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Sunday dispatch. [volume] (New York [N.Y.]) 1861-1863, June 21, 1863, Image 6

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(Written for the Sunday Dispatch.]
•i’ By J. Henry Hayward.
They tell me I must leave thee now,
My own beloved meek home :
Alas I how much it grieves me thus!
Away from thee to roam,
'AVliat acute pangs now rend my aching breast,
While silent weep I o’er that stern, behest 1
They tell me with a sadden’d smile,
Disease will me consume,
If I leave not thy happy scones,
And thus health’s garb resume :
Yet sooner would I die—ay, here decay.
Than seek some foreign land to pass away!
For this I then must go abroad.
To battle life alone,
To leave the spot where my sad life,
Its ev’ry joy hath known;
Ah, fate I—oh, friends!—eh, God, why thus
That I should thus my home fore’er resign!
For this they say the ocean wide,
My future home must be,
Yet while I’m waft ed on its tide,
My soul shall cling to thee,
Sweet home in tho’t I’ll treasure ev’ry joy,
Thou gavest to me while yet I was a boy.
Oh, if I go—will I e’er find,
A home so loved as thou,
Will I e’er find so soft a couch,
■ To rest my throbbing brow.
Alas I I fear ’twill never be my lot,
To find afar from home so loved a cot.
I soon must bid to thee—“ Adieu 1”
For years perchance fore’er, .
But though I seek some distant clime,
No circumstance shall tear
[ One tender thought of thee from my sad heart,
While it doth throb—Adieu sweet home we
[Written for the Bunday Dltpatcu.]
08, THE
Mm nr n ».
Poor Goliah lay by the body of his wife for
many minutes in a deathlike swoon.
At length nature brought about a reaction.
On reopening his eyes, the dwarf saw standing
over him, looking on him with an eye of- evil,
the being whom of all men he dreaded most,
Bad Hand. By the side of the leader of the
outlaws stood his old friend and adopted father,
Que que-lah. Furtively the poor negro looked
up to him for protection and consolation, but
he saw that, whether simulated or not, even
he had condemed him in his mind. However,
he cared little for life now. The one to whom
his whole soul and heart had been given—the
one on whom he had long learned to look as a
superior being, Skipping Bird, lay there dead,
the arrow yet buried in her bosom ; and oh, so
calm, so placid in her repose, that he could,
with difficulty, persuade himself she was not,
as he had often seen her before, in a profound,
undreaming sleep. With a renewed agony—
—with a more poignant sense of his loss than
before, he again threw himself upon the body
and gave way to a burst of passion that was
almost hysterical in its nature. For a time ho
forgot, in his misery, there were those standing
around him who were delighted at his grief,
and who would yet, if it were possible, wring
from him shrieks of phrenzy, by dire torture,
that would be as music to their ears.
“ How came you here ?’ ’ demanded O-ce ha
la, in a cold, grating, guttural voice, which tho
dwarf well knew betokened extreme anger in
the leader —a voice which had often consigned
to the torch, to every devilish invention of the
savages, those who fell under their hands and
were made their victims. “You thought to
betray me,” continued Bad Hand, with a
laugh; “ but no one is ever permitted to make
the attempt twice.”
“ I didn’t go fo’ to ’tray you, sah,” respond
ed Goliah. “What fo’ I ’tray you? I jes’
cum out heah, wif poor Skippin’ Bird dar, to
look for yarbs, when one ob yous fellows tired
a arrer and kill her outright, ’ ’ and the dwarf,
while he thus permitted himself to utter a
falsehood, burst into a repetition of his groans
and tears.
Que que-lah started when he heard the
excuse. He was secretly desirous of saving his
son, and he at once interposed by saying :
“Ugh! O-ce-ha-la, he speaks witlp_a
“He lies, Que que-lah. His tongue is split,
and his words are black as his face. Seize
him,” he added, turning to those of his braves
who were standing near, and narrowly watch
ing the dwarf, “ and teach him with fire that
no one can lie in the presence of O-ce-ha-la.”
The dwarf had, during the utterance of this
order, thrown himself on the body of his wife,
and when the savages attempted to raise him,
he clung the more tenaciously to it, refusing
to be separated from it.
