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N m I wm I m Nt fiSiS M m wm. m l J £ & 3C 0*®g » a a • m m .J m w Us SC Volume io. Helena, Montana, Thursday, July 6, 1876. No. n n jj THE WEEKLY HERALD PUBLISHED EVKKY THURSDAY MORNING. FISK BROS., - - Publishers. TERMS OF SUBSCRIPTION. TERMS FOR TIIK DAILY HERALD, ffcry snbrt nlfTi (detiverwl by carried per month, S3 00 BY MAIL. One copy on** month.......................... 3 00 One ropy three months ........................ 6 00 One copy six niontl ■*........................... 12 00 One copy one year............................. 22 00 TERMS FOR THE WEEKLY HERALD. < >ne year ........................................|6 00 six months...................................... 3 50 Three months................................... 2 50 PIOW T1IK IIA It Y lAMK. ;ht The Lady Moon came down last ni^ She did, you needn't doubt it— A lovely lady dressed in white; I'll tell you all about it. They hurried Hen and me to bed, And Lizzie said: "Now may he That pretty moon overhead Will send ua down a baby. You lie as quiet as quiet can be. Perhaps you'll catch her peeping Between the window bars to see If all the folks are sleeping. And then, if both you keep still, And ali the room is shady. She'll lloat across the window-sill. A happy white moon-lady. Across the sill, along the floor, You'll see her shining brightly. Until she comes to mother's door, And then she ll vanish lightly. But in the morning you will find, If nothing happens, maybe, She's left us something nice behind— A beautiful sta r -h. , by." We didn't just believe her then, For Lizzie's always chafliug— The tales she tells to me and Hen Would make you die a-laughing; And, when she went out pretty soon, Hen said : "I hat's Lizzie's humming There ain't a bit of Lady Moon, Nor any baby coming." 1 thought myself it was a fib, And yet I wasn't certain; And so kept quiet in the crib, And peeped behind the curtain, I didn't mean to sleep a wink, But, all without a warning, I dropped light off—and, just you think, I never waked til! morning! Then there wbh Lizzie in my bed, And, when I cliinOed and kissed her, She laughed and «aid : "You sleepy-head. You've got a little sister! Wh t made you shut your eyes so soou? I've half a mind to scold you— For down she came, that Lady Moon, Exactly as I told you !" And truly it was not a joke, In spite of Hen's denying. For at the very time she spoke We heard the baby crying. The way we jumped and made a rush For mother s room that minute; But Lizzie stopped us, crying "Hush! Or else you shan't go in it!" And so we had to tiptoe in, And keep us awful quiet, As if it was a mighty sin To make a bit of riot. But there was a baby, anyhow— The funniest little midget; 1 just wish you could peep in now, And see her squirm and fidget. Hen says he don't believe its true— He isn't such a baby— The moon had anything to do With bringing us that baby. But seems to me it's very clear— As clear as running water— Last night there was no baby here. So something must have brought her! —-------- -«••• 4»— - A Terrible IiiMtrtiiiieut. (.From the San Francisco Chronicle.] Friday afternoon, tit the request of the Japanese Consul, iSaiuio Takaki, the new gun patented by Leonard and De Vry, and christened "Peace Conservator," was exhib- ited at the Pacific Ironworks. The prompt action of the instrument, delivering seventy shots in four seconds, and 1,050 shots in one minute, through a thick oak barricade,proves that it is one of the most terrible death-deal- ing inventions ever know. The machinery is simple, easily worked, requiring but few attendants, who are perfectly protected from their adversary's bullets, and can be trans- ported with much greater case than an ordi- nary six-pounder. The bullets from this ter- rible machine will, it is claimed, diverge 800 feet in 1,000 yards—the distance claimed that it will effectually deliver shots—and can be easily worked by one person in any direction or made to shoot almost solid. For narrow defiles it is propose to be equal to 3,000 in- fantry, and for combat on the open field equal to three batteries of regular artilery. The Japanese Consul and other invited guests expressed their astonishment at the rapidity and ease with which the machinery was worked, and highly complimented the invent- ors and the machinists who had brought to a successful completion the "Peace Conserva- tor." ---— M As eccentric Londoner of nearly ninety, who lias given special attention throughout more than half of this period to the collec tion and classification of reports of criminal trials, is getting discouraged, and says: "It may be that my increasing years render the task more