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-Sc Volume io. Helena, Montana, Thursday, June 29, 1876. No. 32 THE WEEKLY HERALD PUBLISHED EVERY THURSDAY MORNING. FISK BROS., - Publishers. TERMS OF SUBSCRIPTION. 'I KKMS FOR THE DAIlY HERALD. City 'Milu'irib •in (deli vered by carrier per month, |3 00 UY MAIL. ( »rje < Opv OIK* month. .......... 3 00 One < oj)V t hr* v montt IK ............. .......... 6 00 One :opy six month*« ..........12 00 00 *;>|i y one TERMS FOR r 'HE WEEKLY HERALD. < >n e v •ar____ ............*6 00 "IX 111 Olltl'fi. . ............ 3 50 1 hree months ............2 50 FADI.1G, t'llAXGIXGS, llYIAG. Ev«*rvtliintî beautiful, darling, must fade; '1 lie rose and tin: lily, the pride of the lield, And myrtle, which hides the rude marks of the spade, Where loved ones are sleeping, will all have to yield To Time's busy gleaner, who gathers the leaves, And unopened buds in the forest and plain, To carefully bind them in bundles and sheaves, And cairy them oil to return not again. Everything beautiful, darling, must change; The woodland, the meadow und course of the stream ; Those scenes now lamiliar ere long will seem strange And only he thought oi as seen in a dream, Of pii tu res of memory long hung away, And laded by age. or dust, of the past; Each moment of pleasure refuses to stav, The voice oi the zephyr is lost in the blast. Evi rything beautiful, darling, must die, And that which increases will surely decrease; The sturdy old oak as a dust-heap will lie. The song and the singer will both have to cease; Yet there is hope that each beautiful tiling— Though not in this life—will have being once more; The bea t, like the ivy, to loved ones will cling, When fallen, an 1 creep to Eternity's shore. Everything beautiful, darling, must fade— Must « hange and must die, be it never so grand ; And nothing cndurcth that ever was made, For Time lias tin* day in his own cunning hand; The spirit immortal he humhleth not, lie builds, though, and crumbles its dwelling of clay ; When everything earthly and Time is forgot. The spi*it will laugh at the thought of decay. I« DAY AXI» TO-MOKROW. Don't tell me of to-morrow ! (iive me the man who'll say, That when « good flood's to be done, Let's do the deed to-day. We may all command the present, It we act and never wait; Hut repentance is the phantom of the past, that comes too late! Don't tell me of to-morrow! There is much to do to-day That can never be accomplished. If we throw the hours away. Every moment has its duty— Who the future can foretell ; Then why put off till to-morrow What to-day can do as well ? --— H J tT" M- f TillP LIGHTLY. Trip lightly over trouble, Trip lightly over wrong; We only make grief double By dwelling on it long. Why clasp woe's hand so tightly Why sigh o'er blossoms dead ? Why cling to forms unsightly ? Why not seek joys instead? Trip lightly over sorrow, Though this day may be dark. The sun may shine to-morrow, And gailv sing the lark; Fair hope lias not departed, Though roses may have fled: Then never be down-hearted; Dut look tor joy instead. Tin* Women'* Gift. The ltulies of New York State have pre sented to the Women's Ptivillion at the Cen tennial Exhibition a beautiful banner of richly embroidered blue silk, which measures twelve by eighteen feet. It is inscribed with these words worked in letters of gold : "From the daughtersof New York to their sisters of the Union. 1770—1870. The Lord God be with us as He was with our fathers.' 1 The following ode was written by William Cullen Bryant to accompany the banner : This flag by gentle fingers wrought, That with the breath of Summer plays, May its fair drapery only float O'er li ppy crowds ou festal days And far, 0 far may he the hour That < alls the children of the land, Amid the battle's iron shower, To bear it with a fearless hand. 1 et, when the foes of freedom fling The bolts of war with deadly aim. A million gallant hearts shall spring To shield its sacred folds from shame. Thi vear. s is, so far the gem of the Centennial TI»o Wealth of Our K*re»ldent«i. Washington left an estate valued at over $80,000; John Quincy Adams died moder erately well off, leaving about $75,000; Jef ferson died so poor that if Congress had not purchased his library at $20,000 he would have been a pauper; Madison was frugal, and left about $150,000; Monroe died so poor that he was buried at the expense of his rela tives; John Quincy Adams left about $55, 000 ; Jackson died worth about $80,000; Van Buren left some $400,000. It is said that he bid not draw his salary while in office, hut at the expiration of his term of service drew the wlmle $100,000 ; Polk left an estate valued at $150,000; Taylor had saved something from tbe arir *y* and died worth JI.)0,000 ; 1 y 1er married a lady of wealth ; fill more was always «frugal, and added to his savings by marrying a lady of wealth, and was worth about $200,000; Pierce's estate îï? v ?. ue<1 at $50,000 ; Buchanan hft $200, ^'(w! nC0 /l?. ab0U i * 75 >°°°. and Johnson, 150,000 .