bed. I am better now." "The night air often has that effect. 1 always carry hartshorn with me, but I never had a similar occasion to use it. 1 ■saw a gleam of white teeth as my step mother said this. „ , "I should hope not," I thought, but 1 sa'd "Won't you go into the sitting room and •Ukc off your bonnet? The materials for a .cup of txv* are on the table; I will make it for you when I acn dressed." I teit thatrny dignity might suffer if the morning light bnghtened and my stepmother saw me first in a night dress and a plaid ehawL Pha-be was asleep when I glanced into her room, and I had not the heart to wake her with such news. I dressed quiokly and carefully, but pausing long enough to ar range my hair in its most becoming way, lor the dim light had been sufficient to show that my father's wife was a woman of taste aud refinement. As my hand touched the door of the sit tiug-room, father was saying, "She took it better, on the whole, than l expected." "She's a heroine, I think," her voice re plied, "but you ought to have telegraphed, as I asked you to do." "Yes, I suppose so, but I could not leave you long enough, you know." Oh dear! Love making at- seventy sounded "stale, fiat and unprofitable" to me, though I was certainly a prejudiced witness. I stepped back lightly and made a little scrape with my foot to give them warning. "Lot us make believe that this is your first sight of me," I said, offering my hand to my stepmother with a good intention of cordiality- "You know a woman without a train and false hair is but a shadow of her self. Shall I make the tea now ?" "If you please. I regret very much to give you so much trouble." She may have meant more than the tea, but I preferred to understand it in that lim ited sense. "Not at ail. I always make it for my father when he comes home in the early train. It win be your work hereafter, ar.d I shall nut be disturbed. You see your lines have fallen oa one stony place al ready." She was very quiet and serious as she met my sham smile, as if she knew as well as I did that to keep on talking thick and fast was my only defense from a flood of tears. "Have yon—have you told Phiebel" father asked in a tone that made me have the utmost mercy on him. "No; she was asleep. YY>u speak as if it were bail news, whereas she will heartily rejoice at anything that makes you hap pier." " He actually believed me (rnen are so easily deluded) and seemed from that mo ment to throw off any feeling of remorse concerning Phoebe and me and to give him self up to his new passion. "Your room is in order, if you like to lie down until breakfast." "I think 1 should like to lie down," said the lady, putting her hand to her head as if it ached. While, she was collecting her wraps I looked at her fairly for the first time. She wan a wonderfully well preserved woman of fifty-five or thereabout, with a certain elegant neatness about her which must have been grateful to my father's taste. Her eye* were large aud brown. Her hair had white streaks in it, but pre served the brown shade; her pure white teeth and fair skin with few wrinkles in it showed that she had taken life easily. If she had not been my stepmother I Bhould have pronounced her a very handsome wo man. "It you lie on this side you will avoid the cross-lights from the windows," I said which was true enough so far as it went, but it was my plot to prevent her lying down on the spot where I had last seen my own mother. "You will find a blanket on the closet shelf if you need one. Shall 1 call you to breakfast in an hour?" "If you please." "It will he but a plain one, as our cook i» very old fashioned, but yon have had the wedding breakfast already, I suppose." She came up to me suddenly, with an in tense look which was not a little embarrass ing. "Don't overdo it so terribly," she said. "I shall think yon have begun to hate me." * "What an idea? On the contrary, I don't wonder at all that my father w'auted to marry you." 'You are not at all like your father." 'No. i am said to resemble my mother very closely." She gave me an expressive look, which I returned with • rather tremu lous smile. When I went down father said, "You are not very angry, Eleanor ?" "Angry! no; why should I be I" "I don't know. J was a little afraid of you, yon are so strong minded. She's a splendid woman. We shall all be happier for having her in the house. ilaserou told Phoebe?" "No; I will go now." "Oh what is the matter V hurst out Phoebe at sight of me. "Has not father come home safe ?" "Yes, ye*—very eafe ?'* "I thought I heard some ether woman pass this door with yon. Who was she ?" 1 threw myself across her bed and let the passionate tears that had been burning my eyes for an hour, have full flow. Strong minded! I was the weakest of women just then. "Eleanor, don't tell me he i» married, and never let us know." "Wooed-and married, and all in the space of thrde days." "He has disgraced himself." "No, no, Phrebe, don't think that. II is on ly the sudden shock that upsets me so. She is of suitable age, refined manner, and altogether, as Joe Gargery would say, 'a fine figure of a woman.' Father is very happy, and very devoted." That will be hardest to hear." We won't hear it. It was mother's wish that we should go away." But where? " said 'Phcebe, glancing at crutclie*. "I can not go fast or far." This had nearly melted me again. •'Only down the street. Wo can hire those four little rooms that Mr*. Green thought of letting. Vie have each the blessed thousand dollars that mothor left us. We can't starve while they last, and perhaps something will turn up. She owned 11 this furniture, too." "I know, hut it wouldn't do to take it away from father when he has used it so We will go if we have to> sleep on the floor," I said desperately. "Of course," said Phoebe, "but it is hard." The new mistreSs of the house certainly behaved with -wonderful taet and dignity. She repressed my father's raptures when itb us, and showed the utmost sympathy far Plioibe's trial. She was iu no haste to tighten the reins of housekeeping, and eemed determined to win us over as she ad won our father. "It is not so bad as it might be, but. we niuNt go all the same," I said many times a 