difficult, but my opinion is that rime of tlu* worst character is becoming so prevalent that no one man can keep pace with it. My books of murders are far in ar rc:trs; I am far behindhand with my divor ces, and my forgeries have so accumulated on my hands that 1 have been compelled this week to employ a young man to aid me in posting up the records." proud father of Nantucket, Massachusetts, "'hs seen trundling bis child through the ! eets, »lie other dav, in a baby-carriage bearinc the words, " Multiply and replenish the world." in to It her and DAPKNESS AND LIGHT. " T 3ave the house instantly ! You are no son oi mine from this time. 1 will not har bor one who has thus degraded himself, and disappointed me." Hard words were these from the lips of any one : still harder from those of a lather. Mr. John Phillips was a proud man—proud 1 of himself, of his family, of the reputation he had acquired for honesty and upright dealing, and of the notice he received from people who were just a step further up the ladder of fortune than himself. To increase his wealth and consequence, he had ground down his family to the most pitiful and pinch ing straits in private, to atone for expendi tures to meet the public gaze with a show of riches, that honestly belonged to bis wife and children for their ordinary comfort. His eldest boy was placed in a store where there were many other clerks. Young Phil lips' scanty clothing, his evident destitution of money, even to withholding a penny from a poor child when others gave freely, accord ed ill with the reports of his father's wealth ; and the lads sometimes touched the sorest place in Samuel Phillips' heart, by reproach ing him with sordidness. One day—a cold, wintry day—a little girl, shivering and pale, came into the store. Her wan, blue look touched his heart with pity. He had money in his hand, but it was not bis own. How could he send her away ? He thrust two glbtering half-dollars into her hand, and bade her go and buy some wood. The money he thought could be replaced ; but be was watched by another lad who was glad of an opportunity to disgrace him, an when the cash sales were made up that night, young Carroll reported that the missing dol lar was taken by Samuel Phillips. The boy's blushes and confusion, as he tried to make an honest statement of the case, were taken for guilt: and a note to his father, which he was obliged to take home from his employer, distinctly told that Mr. Sampson no longer wished to employ a person in his store who had been guilty of stealing. In his first passion Mr. Phillips uttered the above words to his son. In vain be pleaded why he did it. Perhaps the excuse embodied more sin iu his father's eves than the deed itself. To give a dollar to a beggar ! What an enormity! And theD, that John Phillips' son should outrage his f ather's good name ! The man's pride was stronger than the parent's affection. Samuel took him at his word ; and that very night, in the cold and darkness, the boy set off, making his first step into the unknown future of his life. Had his father but believed him, pointed out what was wrong in his act, and forgave him for its mixture of good, his son might never have sinned again. His pride and cruelty sent him forth a wandere, distrusting all, holding iu his heart a root of bitterness which might turn his whole life to gall. When the family was aroused to the con viction the next morning, that Samuel Phil lips was actually gone, Mr. Phillips tried to sooth the distressed mother with the thought that he had only disappeared for a time, and would soon be with them again, glad enough to return and ask pardon for his conduct. He did.not tell her with what wild audunforgiv ing words he had driven him away. Years passed away. No tidings came of the fugitive. The mother, yearning for her first born, drooped and died ; and the only remaining son soon afterwards was drowned. Two daughters married and went away, and Mr. Phillips was left alone. It was not pos sible that conscience did not sometimes bring back the image of that poor boy, as he stood trembling that night under the weight of his first crime. A crime, too, committed under the influence of the best feelings, and with full intention of of repairing. But pride kept up his indignation against his son ; and in stead of pityiDg him for being a castaway, he only pitied himself for not being able to keep up the family name. At last there came a day when even Mr. Phil lips' proud spirit was crushed. More than the loss of his wife and children, did this trial bow him to the earth. Loss after loss had come to him in his business, until at length he was obliged to give up all into the