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Hra- Orleans §R[raMiom
-dFFTcTAL JOURNAL OF THE UNITED STATES
'OFFICIAL JOURNAL OF NEW ORLEANS
[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
"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
"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
"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
•'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
, 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
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
"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
"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
"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
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
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
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
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
"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
'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
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
"No; I will go now."
"Oh what is the matter V hurst out Phoebe
at sight of me. "Has not father come home
"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
"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
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
' 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
' 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
"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
"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
"We will come to see yon every day if
"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
"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
"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
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
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
"True, but Phoebe might have something
better than black bread and white if you
had not brought her away from your father's
"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
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
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.
BIGHT!* OF PASSENGERS.
•' the Fight of « Alan with e Rail load
John A. Coleman's Story—A Remarka
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
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
"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
Commenting on these riflings, Mr. Cole
"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
"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
"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
[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
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
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
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
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.
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
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
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
A Texas Sunday.
A correspondent of the Atlanta Conststu
tionalist, writing from San Antonio, Texas,
gives this account of the morals of the
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
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
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
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
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