'ay to Pha-be to keep her heart np. Our step-mother arrived Wednesday morning, and within twenty-four hours I had engaged Mrs. Green's rooms at a small rent. It was with intense relief that I heard y step-mother say: I have some furniture oming, but if it would trouble you and Phoebe to see any new arrangement in the house, we will store it in » spare room." "Thank yon; it will not make the least difference to us. How much furnit*re halo you?". I saved enongh from tny old home to furnish a sitting-room, bed-room and kitchen. I was keeping house in three lit tle rooms, and striving hard to get together private school, when your lather rescued me from poverty and loneliness. I was en gaged to him many years ago, but it was soon broken." Her face flushed a little, and I am sure mine did so too. I had never asked a question of her or of my father about ha past life. " I am so glad that yon have just the quantity of furniture that Phcebe and I shall need. You can spare us some of the old things that we have grown attached ?" ' Spare some things! What do yon IHD?" ' Only that we have a fancy to play at the kind of housekeeping yon mentioned, have hired four rooms near this house." " Then you mean to hate me after all, and I have turned you out of your old home. I thought you were beginning to like me. 1 assure you I will not make the least change, and you may manage the housekeeping to suit yourself. Your father and I will board with you." She said all this with height ened color and evident emotion. "I do like you—no one could help it." ''So I was vain enough to think. And I came in upon you so suddenly because I thought a'warning would prejudice you against me." ' H is not wholly my own plan. Our mother insisted upon our going away when lather niarrie'd again." "She thought he would ?" "She was certain of it, and we have always kept it in our thoughts as ft proba bility," "I'm Borry I did it," she said impulsively, "but the poverty was very hard to bear. Are you sure you can not live with me!" "Sure," I slid, smiling. "Then your father shall give you half his income." • "Oh, no: he can not spare ns a dollar. Phoebe and I have some property ot our own, and I depend on you to smooth our going away to his mind." "You have such a high, Roman way of doing things that I suspect you really mean to disinherit ns both, and never see us again." "We will come to see yon every day if you like." "I wish I might have been your own mother," said my father's wife, kissing my cheek. We both laughed at this absurd sentiment, and parted very good friends. Father actually made no objection to our departure; in fact, he had no thoughts for any one but his wife. Before the end of the week we were settled in our new home. "If we 'make believe' very much," said Pha-be when we sat down to our first cup of tea, "we might be a newly married cou ple just beginning housekeeping." "That's the way I mean to look at it, and I (being the husband) will go out to mor row in search of work." "And the 'weaker vessel' will stay at home and wash up the china." My stepmother's hint about a private school had leavened my thoughts, and I went out next day in search of scholars. I found poverty very hard indeed to hear. Those who had children to send thought my terms too high—those who had none were quite sure they were too low. My long morning walk secured only two, and those on condition of my finding others. As I dragged my6elr home, tired and dis pirited, the most ancient o.f widowers would have tound me an easy prey. Phoebe had made two yards of exquisite tatting, which was worth fifty cents, and this, with a cup of hot tea, revived me so much that I went on another tramp in the afternoon, and almost by force secured a promise of three more scholars. Five would do to begin with, and i did begin the next Monday. I was wholly ignorant of the ways of children, though I shared with all other old maids certain theories as to their proper treatment. 1 have a natural love tor them, and 1 got on lar better with the children than with their parents, whose unreasonableness is past telling. My num ber in the course of six months rose to ten, hut never exceeded it. It was a good dis cipline, and doubtless a means of grace, but Phoebe's tatting brought us moro money. My stepmother would have supplied our table entirely if I would have permitted it, and in the face of my absolute refusal to take anything from our old home she some times smuggled in a loat of bread or cake. It was very bard to make both ends meet in the beginning of our housekeeping, hut, before the end of the first year, by severe calculation, we Lad compressed our ex penses within our income. We dined in the old home every Sunday, and no one save ourselves knew that we tasted meat but once in the week. " What a queer sensation a new dress would be !" said Pluebe when we were makiqg ready for church. " I ffeve given more thought to original sin in the last year than in all my liie before If Eve bad not make that little mistake, our income would be all sufficient." " Yes, we got married too suddenly for you to have the usual outfit." "Pm afraid I'm not meek enough yet; a new suit might puff me up too much, but I should like to look well in She eyes of her brother.' "Her brother" was Dr. Winter, the only one left of our stepmother's family. She always spoke ot him with the most admir ing affection, and praised his skill in his profession, which he had used so little for his own profit that he was still a poor man, with a fortune always within his grasp. He had just returned from Paris, where he had been a volunteer surgeon in the hos pitals, and we were invited to meet him. There was nothing in the least formida ble about him ; he was a pleasant-iooking man of forty, with $ peculiarly soft touch in his hand, as if he found a patient in every one whom he shook glands with. He included u* all in conversation with the simple ease of a man of the world, saying nothing that one eould carry away and re peat as a witticism, but making the eve ning's hours go by on wings. He walked home with ns, and pluebe asked him to call. He promised to do *o, "But he will never think of it again," said Phmbe. However, he came next day, and entered into along conversation with her about her lameness and the possibility of its cure. "4 have given up all snob hopes long ago," said Phcebe, wearily. "I suffered tortures when I was young from the many experi ments of doctors, and the last disappoint ment was always worse than all the others. 