hands of his creditors. He surrendered everything —house and household goods, not even taking the benefit which the law allowed him. Yet there were not wanting some among the in jured who openly asserted their belief that Mr. Phillips had actually saved money by the operation, and even cited his utter relinquish ment of all his visible property as a proof that he was remunerated by that which was unseen. His friends forsook him ; one by one drop ping off, unable to vouch for his innocence. His health failed, and even if it had not, he could not have witnessed the public sale which was now announced of his household treasures. He had tortured himself by throwing into his creditors' hands even little trifling memen toes of the past—literally leaving everything in his house, save his own clothing and his private desk,which, whatever others thought, contained little hut family letters, and the minature of a little child, with a curl of golden hair at the hack of the locket. That child ! Oh, if he could hut now recall the past ! If be had hut spoken kindly and for givingly, that child might now have been near to save his grey hairs from shame and dis gace. There was, as we have said, a public sale. It comprised the store and household goods, and included a valuable horse, which Mrs. Phillips' failing health had induced him to i buy, and which he would not part with after I her death. The man had a tender spot in his j heart alter all. His first question, when the man who had been his clerk came into his solitary room at a hoarding-house, the night after the sale was :— " Who bought Fleetwood ?" " I did not know the man sir. He was a stranger. There were many strangers there, and 1 did not learn the name of him who pur of is a of ; ; ! chased the horse. He was in the house a good part of the time, and 1 noticed that he bid for a number of things." " I hope Fleetwood has a kind master," observed Mr. Phillips, after a pause. The clerk was going, but returned, after a short parley with some one at the door. " Here's a man, sir, who wishes you to meet him at the house you occupied, at half past nine this evening." "What can any one want of me there?" said Mr. Phillips, with an uneasy gesture. " 1 cannot tell, sir. I did not know the man, hut from the dim glance I had of him at the door, I should say it was the man who was bidding upon the horse when I came away, and the same who bought Fleetwood." " I must go, I suppose ; yet, if he is a gen tlemau, I should hardly think he would ex pose me to the pain of going there." Mr. Phillips walked to his own house with trembling steps. He looked old and feeble, like a man who had numbered twice his years. He reached the door that once opened to liis familiar touch and rang the hell. The wo man who had so long kept his house, opened it, and ushered him into the sitting-room, from which, years ago, he had ordered his boy from his sight forever. This thought flashed into his mind, and was more vivid, from the circumstance of his own arm-chair being removed out of its ordinary place, and set in the middle of the room, and a low chair directly in front of it, on which Samuel had leaned in passionate weeping. The boy, in his misery, on that night, had left his cap hanging on the corner of that chair ; and, as if to deepen the father's anguish to-night, a boy's cap hung there again. How well he remembered it ! How he shook with the memories that rose up m his mind ! His tearful eyes scarcely took iu the figure of a noble lookiug gentleman who now entered the room, and desired him to walk around the house. Every piece of furniture was in its old place. In his own chamber, the little arrangements of his dress ing table were precisely us they always were; and in a little bed-rooni beside it, were two small beds iu w hich his boys used to sleep. He looked up at his conductor through his fast falling tears. Something in his face, in the bright, flashing eyes of the stranger, went to his heart. They had returned to the sit ting-room, and the stranger held his baud, with a warm, loving grasp. He heard the words, " This is ail yours, dear father!" and then the two men sank together upon their knees, while the younger breathed out a fer vent thanksgiving that he had been spared to comfort and console him in his hour of ad verse fortune. * Stung with his father's cruel words, Samuel Phillips had deserted his home, and driven almost to desperation, had wondered away from the place that knew him to a far city. Providence raised up friends to the desolate hoy. He found himself trusted, honored, re spected ; and at the death of one who had been as a father to him, he became wealthy. He saw the notice of