“Tie them and burn them together," Bad
Hand cried, hissing the words from between his
get teeth.
On the instant, thongs were produced, and
the bodies of the living husband and the dead
wife were bound together.
To this course Goliah made no physical ob
jection. If he must, he would prefer death
with the remains of his loved partner. Ter
rible as was his situation, he found some
consolation in this idea. He could summon
courage to suffer with her inanimate corse by
his side, and he trusted that, after a few mo
ments of agony, he would be with her disen
thralled spirit, in the beautiful summer land.
A strange feeling of joy seemed to take posses
sion of his soul, and thrill through every
nerve of his body at the thought. He .was
going where Skipping Bird had just gone be
fore ; and already he looked forward with im
patience to his exit from a world that to him,
in civilized and in savage life alike, had been
made up of experiences of cruelty and con
tumely. The poor slave, hardly civilized and
yet not savage, had suffered from his child
hood, and now the way was opening for him to
a future in which he believed he would, in the
presence of the Master of Life, stand equally
with all his children.
And so the dwarf, bound to the corpse of
his wife, felt in his soul that they who were
about to torture his poor, stunted body to the
last gasp of his breath, were more to be pitied
than was he at that terrible moment.
“Bad Hand,” said Que-que-lah, slowly, and
with unusual emotion, “ are you not acting too
hastily ? I claim ray son—he is mine, and if
guilty of wrong, it is for me to send him to the
judgment of the Great Spirit.”
"Away—away with him!” shrieked Bad
Hand, not heeding the words of the doctor.
"I’ll teach the wretch, and all others, that no
man can lie in the teeth of O-ce-he-la, and
Three brawny-shouldered braves, naked to
the hips, and with faces hideously striped with
carmine, yellow, and black pigments, sprang
forward, and raising the living and the dead
on their shoulders, hurried with them in the
direction of the fire.
As he was being thus borne away, the eye of
the dwarf caught that of Que-que-lah, who on
the instant raised the fore-finger of his right
hand and laid it on his lip, and as instantly
dropped it, and with two others sprang into the
O-ce-he-la, the pupils of his eyes dilated and
cat-like in their expression, while the bills
were suffused with blood, followed his victim.
He had not, in his anger, noticed the depar
ture of Que-que-lah or of his companions.
A few minutes rapid walking brought tire
party of braves, with their burthen, to the
“Tie him to that tree!” cried'Bad Hand,
pointing to a withered pine that stood within
the circle of the light.
Quickly as the command was given Goliah
with his arms tied to the body of Mat-te-o-eh’
was securely fastened to the trunk of the tree.’
“We have not time, for punishment,” con
tinued O-ce-ha-la. “ Gather dry wood and pile
it around the traitor.”
In a few minutes a pyramid, composed of
limbs and branches of trees, was built up
around the dwarf. 1
“ Fire it!” yelled the outlaw.
A warrior, one of those who had assisted in
carrying the living and the dead to the place
cf execution, ran to the lire, seized a brand
and with a yell of savage delight, waived it
in the air. As he was about to carry the blaz
ing wood to the blasted pine, the sharp re
pot of a rifle was heard, and with it the
whistling of a ball. Simultaneously with the
report the savage, (amid a chorus of cries in
the voods,) yet holding the fire-brand, sprang
int'j the air and then fell dead on the ground.
'Qie ball from the rifle had penetrated the
• ‘ The Creeks ! The Creeks !” cried the out
laws, together, and then with evident sigos of
alarm, rushed toward their chief. Hurriedly
they bore him into the woods. Nor did they
recover from their terror or arrest their precip
itous flight until many miles had been placed
between them and the lonely spot where G oliah
had been condemned to a terrible death.
Vainly, Bad Hand labored to res-asure his fol
lowers ; but they had been too long pursued
by their enemies, who had driven them by a
circuitous route from the Ohio, to be persuaded
that the Creeks were not upon them; and,
among the braves whom O-ce-ha-la found it
most difficult to convince were the Indian doc
tor and those who had followed him into the
woods, when his adopted son was being carried
away to be offered up a sacrifice to the savage
anger of their leader. Once safe within their
natural fortification, none were more easily
satisfied than Que-que-lah and his two friends
of the needlessness of the alarm and none, in
words, were more warmly inclined to return
to where the negro had been tied, and complete
the sacrifice.