1 have grown to be almost content as 1 am." "Please persuade her," he said to me, "to let me undertake her case. Like the quacks, l take no fee without a cure, hut a new pa tient is too fascinating for me to resist. My trade is iny passion; it has taken the place of wife and children." I held a night vigil with Phcebe, and she consented to submit to one more trial. After this he came to our rooms every day, and sorely interrupted the tatting business, his first direction being to avoid the small est wear and tear of muscle. I was some times summoned to assist at certain mes meric operations, but otherwise I sa>* very little of Dr. Winter. My. work was nearl y doubled by Phoebe's inaction, but I did not mind it in view of the possible end. The little economies of housekeeping, of course, became known to him. Since Phoebe's in come bad ceased we sat down three times a day to bread and butter and tea. Our only variation was from white bread to brown, and, if Fliosbe was to be under treat ment much longer, I saw plainly that the butter would have to be given up. This was a matter not worth mentioning beside another which seemed to be growing np black and terrible before my eyes. Phcebe could not meet Dr. Winter or hear his name without a sudden li m-h in her cheek and a brightening iu her eyes, and all the sweet playfulness of her youth had returned to her manner. I used to hear the murmur of their voices for hours together as I taught my scholars in the next room. His manner to her was ever courteous, and after a fashion, devoted, but that fashion seemed to be only professional. I borrowed much trouble as I watched and magnified all the signs of Phoftbo's infatuation. Of what use would be her cure if she lost her heart to him, when he had never thought of such a thing? He had better have left her to her orntches. There oame a day when the great trial of walking unsupported was to he made. Dr. Winter had devoted the greater part of ten weeks to the case. He seemed almost as nervous as PEccbe herself, and a gleam of hope dawned upon me that she might not bo disappointed after all; he certainly hov ered about her With all the eagerness of a lover. It was a genuine hope, but down at the very bottom of my heart was a certain ty that"! should have been happier if I had never known Dr. "Winter and bis pleasant ways. When Phaebe was arranged in her ehair he helped her to rise slowly and take the first step on his arm; then, gently with drawing himself, he whispered a word or tWo ot encouragement in her ear, and through tears of thankfulness I saw Phcebe walk across the room without the slightest support. I fled into the kitchen, but not before I saw that she had seized both his hands and kissed them in the enthusiasm of her delight. When he had made her lie down he came into the kitchen, where I was making toast for Phoebe's supp- r. "Can't you spend a little time to be joy ful with us? " he asked. The us sounded like a lover. "Pbuibe must have something to eat you know." "True, but Phoebe might have something better than black bread and white if you had not brought her away from your father's comfortable house." "Do you think the strong-mindedness was ail on tny part f " "I hear so from mv sister; 6he says she eould have won overlffla'-be in time, but you were very difficult to make love to; and I agree with her. I wish you would tell me the real reason of your going from home in this unusual way and suffering so many pri vations. Was it jealousy of your father's affection or dislike ot your stepmother?" "Neither. I only followed the' wish of my own mother; but even without that I hope I should have seen that any reminder of her would be painful to my father in fcis new happiness. I don't think that I should have quarreled with your sister if I had remained with her, but there would have been, in the nature of things, eoitinaaily a bitter feeling. It is always better for the wind to blow between the houses of those who are related only by law. As it is, we are very good friends." "You are a rare woman," he said. "I had begun to think your type had disappeared from the face of the earth." He began to walk up and down the small kitchen. "I—have—something—to—say— to—you," he said, hesitating between his words, and finally coming to a dead stop. I thought I would help him a little; "Is it about Phoebe?" "No, my darling, it is about you." "But I thought you liked her." "So I do, but I love you." I have no idea how long I stood there mo tionless with the toasting fork in my hand. "I am very poor," he said at hist. "So am I," I said joyfully; "we are well matched." Phcebe came in after a while to see what was meant by the smell of burniag bread, and a chill struck to my very heart as it dashed upon me that she might love Dr. Winter as well as 1 did. "I see," said Phcebe, "the doctor cures me and marries you. 1 am satisfied if you are. He told me his secret a month ago, and all my flushes and tremors that wor ried you so much were on your account." My stepmother was charming w T hen she became my sister, anil Phiebe divided her time between us. a BIGHT!