the sale in a newspaper —hurried on to prevent it, and arrived only when it had already commenced. He had learned of his mother's death, and from that time he resolved never to return. But when he found that his father was in real distress, all was forgotten, save the thought that he might be in time to save him from open disgrace or actual want. Everything had fallen into his hands, for the by-stauders saw that he was determined to posess all, and they gave way to his evident desire and abil ity to gratify it. The reconciliation was complete. The pride of the father was subdued. Reinstated in his old home, his liabilities all met and his business re-established, by the son whom he had banished, his heart had melted to a child like humility that was touching to behold. - ^ ■*< ^--- An Affecting; Story oi a Jersey man Hy ing in Chicago. [From the Chicago Tribune.] A young man from New Jersey has for some weeks past been lying at the point of death at the house of a friend on West Adams, and his fatal illness was rendered the more sorrowful by his constant and piti ful longing after the home he was destined never to see again. On Wednesday evening it was plain to be seen by the grief-stricken watchers that the end was near, and they asked him if they could do anything to smooth his pathway to the tomb. The dy ing man, in a voice that was scarcely audible replied: "Oh, if I could only taste shad once more!" What was to be done. There was no shad attainable in the Chicago market, and the dying man's pillow promised to he un smoothed by the only attention he coveted, when suddenly one of the mourners, with the remark, "I'll play Rebecca and Jacob with the cuss," rose and hastened from the apartment, and securing a paper of pins fried it in butter and lard. Returning almost immediately, he placed the dish before the dying man, who gratefully put a layer of pins between hi9 lips, and feebly chewing at the fried paper, said in a low voice, while a ray of ecstatic glory and peace filled his face: "It is shad ! 1 feel the—the bones," and imme diateiy climbed the golden stair. At Fanny Davenport's benefit in New York the other day, John Brougham sent her a fan, accompanying it with the following delicate mot : " A fan to Fan. although a gift not great, I fancy may be deemed appropriate ; For when your fanning Fannie, don't you eee, You'd have to think oi vour warm friend, J. B." An absent minded editor having courted a girl and applied to her father, the old man said: Well, you want my daughter; what sort of a settlement will you make? What will you give her?" "Give her," replied the other, locking up vacantly; "(), I'll give her ! a puff." "Take her," replied the father. a a Choice Recipes. To Preserve Strawberries Whole. — Take equal weights of the fruit aud granula ted sugar ; lay me lormer iu a large dish and sprinkle half the sugar over ; give a shake to the dish, that the sugar may touch the under side of the fruit : next day drain the juice from the berries, add the remainder of the sugar and one pint of red currant juice to every four pounds of fruit. Boil and skim until no scum rises, drop iu the straw berries (a few at a time) ; let them boil slow ly for about ten minutes ; skim out into jars. Boil the sirup until sufficiently thick ; then pour it over the berries and seal while hot. Corn-starch Cake.— This is a simple and digestible cake, easily and quickly made, and generally liked. Rub well together one cup of butter and two cups of sugar. Add the whites of six eggs beaten to a froth. SStir in one cup of sweet milk, two cups of flour in which have been thoroughly mixed two teaspoonluls of baking powder, or two of cream tartar and one of soda, and flavor with one teaspoonful of extract of bitter almonds (or other flavor desired). Lastly, stir in one cup of corn-starch which acts both as food and shortening. Immediately bake in a moderate ly quick oven. Boston Brown Bread.— Three and three fourths cups Indian corn meal, two and one* half cups rye meal, not flour, two-thirds cup molasses, one quart milk, either sweet or sour ; two even teaspoonfuls soda dissolved in the milk ; steam iu tin pudding-boiler five hours ; take oft the cover and set in the oven with the beans to remain till morning. Currant Jelly. —To one peck of ripe cur rants add one quart of cold water ; put into the preserving-kettle, stems and all ; boil ; when it commences to boil— fifteen minutes strain through a crush hag. To every pint of juice a pound of granulated or the whitest coffee crushed sugar ; boil ; after boiling six minutes pour into jelly-jars. Mustard Pickles.