Suspicious and jealous of interference as O-ce
ha-la was, he dreamed not that treachery had
been practised,that he had been over-reached by
members of his band. Indeed, so rapidly
were his orders executed, and so intent were
his followers in making the best of their un
locked for pleasure of torturing the poor ne
gro to death that not one of them noticed the
brief absence of Que-que-lah. When the flight
began he and his friends were found to be
in the front, seemingly the most alarmed
and the most anxious to get out of the way of
To the entreaties of the medicine-man to re
turn, O-ce-ha-la opposed himself decidedly. A
new idea had taken possession of his mind. If,
indeed, his enemies, the Creeks, were not those
who had struck down one of his warriors and
gave the challenging war-whoop in the woods,
he was yet persuaded it was the signal of some
Ohio braves that had been heard. The negro
he would have remain where he was, to die by
slow torture —by torture of hunger and thirst,
with the decaying body of Mat-te-o-eh in his
This thought, to Bad Hand, was delicious;
and he secretly promised himself a visit to the
Scene of the negro’s misery, when the hour
of the dwarf’s greatest agony had arrived, and
feast on his dying throes.
Very fortunately, it happened for Goliah
that, in the haste of the outlaws to bind the
living and the dead together, they did not take
from him his only weapon, a scalping-knife,
which he had long put to peaceful purposes
of digging up and preparing roots and herbs.
This instrument seemed his salvation. After
standing many hours, indeed until the sun had
risen far above the horizon, in a kind of be
numbed terror, anticipating every moment the
re-appeai ance of Bad Hand and his followers,
he essayed to use it. His arms were closely
pinioned to his sides, and his wrists were tied
firmly to the waist of the corpse. To reach
the knife, therefore, with his hands, was not to
be thought of. The weapon was, however, in
his bosom ; and, after many vain efforts and
struggles, for Mat-te-o-eh’s head lay on his
bieast, he succeeded in fastening his teeth on
the handle and drawing it forth. With care
and management, he next placed the haft in
his mouth and, putting the edge of the blade
on a thong that had been passed around his
neck to uphold more firmly the body of his
wife, he succeeded, with much labor, in sever
ing it. The corpse fell on his right arm, and
leit the negro free to cut the cord of twisted
t< ndrils that bound his left one to his side.
Elated beyond measure at his success thus far,
l e leaned over to sever the thong which tied
together his wrists ; but, in his excitement, he
list his hold on the handle of the knife, which,
before he could make a movement to recover
it, fell to the ground, and thence rebounded far
beyond his reach.
At kali-pue ta-wan, drew his robe more
closely over his chest, as the prophetess re
peated her words, “Ou-che-tais in her lodge.”
“ And the pale-faced chieftain ?” asked her
“ As I have said,” answered Wash-e-on-tah,
“a wolf, who in the darkness of the night,
would have stolen from the wampum-bearer
the light of his heart.”
“ What say you
“Even now, he met her in the path, and
hissed in her ears words that stole away her
senses- mrvoTailen, forever, had
-Jroir TneManitou inspired Wash-e-on rah to
follow her shadow through the woods. Whit
his serpent-tongue spake to her I know not,
but as I advanced I saw that mourning would
soon have filled the lodge of Ash-a-ta-wan-tah,
and that dishonor would have branded Ou
che-ta among tho daughters of her people.”
The besom of the warrior rose and fell like
the billows of the ocean, when beaten by the
winds, as he heard these words ; and, while
his eyes glowed with anger, his nostrils con
tracted and expanded convulsively.
“ Wash-e-on-tah.” he whispered, as he play
ed nervously with his scalping knife, the tones
of his voice suppressed by the violence of his
hot indignation, "is accounted a prophetess
in the Confederacy of the Six Nations. She
loves her people, and she never lies. Does
the Great Spirit ever whisper in her ear, the
fate of those who do wrong ? Does he smile,
when a maiden is debauched ? or, does he not
remember those who would uphold the honor
of his people, as above pledges and treaties?”