* OF PASSENGERS. •' the Fight of « Alan with e Rail load John A. Coleman's Story—A Remarka ble Case. The Atlantic Monthly for December will contain an article written by Mr. John A. Coleman, of Providence, Rhode Island, on his late contest with the New York and New Haven railroad. The circumstances of this contest, decided a few months ago by the courts of Massachusetts in Mr. Cole man's favor, will be recalled by most news paper readers. About four years ago he purchased a ticket from Providence to New York via Hartford and New Haven. Hav ing been detained at New Hajeu until was too late to conveniently complete his journey by rail, he came to New York by steamboat, and so had left on his hands the railway coupon ticket from New Haven to New York. Not having occasion to use the ticket between the points and in the direction indicated on its face, he kept it until June, 1868. One day in that month he applied at the ticket office of the New Haven railroad, iu Twenty-seventh street, lor a ticket to Boston via Springfield. This the agent re fused to sell unless Mr. Coleman would wait three hours for the train that left at three o'clock in the afternnoon, alihough the latter toid the agent that he desired t-o stop over at a way station one train, to do some telegraphing. Mr. Coleman then thinking this a good opportunity to use his old coupon, presented it to the guard stationed at the entrance to the cars. He met with rude and insolent treatment, not only from the guard, hut from the conductor; both said that the ticket was "good for nothing," and the conductor peremptorily ordered Mr. Coleman not to go on board the cars, and said that if he attempted it he would put him off. He then purchased a ticket to Providence via New Haven and Hartford, and took his seat in the oars. When the conductor gathered the tickets Mr. Coleman offered his old coupon. The conductor refused to receive it, saying it was good from New Haven to New York, but not for a passage in the opposite direc tion. As the train approached Stamford the conductor appeared again, and said in a very abrupt manner; "Well, sir, how shall we settle this matter?" Mr. Coleman answered quietly, as before, and finally pro posed to give the conductor his address, ami to agree that if the reception of the ticket resulted -in the reprimand, even of the conductor, he would send him the money for the ticket, provided he would re turn the ticket. This the conductor would not listen to, but said that he should put Mr. Coleman oft the train. At Stamford he car ried his threat into execution. Five or six rough brakeiuen and baggage men wrench ed him from the seat taking the frame and cushion at the *ame time, pounded him with their fists and then threw him broad side from the platform of the car to the platlorm of the depot. In the struggle they tore the flesh from his arm and leg and rup tured him for life. As the train started again Mr. Coleman got upon a car, hut the superintendent, his son and another man pulled him off and held him until the train had gone. Then he showed them his through ticket and asked them why they held hint ? When Mr. Coleman reached Boston he attached the New Y'ork express train, partly owned by the New Haven company, and bronght suit against them in the Superior Court of Massachusetts for $10,000 damages. In the first trial the jury awarded a verdict in his favor of $3800. After several weeks' delay the judge set the verdict aside at the request of the railroad, on the ground that the amount was excessive. Tha second trial occurred in January, 1870, and resulted in a disagreement of the jury, eleven stand ing for the plaintiff, and one, who had been connected with the road, standing for the defendants. Tiie third trial took place in May of the. same year, and resulted in an award of $3150 damages. A new trial was refused, and the road appealed to the Su preme Court on points of law. Here a new trial was ordered, and, after thirteen months' delay, a verdict of $3500 damages was obtained. Mr. Coleman, after telling his story in a Very interesting manner, discusses at eon sideratde length the laws governing rail road companies and the rights and privi leges of travelers. He takes as his text the following declaration made to him by» prominent railway official and some of the charges of the judge which will be referred to further on. One of the officials said to him on one occasion. "The road has no personal animosity against, you, Mr. Coleman, but you repre sent the public; and the road is determined to make it so terrible for the publio to fight it. right or wrong, that they will stop it. We are not going to bo attacked in. this way." "These threats," says Mr. Coleman, "ware not directed against myself alone, hut against the public. * * ' * * If a limb is crushed by the negligence of the railroad men, fight instead ot pay the vic tim is their theory of dealing with the pub lic; and they will [remove all opposition by the power »f wealth, influence with the courts, and sheer terrorism." In the first trial "the judge charged directly against passengers upon every point. He ruled that the ticket was a contract; that the road had a right to make any rule it pleased for its own government, and if a passenger broke a rule he was a trespasser, and being a trespasser, the road had the same right to eject him trom its cars that one of the jury men had to eject a man from bis private house, if he did not want him there. The only question for the jury to consider was whether an excess of violence had been used by the road in the maintenanoe of a right." Commenting on these riflings, Mr. Cole man says: "In the first place, I deny that a common railroad ticket, is a contract, in the een*e in which the judge decided it. A traveler ap plies, for example, at the ticket office for'a passage between New Yolk and New Haven. He passes his money to the ticket master; a receipt for that money is returned to him printed all over with 'rules,' 'good for this day only,' 'forfeited if detached,' 'company not responsible for baggage,' 'passengers shall carry noihing for baggage but wear ing apparel;' and if they desired, they might add, 'the company will bang the passengers at the end of the route.' Let them make 'any rule they please,' and the judge says it is a contract. Has the road alone the right to supply the conditions of the contract? * * * * A contract implies more than one party, except in the eyes of this court and the railway company. It is idle to reply that the acceptance of the ticket implies assent to its provisions on the part of the passenger. He can not help himself; they have got his money and he must take anything they choose to give him. The tram is waiting; h;s business re j urgent: and he must make the best of his 1 helpless situation." "It would seem that a railroad ticket is more like tbe issue of a banking corpora tion; I deposit my money and they give me their tickets, or what we term bank