—Chicago Inter-Ocean. NEIGHBORHOOD GOSSIPS. All About that Episode in the Domestic Affairs of Mr. and Mrs. McDuflfy—How Happiness was Found to Lie Between two Extremes. Mr. and Mrs. McDuffy, of this city, have long been noted by their neighbors and friends as the happiest, most affectionate couple that ever lived together. They are always seen to gether at the theatre, at concerts, at the Ti voli after the concerts—and in fact, whatever John likes she likes, and vice versa. The only difference between them is a constitu tional one. John is lean, very lean; so lean that the most skillful marksman would as soon think of taking a willow wand for a target at 300 yards as him. He works hard and late, drinks sour mash at irregular inter vals, chews tobacco without ceasing, goes around very freely with the hoys, and seldom thinks about eating. He is never seen to paste a dab of mustard upon a chunk of brown bread before drinking bis beer, as other fellows do. No ; he drinks first one glass, and then another, and then meets an other man and takes some brandy on top of it. Thus Mr. McDuffy, by a course of treat ment, had been grow ing leaner and leaner, until " his dimensions to any thick sight were becoming invisible." Mrs. McDuffy is fat, very fat ; so fat that her most expensive garments generally be come useless to her long before they are worn out. It was once remarked that she bail to slide through tbe door of the Tivoli sideways, but this was a pure exaggeration. Unlike her dear John, she is very regular at meals, takes life easy, believes every word that Mr. McDuffy tells her about his lateness in getting home, has no darling suspicions about bis lady acquaintances. She drinks beer plenti fully, and makes no secret to any one that she is particularly fond of it. And so she has been growing fatter and fatter, until she bad become shy of being weighed before people. These observations refer tq tbe McDuffies as they appeared several months since. Some time agt a friend of the family called upon Mrs. McDuffy. She said, "My dear, you are really growing too stout for any thing. Excuse my saying so." "I declares," said Mrs. McDuffy, "lam actually ashamed of it, but what can I do ?" " Do said her friend ; " why, do as I did. Look now I've come down in six weeks. I weighed 179, and now-" "O for heaven's sake, tell me," said Mrs. McD. "I'd be tickled almost to death to get down a little." " Well, then, adopt the Banting system. Avoid eating all saccharine substances, don't eat potatoes, sugar, butter, vegetables, pud ding—''here the good creature expounded the doctrine of the philanthropic Mr. Banting. "I shall commence right away," said Sirs. McDuffy. "God bless you my dear." It happened that on tbe self-same day on which tbe above conversation was held at home, Mr. McDuffy met a medical acquain tance of his at the Sherman House—or as be would have said to Mrs. D., "down town." In fact, they were having a quiet tipple to gether at the bar. "My boy," said the Docter, "you are not looking well; you are getting thin." *• I am always thin," said John ; " but it's a fact, I'm not feeling very bright. Truth is, I haven't any appetite." " You take too much of this John," said the Doctor, gravely, as they touched glasses ; "you must give it up." " Must I ?" says John ; " then here's to us for the last time." And John proceeded to whistle his favorite Scotch air, " Neil Gow'sfarewell to whisky." " Yes," continued his medical adviser, looking into his eye and poking his forefinger into the hollow space beneath the orb, " sour mash is a bad thing for you. Y'our nerves are prostrated ; you'll soon be throwing up your food. You have inflammation and con gestion of tbe gastric-" " Oh, for God's sake don't scare me," said John. ** I'm not so far gone as all that purely. I have a sort of giddiness now and then, but —by J ove, old fellow, 1 guess you're right. I may be carrying this a little too far. What's to be done?" The medical man wihpped out a little bit of paper from bis vest pocket, screwed a neat