“ Hush 1” she replied, “The Manitou loves
not wrong. He hurls, through his appointed
agents, swift and terrible vengeance on those
who betray. What are pledges and treaties in
his eyes, when they are employed to injure
those who make them?’ ’
“Then throw I to the winds the treaty of
the Six Nations with these Britons. lam
their enemy. Henceforth will I make the
paths they traverse crimson with their blood !
As they have, dealt by me so shall I deal with
them. And for this panting dog—this Bercy,
I will trample on him as I would upon a rep
tile who had darted his fangs at me. I would
have honored him if he had honored the daugh
ter of the wampum-bearer. That he has not
debauched her and dishonored her people, I
cannot regard as arising from disinclination of
his. Bright Lighting would have fallen, as
stars fall from the summer heaven in the moon
less night, never to reascend —fallen, to be a
hissing and a by-word among the maidens of
our race—a creature to be despised by its noble
warriors, but that you foiled the plans of the
slime-covered snake that charmed her. Go,
Wash-e-on-tah,” ho continued, as he placed a
band upon her right-shoulder, “go to the
wampum-bearer and whisper in his ear that
you have heard, that you have seen, and tell
him when you have impressed on his mind the
terrible danger from which his daughter has
escaped, that At-kah-pue-ta-wan, angry at the
dissimulations practised by these English, has
torn from his heart his pledges to them—tell
him that with his Delaware braves he has for
gotten he was ever their friend, and that he
has withdrawn from their camp—tell him, that
when the pale-faces reach the Monongahela,
they will find Red Fox with his braves on its
opposite bank to dispute their passage—tell
him that if he loves the honor of his people
above that of the wrangles of the long-swords
who have come to conquer and destroy, he
will follow the path Red Fox has chosen ; or,
refusing, to prepare his heart for the hour of
mourning, for the hour when the offspring of
his loins, the light of his eyes, is the leman of
the stranger, who, when he tires of the polluted
thing, will throw her aside with as little
thought as At-kah-pue-ta-wan arrests in its
flight and breaks in two the arrow of his
“ I go, son of the Delaware,” responded the
prophetess. ‘ ‘ There is a great cloud upon
mine eyes,” she added, in sudden and hurried
words. “Ah, it lifts! and before me stand
-■ It is gone. The vision was fearful. I
thought I saw Ou-che-ta in the pathway—
dead; and standing over her, his eyes filled
with madness, the fox that has been following
her. ’ ’
Putting her hand on her eyes she drew it
hastily over them, as if she were endeavoring
to dispel the cloud of which she had spoken.
“Yes,” she resumed, in measured words ;
“ yes, the paths on this side of the Mononga
hela are filled with danger, and the braves of
my people must leave them until the power of
the paleface is broken. I will seek thewampurn
bearer, and I will repeat to him the words of
At-kah-pue-ta-wan. ’ ’
Gliding from the side of the warrior, whose
head had fallen on his chest, as if he had sunk .
into a profound reverie, the prophetess moved
toward the Indian encampment, and was pres
ently lost to sight.
For several minutes Red Fox remained in
the position in which the woman had left him,
his fingers meantime nervously playing with
the handle of his scalping-knife.
Then, with the bound of a panther, he sud
denly sprang on one side of the path, and
sought concealment behind the trunk of a
tree. As be there stood, his hand resting on
his rifle, he bent his head eagerly in the direc
tion of the trail which lead into the skirt of
woods, and thence toward the ground on
which rested the English army. His ears were
rewarded by the sound of breaking twigs, to
his cultured sense made by one who, while be
labored to move stealthily, walked so heavily
that he cculd not avoid disturbing the leaves
and dried branches that were in his way.