bills, which are redeemable at my convenience. The same with the road; and, in the mean time, both institutions have the use of my money, W ould it be law for the bank to 'make any rule it pleased,' and declare that my money should be forfeited if I did Dot call for it six days from date ? How ab surd for the bank to maintain that it was a rule of theirs, which one of their clerks said was given him verbally several years before by the cashier, who in any event had no right to make any rules at all. Suppose I had gone to California as soon as I bad deposited the money. I could not have drawn my money in six days; must I lose U? ", ***** "If a ticket is a contract per se, then where is the government contract stamp on it, as on any other contract ? If that judge's ruling is good law, the road would seem to be liable to heavy penalties for all the con tracts it has issued without such stamps." Mr. Coleman thinks that we need a gen eral railroad law covering the following i points: "First, that the fares shall he uniform and at reasonable rates, say two cents per mile. If it be necessary for a new road to receive a higher rate until it shall be upon a paying basis, allow it an excess and limit the time during which an excess shall be charged, or else pay the road a subsidy from the State iund?, upon the principle upon which poor post routes are maintained, keeping the rates low, and inducing there by an influx of settlers who will eventually support the road. Second, when a first class fare is paid, a first class passage shall be given in a comfortable car, with sneh appointments as the law shall specify; po lite and kind treatment to be required from employes, and the comfort and convenience of passengers to be assured, as well as the safety of life and limb. When a person is taken in charge by a railroad, he must be delivered in good order at the end of the journey, undamaged in feelings and person, as he was received. Third, when a dollar is received for travel from a passenger, the equivalent of that dollar shall be returned in travel; not according to the cfprice of the company, but according to equity and justice, aud the reasonable demand of the passenger. Fourth, in all cases of disagree ment or of wrong-doing, the road shall be compelled to confine itself to the same peaceful means of redress as an individual, and cause arrests oulv by regular authority appointed by law, unless the offender be guilty of obscene or indecent conduct in the car, or commit a trespass upon life and prop erty. The present medieval system of bar barity in the summary treatment of passefi gers must give place to something in ac cordance with the enlightenment of the nineteenth century. The railroad com panies must be made aware that the travel ing public is not composed of cattle or sheep; nor are they in any sense the na tural prey ot the companies, but human be ings, entitled to consideration as such. The American people are a long-suffering race. But let the corporations who are presuming upon their good nature, reflect that they are sowing the wind, and the mutterings of a storm are beginning to he heard that betoken that they wiii one day reap the whirlwind." Funerals. [Fkhb the Cincinnati Gazette.) During the prevalence of the horse epi demic it will be found difficult to bury the dead. The time is a good one, therefore, to introduce the New York system of private funerals—that is to say, ot having' the re mains attended to the cemetery by tbe family of the deceased only. The present practice is a heavy tax upon the poor, but it must be broken np, if broken up at all, by those who are poor. A notion, devoid of sense, prevails, that to show proper respect to the dead, these must be loug funeral trains, and the sorrow of the Jiving is supposed to be measured by tbe number of carriages. Therefore, when a hearse is followed by only three or six carriages, it. is suppose that the dead has few friends to mourn, or that those friends are poor. Ibis keeps alive the extravagance. The rich practice it. The poor follow the example. Thus the average cost of funerals. in this city is over one hundred dollars. This is far more than three-fourths of the living can afford for burying the dead. Besides, it is a senseless display. A large proportion of those who ride to funerals are not mourners. They go for the sake of the ride. They enjoy it. They go to funerals for the love of the thing, and not because they mourn the dead or sympathize with the living family. Necessity now puts a stop to this prac tice. Let the good sense of the people con tinue the improvement when the present necessity shall have ceased. The wife of Horace Greeley was recently interred in Greenwood Cemetery, New York. The funeral services were" at the church, and subsequently the remains were followed to the grave by the family and tbe pall-bearers only. Most frequently the ser vices are conducted at the house of the de ceased, and on the same or the following day the remains are interred. Thus real mourners are permitted to do in private what with us is a public exhibition, and which, from practice, has become a heavy tax, burdening those who can not afford is. Another senseless practice, in this con nection, is the costly caskets that are used. There is one class of people who have not fallen into this, and their example is worthy of imitation. The Jews use coffins con structed of material as delicate as it can be made to hold together. This is covered with plain material, generally black cloth. The idea is to permit the remains to mingle at once with the earth. This is certainly more pleasant to contemplate than the re pugnant one suggested by an air light me tallic casket. The Jewish custom has prevailed from early ages. Ours is the outgrowth ot fash ion and felly, as is also the custom of erect ing costly monuments in cemeteries, if people would use the money which they waste in funeral displays and expend upon monuments unnecessarily costly, upon woitby objects of charity, a vast amount of good would be established and practices would be abolished that are a disgrace to our boasted civilization. Arithmetic for Millionaires*. The following paragraph is from