little pencil out of its gold case, dabbed it on bis tongue, and scribbled off some hierogly phics. "There," said he, "go and take that, and that'll carry you over your present difficulty. But, my boy, you must try and get fat." John smiled sadly, and pulled down his vest. " And how in thunder am /to get fat, I should like to know ?" The Doctor laid his hand on John'9 shoulder, and, with a look which seemed to say, " This is going to settle the fate of the country," pronounced the word— " Koumiss." "Koumiss!" echoed the lank man. " What the devil is that?" John was look ing bewildered and incredulous. "Don't sneer now; but its only—a kind of milk-digested milk-effervescent, you know-an exhilarant —assimilates with the blood. Live on it, my boy ; live on it for three months, and you'll weigh more'n your wife. Good bye." That night Mr. McDuffy stubbed his toes two or three times in ascending the stairs to his room. but it was for the last time. " John," said his comfortable Dartner, just waking up while Mr. McD. was occupi ed in a long and silent struggle with the boot on his left foot, isn't it awful late, dear?" "Why no, not much," said he, contriving to turn the gas down low, so that the clock could not give an object lesson; "'bout's same's us't s'pose." " O my dear, what kept you out so late ?" "P'liik'l meeting House David; com paign's booming, now, tell you." "Champagne, I should think, she said, in shaking herself wide awake. "John, dear, please turn up the gas ; I've got something to tell you. What are you doing?" "By and by." Mr. McDuffy silently held a chunk of ice to his head for ten minutes, and then turning up the light cautiously, sat down on the edge of the bed. He was afraid of being misinterpreted, so he became ex ceedingly deliberate in bis speech. "Saw Dr. Elab to-night, and had a long talk with him. Sent his regards. He says I am working too hard and must nave rest." "Poor boy ! That's what I've been forever telling you, dear. Now, suppose we take a trip on the lake when tbe warm weather comes. It's just tbe thing you need. "O, a trip on the lake is all very well ; but I tell you I've got hold of something tbat'll fix me all (hie) right without that. Dr. Elab told me about it." "What is it?" said Mrs. McDuffy. "Kou (hie) koumiss." "Kookoomis," said she, wonderingly ; "what's kookoomis?" "I didn't say kookoomis," said Mr. Mc Duffy, rather irritated ; "I said kou (hie) koumiss." "Well, and what is kookoomis, then, I want to know ?" "O nothing particular, perhaps—only some preparation—fizzes like seidhtz powder— mare's milk. You know tbe old Bashkirs out in Tartary—they don't die of consumption or anything. They keep drinking it—two hun dred years ago and more. It's like this—a gallon or so a day is nothing to them. Fanny that nobody knew about it before. Think of it— out in the steppes there—" "Is there anybody out on the front steps? Did anybody see you home ?" "I mean the steppes of Tartary, what are you thinking about ?" said Mr. McDuffy in a buff. "Well, well, dear, come to bed, your brain's overworked," said the innocent creature, with some anxiety, and just the least little bit of alarm. "Very well," said John, in a lolty tone, "then you have no interest in me getting strong and healthy and fat." "Don't I," said Mrs. McDuffy : "and that reminds me that I have something to tell you." "Ah, you have, have, have you ?" "Y'es. Do you know, dear, that 1 have commenced the Bantam system? Yes. I shan't drink any more beer, and I shan't eat any potatoes or cabbages, nor drink milk, nor butter my bread, nor take sugar in ttiV tea, and I don't know all w hat. But I am going to stick to it. I'm determined to grow Thin." "All right," quoth John, "and I'm de termined to grow fat if I can, so I'll go in for kou (hie) koumiss, and you can go in for Bantam, i'ou save money on Bantam and I'll spend it on koumiss." "I've just read the book Mrs. Pease lent me," said Mrs. John, "and all I have to do is avoid eating any sacrilegious substances. I'll be so glad it I'm not fleshy." This bad been the nearest approach to an unpleasantness between tbe couple that bad ever occurred since the day they were mai ded, and bow T ever trivial it might seem to the ordinary wife-beater, it actually worried the good soul next day to think that she had suspected John of having drank a little too much. However, she proceeded systematically to make herself a practical illustration of the Banting system, and went on living on "beef straight," as John jocosely called it, and