It was evident to Red Fox, from the fre
quent stoppages, always after a noise, that he
who was approaching., was controlled in
his actions by some secret motive. To
bring the person thus advancing to an
immediate test, the Delaware quietly pulled
off his robe, and selecting a stick which,
when placed erect, would, in the uncertain
light, give to the unaccustomed eye the ap
pearance of a warrior of his own height, put
the robe on it, and then placed it in the mid
dle of the path-way, near where he had
been standing while conversing with the
prophetess. This he did so noiselessly,
and so adroitly, that no European, even if he
were within twenty yards of him could readily
have discovered the deception. Quickly re
turning to his place of concealment, Red Fox,
drawing his rifle close to his side, stood immo
vable as the tree against which he leaned
watching and listening for further develop
He had not long thus to remain. The
noise from the crackling of the dried wood be
came each moment louder and nearer, not
withstanding which it was clearly evident to
the warrior that he who made it was endeav
oring to work his way with all possible cau
Now, the figure came into sight; and the
keen eyes of the Indian, while a gleam of
savage delight lit up his tawny features, at
once detected the intruder, and, from the care
with which he examined the priming of his
rifle, divined his purpose.
It was Corporal Jones, the servant of El
ward Peicy, and in the woods with murderous
intention, notwithstanding he had intimated
to his master that he would follow the Dela
ware no further that night. He had, however,
subsequently seen him enter the woods alone
and hastening to the quarters of his master
secretly possessed himself of a pair of duelling
pistols. These he carefully loaded without
the tent and placed, for greater security, with
in the belt which, as part of his accoutre
ments, he wore around his waist.
Could he but steal unaware upon the Indian,
he argued with himself, and put a ball through
his brain, he would receive the reward which
Percy, in a moment of inconsiderateness and an
ger, had offered him as the price of Red Fox’s
life. He had felt entirely secure from danger
or from suspicion on the part of the man whose
violent death he contemplated with as much
coolness as he would that of a dog ; although,
to enhance the importance of his undertaking
in the eyes of his master, had hinted, as we have
already seen, his belief that the Delaware sus
pected him of mischief. Hitherto he had
treated the warrior with some show of- defer
ence, and he persuaded himself that this exhi
bition of esteem or of friendship on his pirt
would, if he really was of a suspicious nature,
throw him off his guard, oi leave him, when
opportunity served, more open to assault.
Had Jones been made aware of the fact of the
Delaware’s second visit to the tent of Edward
Percy, and of his overhearing, in great part,
the conversation which had transpired between
them touching himself, it is doubtful if, miser
that he was, he would have ventured far be
yond the precincts of the encampment; for the
Corporal was mentally made up of two ele
ments, namely, greediness and cowardice—
eminent qualities in the composition of au
As he advanced in the path, his eyes caught
the seeming figure which Red Fox had set up.
The outlines were indistinct; but, from the
apparent bight, he arrived at the conclusion
that it could be none other than that of the
"Good ’Eaven!” he mused, “’Ere’s a
hopportunity. ’E couldn’t ’ave ’eard them
blarsted sticks breaking bunder my feet. ’ls
back his to me, hand h’l can just pop ’im hoff
before ’e knows hoff it, hand then my marster,
Captain Percy’H give me them twenty-five
suverings. 'The job’ll be heasy henough.
What his the life hof ha Hingin to me !”
Taking from his belt one of the pistols he
stooped down and moved with even more cau
tion than before ;■ but, notwithstanding, his
clumsy feet would come in contact with the
underbrush, and the noise therefrom struck
painfully on his ear.
The Delaware watched closely, and with a
terrible expression of revenge on his counte
nance, the efforts of the soldier to approach as
near as possible, that the shot he would fire
might be fatal, toward what he was persuaded
was Red Fox.
“Drat hit,” he muttered, ’ETI ’ear me!
This ’ere woods seems to be full hoff sticks. Hif
h’l’ad’im in Lunnun h’l’d make ha fortin
hout hof ’em. H’l’m near henough now to
pepper ’em, I think. ’E hisn’t worth more’n
twenty-five suverings.”
He raised the pistol, when within about
twenty feet of the figure, and tired.
The echo had not died away ere the would
be assassin found himself in the strong grasp
of the Delaware.
Snake ! ” hissed the Indian, as he closed
his sinewy fingers around the thioat of the
Corporal. The tongue of the wretch, after a
spasmodic struggle, protruded from his mouth,
thick, black and swollen ; while at the same
time his eyes started from their sockets.
Wildly, for a second, they gazed on the brave,
and then a thick film overspread as intelligence
went out of them.
When the Delaware released his hold on the
victim of avarice, his body fell heavily to the
ground—nerveless, lifeless.