an India paper: The Chinese have a most ingenious method of reckoning by the aid of the fin gers, performing all the operations i f addi tion, subtraction, multiplication and di vision, with numbers from one up to one hundred thousand. Every finger of the left baud represents nine figures, as follows: The-little finger represents units, the ring finger tens, the middle finger hundreds, the forefinger thousands, and the thumb lens of thousands. When the three joints of each finger ere touched from the palm to ward the tip they count one, two and three of each of the denominations as above named. Four, five and six are counted on the back of the finger joints in the same way; seven, eight and nine are counted oa the right side ot the joints from the palm to the tip. The forefinger of the right hand is used as a pointer. Thus, one, two, three, four, would be indicated by first touching the joint of the forefinger; next, the hand on the inside; next, the middle joint ot the middle finger on the inside; next, the end joint of the ring finger on the inside; and finally, the join* of the little finger next the hand on the outside. The reader will be able to make further examples for himself. The St. Louis VispaUh says of the steamer John B. Maude; This new and elegant steamer makes a trial trip this evening, and will then com mence loading for New Orleans at the Kountz wharf boat. Her hull was buiit at Mound City, by Alfred Gutting, and is 240 feet long, 26 feet beam and 7 feet depth of hold. The steam power consists of four boilers, each 40 inches in diameter and 26 leet in length. Her cylinders are 22th inches in diameter, and of fifii feet stroke, and drive two wheels, each 28 feet in diam eter, with 11 *4 feet buckets. Her eabin is very neat, and handsomely carpeted, and contains thirty-eight staterooms. Her texas is quite long, and contains a hall for col ored passengers, with twenty staterooms and a dining hall. The customhouse meas urement of the John B. Maude is 922.04 j tons, but she will carry 1100 easily. Everv 1 " ' " - - J thing about the boat is elegant, and reflects great credit on St. Louis mechanics. The boat will trim on thirty inches, and is in tended for the Y'ioksburg and Bends trade. Success to her. An opponent of woman's rights says it is a convenience to have women for postmis tresses: they can not only inform an appli cant if there is a letter for him without looking, hut can also tell him what is in it USES WRITTEN AT SEA. # 31 AOSE9 B. H. BKXSHOU. When across the briny ocean, Across the diep blue sea, 1 thought of those I left behind, I never more may see— Yet none was so near to me As the memory of the lost one That, only a month ago, and we were one. And now, Heaven, can it he! One month ago, and you and I together, Not one, but two. so ntterly apart! Oceans now roll between your soul and mine, And scarce X know you—you that were my better self. For all my good was you. What are you uow, you man lying there, With cold clasped hands and white averted face! But, oh! such wistful sweetness in your eyes— Kyes that 1 have kissed so oft and warm; Can this be you t This 1, or do I dream ? Tbe hideous death that one short month has wrought. May I lift the short black ringlets from your 'wow, And kiss once more that warble face 1 No! The) e is between us a gulf so deep, bo wide, T can not stretch n.y aching arms To reach you standing there, With eyes t urned from me— You, that om-o were mine, And this was Heaven, One short month ago. [Communicated.! SOMETHING ABOUT SELECTION. BT AGXES B. FOSTIANS. Few men know how to choose a wife or how to treat one when they have her. Some marry for beauty, some for money, and a few for love. When a man marries for beauty only, he richly deserves all un happiness that may befall him. It is a well known fact that beauty and education sel dom go together, and a woman without mind and education, whose whole thought is on her beauty and her time occupied w ith her dress and adornments, will never make a good'wife. Yet men are so vain and con ceited, tbiv only think of marrying a pretty woman, so as to hear his friend say, what a charming, pretty wife so-and-so has. Ho never gives it a thought that his present choice depends on his future happiness. No, the ornament is all lie thinks of for the time being. He worships her, places her on a pedestal, courts and admires her, as truly as he would a new suit of clothes. When the first bright color is worn off, it is thought little ot after ; it is used after wards, because it is not so easy to get another. So is the end of marriage for beauty—there is no mind, no entertaining powers, no conversation to fall back upon, nothing but the mere beauty to sustain the marriage life. A true union must be based on an organic law ; oil and water will not mingle, a lion will not lie down quietly with a lamb, nor can ill-assorted marriages be productive of aught but discord. But when a man marries a sensible, an accom plished-minded woman, that on her tongue dwelletk music, the sweetness of honey fioweth from her lips, decency in all words, in her answers mildness and truth, she is worthy t-o be thy triend, thy companion in life, the wife of thy bosom. Cherish her a blessing sent from heaven; let the kindness of thy behaviour endear thee to her heart; oppose not her inclina tion without cause. She is the partner of thy cares, make her also the companion of thy pleasures. Reprove her faults with gentleness; exact not her obedience with rigor. Trust thy secrets in her breast; her counsels are sincere; thou shaft not be. de ceived. Be faithful to her bed, and when pain and sickness assault her, let thy ten derness sooth her affliction; a look from thee of pity and love shall alleviate her grief or mitigate her pain, and be of more avail than physicians. Consider the ten derness of her sex, the delicacy of her frame, and be not too severe to her weak ness, but remember thine own imperfec tions. Then will thy marriage life be a happy one. The Heath of O'Connell. We reproduce this morning an eloquent extract from an address by the late William 11. Seward on the death of O'Connell: There is sad news from Genoa. An aged and weary pilgrim, who