but terless bread, and milkless tea—in other words, half-starving, and denying herseh every luxury—until tbe result began to be I quite perceptible to all her acquaintances. As for McDuffy, he gave up all his down- ! town associates, came home at regular hours, read books, and drank quart upon quart ot koumiss. Y'ou would have thought their domestic happiness was now increased ten fold. It was not. Mr. McDuffy was certainly grow ing plump and she was as certainly growing slender. But there came a change somehow over the home. John lost much of his old sprightliness activity, and ceased to have any disposition to entertain his wife. He fell into the habit of going to sleep on the sofa after supper, and when friends called to spend the evening he would quietly steal away to his room and leave his wife to entertain them. He never lost his temper, he merely became prosaic, apathetic, and "poky." Mrs. McDuffy's native good nature did not thrive on Banting. T n a month or so she be gan to pine, and, what was worse, to whine. Things went "contrary" with her, and the most good-natured remark that John could make was immediately set down as "sarcasm." There was no more going out in the evening together. John would take his pipe after supper and walk around the block aimlessly until it was bed-time, and Mrs. McDuffy would put on her things and whisk off to a church sociable. She had joined a new church, being incited thereto chiefly by the reasoning of the new tenant next door, who told her that the new pastor was a perfect gentleman, and was building up a splendid society. The new pastor made pastoral calls, and he and John did not get along well at all. John said he was a duffer, and he couldn't be bothered with him. This drew from Mrs. McDuffy occasional satirical allusions to his lack of sympathy with true refinement, and his nat ural aversion to society. "Of course tbe peo ple he would meet at the sociable were not of the stamp he had been in tbe habit of as sociating with down town," and so on. "Spats" were now of frequent occurrence in tbe family. No matter wbat was the subject—the planting of a geranium in the back yard, tbe hanging of a picture in tbe parlor, the shifting of a bureau from one corner to another—it was sure to engender a sharp dispute and end in a mutual buff. Things were coming to a sorry pass, and poor John saw with a dull kind of pain that it they were wandering away from each other. "The little rift within the lute" was slowly widening and their lives were by impercepti ble but sure degrees becoming divided. The other day Mr. McDuffy, before going borne, encountered an old acquaintance "down town," and by very little pursuasion he was induced to stop in and drink just one glass of beer. There was a weighing ma chine in the place, and John out of curiosity went and weighed himself. He found he had gained precisely fifteen pounds since he commenced the new regime. At supper he happened to mention this important fact to bis wife. She put on a cheerful smile, which made her look more like her own self than John bad seen her look for months. "John," she said, "I have something to tell you. Do you know I was down at the sewing machine place this afternoon, and I got weighed. What do you think I have lost since I commenced the Bantam system ?" "Lost your temper a good deal my dear," said John, supping bis tea thoughtfully. "You know what I mean," she retorted, repressing a rising inclination to get up from tbe table : bow much do ) T ou think I weigh now? Now, guess?" " You weighed 172 pounds ; lei's see—per haps 1G8." "I just weigh 145, and no more. Ain't you glad ?" "Why, that's exactly my weight," said Mr. McDuffy, setting down his cup and walking round to the other end of the table ; " shake." "Well, kiss me first," she said, with a beaming smile. "Y'ou haven't kissed me for a whole mouth and more. " Oh, John !" "Ah! Jenny!" "Isin't it funny?" she said after wiping her eyes, " that we should have met just here —at 145. Y 7 ou have been coming up, and I have been coming down, and here we are at 145 both together. "Jenny," said John, with emotion, "let us never part again." "Never, John, never. We'll both stay at 145, and never get away from it any more." They went and sat down together on tbe front doorstep, and John lit a cigar. It was a beautiful evening. "Have you taken your koumiss, to-day. dear?" she said, looking rather tenderly up in bis face. "Counfound koumiss," said he, " I have had plenty of it. Dr. Elab said 1 was to live on it for three