— One hundred small cucumbers, two quarts of silver-skinned onions, two cauliflowers, one pint nastur tums, one dozen small red peppers, salt each of these ingredients separately twenty-four hours; then scald them well with vinegar separately and throw the vinegar away ; then take one half-pound of ground mustard, beat it smooth with a little vinegar, add two quarts of vinegar (bring your vinegar to a boil be fore adding the mustard), pack your pickles in bottles and fill up with the vinegar and mustard. Strawberry Short Cake. —Here is a re cipe for strawberry short cake which is worth cutting out and preserving until some day when you have invited an editor to dine with you. Make the crust exactly as you do for light biscuit, made with baking power, with the exception that you use considerably more shortening, then roll it out very thin, and mark it in distinct squares with a knife. Af ter baking it break the crust into pieces or squares, split them open and butter them, have your strwberries prepared with the sugar, and lay them between the crusts, then send them to the table, with a howl of powder ed sugar and a pitcher of pure cream, and allow each person to use the cream and sugar according to taste. Recooking Cold Meats. —Take any kind of cold meat, cut into slices, taking care to turn off all gristle ; place in a stew-pan, with sufficient cold water to cover it, and one or two onions, according to quantity of meat; season w ith cloves, pepper, salt, and mace, to suit the taste, simmer gently until the meat is quite tender, thicken it with flour and a small piece of butter, take an iron spoon, put a teaspoonful of sugar in it, and burn the sugar ; stir quickly into the hash. Toast slices ol bread brown ; cut in squares, and lay them around a flat dish, then pour out your hash and serve hot. If veal or poultry is used, omit the cloves and browning, and add fresh parsley, chopped fine, just before sending to the table. Oat Meal or Scotch Puffs.— One quart of sweet milk, three well-beaten eggs, two and a half cups of oat meal, one and a half cups of Graham flour, and a little salt. Use a medium-sized cup. Heat and oil the gem irons, and bake in a quick oven. Spice Cake—T ake a teacup of butter, two pounds of brown sugar, and three eggs, beat all well together ; then add a half a cup of sour milk, with a teaspoonful of soda in ; then two teaspoonfuls of each, ground cloves cinnamon, allspice, and one nutmeg; then two and two-thirds cups flour ; last of all, two cups chopped raisins. Bake in a slow oven, and you will have an excellent cake, and one that will last through hot weather. And here allow me to tell you, if raisins are put in a cake the last thing, and stirred only just enough to mix, your raisins will not fall to the bottom of the cake. Use the above recipe—omitting the milk—dissolve soda in a little hot water, and you will have very nice cookies. Strawberry Blano Mange. —For a quart of strawberries take four ounces of white sugar ; crush the strawberries with a silver spoon and mix them well with the sugar. In four hours strain them through a sieve. In a pint of boiling milk dissolve two ounces of gelatin, add to it four ounces of sugar, strain through a hit of muslin, and mix with it one and one-fourtli pints of cream, stir till nearly cold, then add the strawberries gradually, heating the two quickly together ; then drop in a little at a time the juice of one lemon. Butter a mould, pour the mixture in, and set in a cold place over night. Bread Omelette.— Put in a stew-pan a cup of cream, the same of bread crumbs, a little salt, a dust of pepper, a little nutmeg. Set over the fire, and when the bread has soaked up all the cream remove from the stove, cool, then beat a dozen eggs, thorough ly mix with the cream and crumbs, and fry. Serve as au omelette. Mrs. A. T. Stewart's gifts to various charities since her husband's death already amount to over $100,000. of ; Quocn Victoria'!* lMc-Nic*. [From the Court Circular. The Queen's walks and drives are not con fined within her own policies. She crosses the Dee almost daily, and is quite as often seen on the opposite side of the river. She always uses an open carriage, but not always the same. Sometimes it is a wagonette, some times a low pony pbæton. Her guard of honor accompanies the royal equipage, how ever. Johu Brown sits on the box beside the coachman, aud when there is not room there he rides on horseback by the side of the car riage. No fuss attends the Queen. An out rider, a little in advance of the royal carriage clears the road, aud the Queen goes quietly on her way, with a smile and a nod for any one who chances to meet her. But as a rule her majesty is not intruded upon, when she ventures beyond the royal domains, unless