can travel no f ur ther, passes beneath the gate of one of her ancient palaces, saying with pious resigna tion i.s he enters its silent chambers, "Well, it is God's will that I shall never see Rome. I am disappointed. But I am ready to die. It is all right." The superb though fading queen of .the Mediterranean holds anxious watch, through ten long days, over that Dia lectic stranger's wasting frame. And now death is there—the Liberator of Ireland has sunk to rest in the Cradle ot Columbus. Coincidence beautiful and most sublime' It was the very day set apart by the elder daughter of the church for prayer and sac rifice throughout the world, for the chil dren of th# sacred island, perishing by famine and pestilence in their homes and in their native fields, and on their crowded paths ot exile, on the sea and in the havens, and on the lakes, and along the rivers of this far distant land. The chimes rung out by pity for his countrymen were O'Connell's fitting knell; his soul went forth on clouds of incense that rose from altars of Christian charity: and the mournful anthems which recited the faith, and the virtue, and the endurance of Ireland were his becoming requiem. It is a holy sight to see the obsequies of a soldier, not only ot civil liberty but of tbe liberty of conscience—of a soldier, not only of freedom, but of the cross of Christ—of a benefactor, not merely of a race of people, but of mankind. The vault lighted by suspended worlds is the temple within which the great solemnities are celebrated. The nations of the earth are mourners; and the spirits of the justmade perfect, descend ing from their golden thrones on high, break forth into songs. Behold now a nation which needeth not to speak its melancholy precedence. The lament of Ireland comes forth from palaces deserted, and from shrines restored; from Boyne's dark water, witness of her desola tion, and from Tara's lofty hall, ever echo ing her renown. But louder and deeper yet that wailing comes from the lonely huts ou mountain and on moor, where the people of toe greenest island ot all the seas are ex piring in the midst of insufficient though world wide charities. Well indeed may they deplore O'Connell, for they were hia children; and he bore them [A love so vehement, ,so strong, so pure, That uei her age could change nor art eould cure." A Texas Sunday. A correspondent of the Atlanta Conststu tionalist, writing from San Antonio, Texas, gives this account of the morals of the place : This is Sunday, and I'll iry and tell yon what I ve seen to-day. In the morning I passed an untold number of bar-rooms, and in all of them people, and the best citi zens, too, playing billiards or cards, of eonrse for drinks, aud "for the crowd " really, if you won't drink and play billiards on Sunday you are not respectable. There are more bar rooms in San Antonio than any place ont of Texas of its size in the Lnited States. As I sit in my room now at ten o'clock at night, I bear the band playing at the oircus, and not very far off is a panorama on exhibition To-day I was walking along the streets, when I was suddenly startled by hearing a lot of boys shouting and the band plarfng. I looked up, and just then it all came in sight. It wag this : The circus, with all its ride re, performers, etc., in regular circus style, were eoniing down the street with the band playing, the .buys shouting, and ever so many Mexicans and stragglers fol lowing them. Remember, this was on Sunday. Imagine all the bar rooms open ou Sunday at home, billiard playing, drink ing, and last, but not by any means least, a troupe of performers, dressed in their "tights," riding down the street, with a band playing. A Chill Core. A new-cure for ague, noticed in a Terre Hante, Indiana, paper, may be found of use. The writer says to those afflicted with ague Crawl down stairs head foremost. Laugh at the idea, it you please, but do your crawimg first; you can then afford to laugh. Just a% the chill is coming on, start at the top ot a long flight of stairs and orawl down on your hands and feet, head fore most. You never did harder work in your lite, and when you arrive at the bottom, in stead of shaking, yon will find yourself puffing, red in the face, and perspiring free ly, from the strong exertions made in the .effort to support yourself. Try it. It won't cost you near as much as quinine or patent medicines, and if it fails it will only do what they do every day GENERAL GRANT'S CHAUactehT^ An Interesting Anecdote. [From the Havenua, Ohio, Democrat 1 General Gran* is said to bo a bad mar Pei haps he is; I don't know. If he is ?; has changed wooderfullv since he left tho army. As proof of this I will give an inc? dent which came under mv observation While our army lay at City Point, on the James river, at the mouth of tbe Anpomat tox, in Yirgmia, my duties as Assistant Ad jutant General of the United States volun teers called me there to consult with Gene ral Grant. One afternoon, while walking out with the General (he being in military undress, with nothing to indicate his rank) we passed a boy of ten or twelve years age. fishing. Grant—Bab, have von good luck to-day * Boy—Not very; they don't bite to day. ' Grant You have got a few here; won't yon give them to me) The tears started ifi the little fellow's eyes as he said: "I have had no breakfast to-day, and no dinner, and if I don't sell my fish I shall have nothing to get me a supper." General Grant inquired as to his history The boy was a native of Michigan, and his mother was a widow. To obtain money to support his widowed mother, he wont 'into the army as a waiter for a captain of the Michigan troops, whose name I can not recollect. The captain was dead, and ie had not a friend left. Grant—Bub, do you know where Grant's headquarters are? Boy—Yes, sir. Grantr—Bring yonr fish np there at ten o'clock ijpd he will buy them. Punctually at the time the boy was on hand with his string ot fish, but was prompt ly stopped by the orderly in front of the quarters. General Grant overhearing the order, stepped ont, took the little fellow by the ha ml, led him into his quarters, and, becoming satisfied with tho truth of his story, procured for him a suit of clothes, a hat, a free pass on the railroads home, and gave him $50 iu money. Now, Grant may be a bad man—I am not going to argue that question—but I don't believe you can make the mother of that boy believe it.