months, and the time's up. How's Banting?" "O dear, 1 am so sick and tired of dry toast, and tea without milk, and steak straight, and bits of fish. Y'ou won't be angry, dear, if I tell you something that's on my mind ?" she said, stroking John's hand in a conciliatory way. "No, darling, out with it." She answered in a low tone that could hardly be heard above the whisper of the leaves, " I am so thirsty, and I would like—just—one glass of beer." Mr. McDuffy laid down his cigar and van ished into tbe house. Ten minutes later tbe solitary watchman who passes bis meditative hours in that peaceful neighborhood, per ceived in the gathering gloom of tbe even ing, a cheery, happy-looking man coming along the sidewalk, whistling the "Beautiful Blue Danube," and carrying in his right band a large white jug, over the rim of which chunks of white foam were dropping down and sparkling in the gaslight. So that evening there was joy in tbe house of McDuffy. N. B.—This is not a temperance story. _ ^ — , THE COLORADO Dl'El, Tlie Story of the Tragic AIFoir. [Special Dispatch to the Philadelphia Times j Denver, Col., June 9.—Last evening in teliigeuce reached this city that a fatal en counter had taken place between two well known cattle raisers, at Hiver Bend station, on the Kansas Pacific Railroad, fifty-six miles east of this place. The particulars of the affair are ascertained to be as follows : It seems that about noon yesterday some diffi culty occurred between a man named O. Davis, late station agent at River Bend, and one of his employees. Alfred D. Jessup, Jr,, was standing by and espoused the cause of the subordinate to the great irritation of Davis. High words soon followed, and blows, if not worse, seemed imminent. But quarrels in the section in which the affair took place are frequent, especially among herders, and the few people around took no special notice of the disturbance. Presently Davis and Jessup were observed going out on tbe prairie together, but neither at that time displayed any noticeable anger or excite ment. In a short time, however, shots were beard, and then the men about the station realized tbe true state of affairs. The two men had gone about five hundred yards from the railway, cooly measured off a distance of fifty paces and were blazing away at each other. Jessup was showing great excite ment, and was jumping widly about among the cactus plants. He fired three shots from his revolver altogether at his antagonist, none of which too effect. Davis, on the contrary, was wonderfully cool and collected. Standing perfectly still, he took steady aim with his Winchester rifle, and fired two shots, the second taking effect in Jessup'9 right side piercing tbe heart, just as the excited specta tors reached the scene of the tragedy. Jessup lived only a few minutes. His slayer con tinued to display the most remarkable cool ness, helping to carry tbe body to the station. Upon being questioned in regard to the tragic affair, Davis stated that Jessup had not only taken up tbe quarrel of an employee, making it his own, but followed it up with a chal lenge to figbt, each to choose his own weapon. Davis accepted and selected a Winchester rifle, and Jessup chose his Colt's navy revol ver. Tbe contest was an unequal one, not only as to weapons but as to men, Davis' to ed being a crack shot and Jessup a mere novice with the pistol. Many do not believe Davis story that his victim was tbe challenging party, as Jessup was never known to have been engaged in any difficulty of a serious nature before, and it is put down to bis credit that he lost his life through his earnest de- sire to see fair play and because he believed a man was being unjustly assailed. Soon after dark Davis mounted a horse and disap- peared. As yet no attempt has been made to arrest him. Jessup's body was brought here to-day. It will be embalmed and sent East. - i <4 «<£>> ►» --- Acted Like a Man. Washington, June 17.