on Sunday, and then it is strangers only who run after her. The cottagers do not annoy her, and she comes and goes without moles tation. Indeed they make a point of kee ~ ing out of the way when the white horse. the outrider appears in sight. Shout ^ Queen, however, happen to cotne v expec tedly on her subjects by Deeside, s' jîe erentially acknowledged. The Queen and her ladies frequently pic-nic in woods or on the hillside, should it be lj a ndi er Ma terials to make a tire and ce ,«->k?ng utensils arc taken in the carriage, an^ teft i s made on the greensward and haud <e ^ r0UU( ] in fashion without any ceremony. At thcsc afternoon teas <fio Queen has no spec La, chair of honor. Her seat is pretty often on the stump & tree, with her cup in her hand or any oilier casual resting place that turns up conveniently. Excursions are made also to various places of interest, and every corrie and glen within reach has been visited by the royal family. TJie Emperor at Bunker Hill. ( I From the Boston Commercial Bulletin.] The janitor who has charge of Buuker Hill Monument, arrived at about half-past seven, Friday morning, to open the premises found two strangers in waiting. One, a tall, gray-bearded man, in a slouch hat, asked if they could ascend the monument. "Yes," said the custodian, "you can for twenty-five cents" (holding out his hand.) The stranger produced the money and the custodian unlocked the door and forthwith commenced sweeping out, raising a cloud of dust, and paying no attention to his visitor, who was looking about him curiously, until half chocked with dust, he inquired, "if these were the steps." "Tee, all right, go ahead, go right up till you get to the top." The visitor and his companion did as they were bid, and stayed some half an hour en joying the beautiful panoramic view from the summit, after which they descended, and were quietly walking away when they were hailed by the custodian with ! "H'yar, just write your names in this hook ; all visitors that go up the monument sign their names here." The gray-bearded man laughed, and signed his name, and the two departed. The custodian never looked at the hook, hut some hours afterwards was electrified by one of the officers of the Monument Associa tion who chanced to come in asking him. in the most agitated manner, when Dom Pedro, the Emperor of Brazil, had been there ? "Hasn't been here at all," was the reply. "Hasn't been here ? Why here is his signa ture on your visitor's book. What docs this mean ? "What ?" says the custodian rushing up to the volume. "What, good gracious ! that was written by a tall man, with a slouch hat." And so it was, hut the tall man was the Emperor of Brazil, and this was the way he ascended Bunker Hill Monument, just'like 'any other man." --— ■«< *423^ ►- -an—-- PI LL »OWN YOUR TEST. An Incidcut of flic ('Iiiciniiafi Conven tion. But Ihe funniest incident of the whole ses- sion was when Richard H. Dana was address- ing the convention, the joke being at his expense. He is a fat, puffy sort of a man, with a general disposition on the part of his body to fill his clothes quite full and run over a little. He was seconding the nomination of Bristow, and assuring the convention that ro other man could carry Massachusetts, etc. His remarks were not well received, his man- ner was offensive, and the convention made no concealment of its impatience. Finally, at the close of one of Mr. Dana's sentences, when he paused a moment to gather breath and inspiration, some one in the gallery shouted "pull down your vest." The idea of saying such a thing to a blue-blooded gentle- man from Massachusetts was tunny enough in itself, but the fact that his vest did show a tendency to secede added infinitely to the humor of the thing. The hit was at once so audacious and so palpable that the conven- tion fairly shouted, aud the dignified gentle- man from Massachusetts was himself visibly embarrassed. He probably goes home more fully convinced than ever that Western civilization is a failure, and that the true, the beautiful, and the good find their only safe abiding place in Massachusetts. ---— «« ►. api -. As evidence of the importance of the water question, Rome, in its palmiest, days, had no less than twenty-four district aqueducts, and among these, one was sixty-three and another thirty-eight miles in length. The arches, 100 feet and higher, over which the water was carried, measured in one instance six and a half miles in an unbroken line, and in an other were 7,000 in number. The daily sup- ply of water to ancient Rome could not have been less than 400,000,000 gallons. With the decay of these wonderful works, the decay of Rome kept pace.