__L. V. BIERCE. A Sensation in Theatricals. She had diamonds on her fingers, and she wore silk stockings; yet she was only a "ballet girl." We aim to touch the sub ject lightly, although it was an immense st n a ation last night to hundreds of people at Wood's Theatre, who were well acquaint ed with the yonng lady's attractive face. She was on the stage as a Ronino woman— one of the plebeian populace—with big gold rings in her ears. She was the observed of all observers, and shared with Cassius and Drafts the attention of the densely crowded house. Our reporter asked for an explana tion, and got it. Some years ago, while her parents were among the wealthiest resi dents of one of Cincinnati's proudest sub urbs (they are now comfortably situated and living in Cincinnati), this young lady announced her intention of taking to the stage. She was then attending school in Philadelphia we believe. Ou Friday last she made terms with Manager Maoauley; and there she is now, commencing at the bottom of the ladder. We wish her suc cess. We hope she may develop that his trionic talent necessary to lift her out of the lower walks of stage life. Will she appear to-night, or did last night's experience serve to intimidate or disgust her? We shall see .—Cincinnati Cam mereial. They have a " haunted" schoolhouse in Newburyport, Massachusetts—the last edi fice in the world about which such-disrepu table nonsense shoulfl be promulgated. There are the usual raps; latches are lifted, and doors are rattled, and one day " the pale face ot a boy was seen looking through a window between the entry and the school-" room." The teacher opened the door lead ing into the entry, when a boy w-ho ap peared to he a pupil—a year since dead— was seen gliding up-stairs to the attio. The teacher followed, overtook the apparition, and " grasped it with such force that her nails left their prints iu the palm of her hand; but sno found herself grasping a mere shadow, which gradually vanished." Of course, people visit this seminary iu crowds, and we are told that the school committee are to have an investigation. That is like school •omraittees in general. Pray, what is there to investigate ? Why not consider the moral injury to children of treating this matter seriously ? Of course there i£ no ghost, and no face of a deceased boy has been seen looking through the win (low, and no such ghost has beon grasped at by the teacher. The true way would be either to dislodge the ghost by burning the schoolhouse, or to pooh-Dooh the whole thing until, tho children forget it, or laugh' At last says the New York Tribune, we have the secret of the burning of the steam ship Missouri. At tho examination on Sat urday a witness testified that a demijohn of spirits was knocking around loosely in a locker in the pantry. This locker was over the boiler, and the dry, .tindery deck was beneath it. The demijohn was broken by its tumbling about; the spirits took fire trom the boiler, and the flames spread over the ship. We know tho rest; the pumps broke down: there were boats without oars, and other boats were swamped in their clumsy lowering away. The melancholy details of the disaster must go on to the end of the investigation; but here is a re cord of carelessness ana lack of ordinary foresight which seems criminal. One of our young men has recently ceased to make calls at a certain house, it appears he went the other night from an oyster supper, and on her father appearing at the door, he observed, "Hello! old tad pole, where :s the floating gazelle? where is my love now dreaming?" This seemed to indicate to the - old gentleman that some thing was wanted, »o be placed his hand sadly on the young man's shoulder, and turning him partly around, stowed awsv a large amount of leather under his coat tail and then retired in the house. Tne younir man doesn't go there any more. He savs the small pox is hereditary iu tho familv. A New York reporter, having heard con stant complaints of bold robberies com nutted by "skin game" gamblers, profes sionally played furo at a saloon kept by Harvey Young, and was coolly fleeced out of thirty-eight dollars, the dealer not even taking the trouble to disguise his cheating. Ine reporter proposes now to make a test case, and has caused the arrest of Harvey lining, the oldest skin gambler in New ?orjK, and bis dealer Yorke. Younor wa^s concerned in the Bill Poole murder, and about three years ago he shot Bob Willie, Keeper ot a rival gam bling-house, on Broad * a Y has never been tried for either of fense.— Cbun&natt Cammerttal. A remarkable old lady, named Lucy Wil son' resides in Nelson, New Hampshire Yv bat she is remarkable for is that within three years she has picked seven large bed qnflts. Of these two were large, two amah! work, and three had eighty pieces in a square, making 168! pieces to a quilt. Be sides this, the remarkable old ladv knit seven pairs of faney cotton stocking* Moreover, a number of pairs of woole* footings. Throw m the plain sewing and , makn 'K; then add tho fact that this ancient lady uses no spectacles and you have an instance oi smart longevity quite unparalleled. • A sensation wa* created in ^Chicago on Wednesday among the grain men by the publication ot the fact that in August last m order to test the alleged uiscrepaney i* the quantity of gram in store and in ele vators in this city, and elevator receipt, the measurement of grain in store wm ordered, the proprietors of one of tho ei£ vators had falso bottoms pot in a number ot the.r Em*, only four feet from the tern covered them with grain and they wore then measured as full, making a difference of many thousand bushels. Miss Sarah Sawyer, a Quaker lady, died recently at Newburyport, Massachusetts is her mnoty-hfth year, the oldest person in town. She left a good estate, in the main iffio accumulation of her own industry and prudence. On the inventory of Lot wf sonal property were 106 sheets, 100 ehl "iTw e^el a ^naZf T e 6 to W l h mad^'wfth her^