—As soon as New York'« vote on the second ballot was re- ported, Blaine sat down and wrote his con- gratulatory dispatch to Hayes, and it was on the wires to Columbus before the footings of tbe ballots were received in Washington. Immediately after the formal announcement. Blaine rode out with his oldest son and was received with loud cheers wherever crowds were assembled on tbe streets. He received dispatches throughout the day in his library in company with some dozen friends, whom be continually assured that Hayes would ulti- mately be nominated. He was fully im- pressed with the probability of a successful combination against him, and except during the twenty minutes following the sixth ballot, did not expect the nomination. He was al- together the coolest and least excited of tbe company. During the evening bis residence was crowded with callers, whom he received with cheerfulness, exhibiting no trace what- ever of disappointment, and discussing the events of the day. He says the immediate cause of the failure of his friends to secure his nomination, was the holding back of tbe votes for him from Pennsylvania after tbe third ballot. This, Blaine attributes to ficti- tious strength temporarily lent to Hartranft from time to time by the Conkling forces, which made it possible for the minority of the Pennsylvania delegation to urge that their candidate could not properly be dropped while he was still apparently gaining votes. A BALLOON IX FLAMES. It Take» Tire Tww Thousand Feet in Air. [From the New Y'ork Time?.] Honda, United States of Colombia. > South America, Tuesday, May 9, ISTti. j We have just witnessed a terrible scene— a balloon ascension, with tragical results. The grand "Aerial ascension—Jimnastico" was advertised to take place at 7 o'clock on the morning of the 8th of May. Cards of invitation were sent to all the leading citizens, and in this little town, of few diversions, a g;eat excitement was created. Sunda} r after noon an oven was built in the center of the plaza for the purpose of heating the air by which the balloon was to ascend, and all the preparations were watched by the people with a great deal of curiosity. There were perhaps 2,000 persons on the plaza. The bal loon, a very large one, was inflated rapidly and successfully, and soon the teronaut ap peared, brilliant in scarlet, and gold and sil ver spangles, carrying in bis band tbe Colom bian flag. The ropes were loosened, and the balloon shot up like an arrow, and the shouts of the enthusiastic multitude, the blowing of boms, and the beating of drums, the æranaut meanwhile turning on the trapeze and per forming various gymnastic feats. It was a beautiful ascension. In less than a minute lie must have been at a height of 2,000 feet, when the balloon apparently became station ary. He then threw out tbe flag. We could scarcely distinguish whether it was the flag or himself; but tbe next second a smoke was seen issuing from the side of the balloon, and tbe unfortunate aeronaut bad lowered a rope and was climbing to tbe end below. "Esta quemando—it is burning," some one shouted, and tbe people suddenly became as madmen, running and screaming, weeping, and tearing their hair. The gentleman standing next to me tried to quiet them by shouting, "Itis not burning, it is false, brute—animal ! it is only the gas escaping ;" but soon the flames burst from the top, and peices of tbe cloth began to float downward, tbe balloon descending slowly at first, then rapidly, until all hope was over, unless he touched, the top of the mountain, which is about one thousand feet above the town. The spectators rushed in the direction in which the balloon was sup posed to be coming. In five minutes the plaza was entirely deserted, with the single exception of one poor lunatic, who began marching round and round the oven that had furnished the fatal spark, chanting a requiem mass, at intervale kneeling, and crossing him self all the time. It was pitiful to see him. In about an hour the crowd came slowly back with the poor aeronaut, still breathing, but insensible, with a broken leg and inter nal injuries. He was seen by a man in a field to pass directly over the cross of the chapel in the cemetery, almost within reach of it, across the valley of the Quebranda Seca, finally touching the ground half way up the mountain on the opposite side, per haps a mile and a half from the point of starting. He must have retained his senses to the very last. As be came to the ground he cried "Por Dios," and struck on his feet, still clinging to the rope. The ignorant man who saw him, having heard nothing of the balloon ascesion, thought be had come di rectly from Leaven, and was frightened and ran away as fast as possible, but meeting those in*search of him turned and conducted them to the spot. The unfortunate man lived but a few hours, and was buried at 5 p. m. tbe same day. They have planted a Centenaial tree in Augusta, Georgia. A box of soil from Bun ker Hill, with hatchets buried in it, was plac ed around tbe roots. A woman is living serenely under the same roof with two husbands, near Geneva, Ga.