“Thus,” muttered the warrior, as he sur
veyed the corse for a moment, then taking it
up and flinging it contemptuously into the
underbrush, not deigning to remove the scalp,
“ thus will At-kah-pue-ta-wan do with the
English braves who seek our hunting grounds,
that they may rob our chiefs and debauch our
Striding to where he had placed his robe as
a decoy he removed it and threw it over his
broad shoulders, and then hastily strode off
in the path which the prophetess had taken,
when she had left him, less than an hour
(To be continued.)
[Written for the Sunday Dispatch.)
There were three of us seated around a table
in my room discussing the local events over a
decanter of sparkling Madeira and a bundle
of segars.
“Come, Uncle Ned, give us one of your
stories; any kind at all,” exclaimed one of
us. Ned was once a detective and had, as we
presumed, seen and experienced some pretty
rough life, consequently we called on him to
give us a story.
“Well,” said Uncle Ned, pouring out a
glass of wine. “I have no objections, so to
pass away time I’ll tell you one of my adven
“ Go ahead, Ned,” we both exclaimed.
“ Well,” began Ned, “you know in 18—,
I was appointed a detective in the City of .
I was young, hardy and strong, in fact, I was
everv way calculated to perform the hazird
ous and perilous occupation of a detective.
At the time I speak of the papers were teem
ing to excess with the account of the murder
of several drovers, pedlars, &c. The place
where the murders were committed was in a
dense woods known as the “ Devil’s Rook” a
place about twenty miles distant, in a sparsely
settled country. We dispatched our best de
tectives to trace out the criminals but without
success. Large rewards had been offered and
every method that could be devised was
brought forward but without success. One
day a dispatch arrived with the intel
ligence that another drover had been
murdered and robbed in the “Devil’s
Rook.” All was commotion at head-quarters.
After a long debate and argument the chief
finally decided that I should endeavor to cap
ture the criminals and depart on the following
day. I accepted the offer, not so much for the
reward as the fame which would attend suc
cess. At least if I failed it would reflect no
discredit on me inasmuch as our best detec-
tives had been thwarted. I commenced ac
tive operations immediately. I first saw one
of the returned ofliceis and gained from him a
description of the place. I then procured a
suit of drovers’ clothes prepared my pistols
and horse and resolved to start the follo wing
morning. At the break of day I was up and
after bidding adieu to my friends I mounted
my horse and in half an hour I was on the
road. When I arrived at the stage coach
starting place it was late in the afternoon. At
fii st I had serious thoughts of going in the
coach but finally decided not to, in fict the
coach was full. At this moment the horn
blew and the coach started. Instinctively I
gazed at it. There were five passengers, four
inside, while seated beside the driver on the
top was a person dressed in a minister's garb,
holding in his hand a huge bundle of tracts,
while on his right cheek I noticed a long,
deep scar apparently a wound from a knife.
In a few moments the coach passed from my
sight. It had turned in the road leading di
rectly through the “ Devil’s Rook.”
Just at this time my stirrup broke and I dis
mounted to fasten it. Again I mounted, and
had gained the turn of the road when I saw
the coach about a mile ahead, and the minis
ter just disappearing into an inn at this end of
the “ Devil’s Rook.” As it was now dark I
determined to make the night at the inn, and
if possible learn something of the minister. In
a few moments I was at the door and gave my
horse in charge of a tow-headed boy. Enter
ing the inn I was surprised to find no one there
except an old woman who furnished me a sup
per, and an old man seated in a chair bound
up with clothes. I looked sharply at him ;he
was about fifty years of age, short and stout,
while, just heavens! there upon his right
cheek was a huge scar. I mastered my sur
prise and obtained permission to pass the night
there. At first he seemed likely to object, but
on my telling him I was a drover and anxious
about the safety of my rnonev he readily com
" Certainly!” said he, “you can pass the
night here, for the wood is a dangerous place
for a man with money.”
I thanked him for his offer, and asked him
if he knew of any one having any oxen to part
“ Yes,” he replied, his eyes flashing as he
spoke, “ there’s Jim Shaw ; now he’s got some
and he’ll sell ’em to you cheap, too, I know
he will. So in the morning I'll show you
where he lives, it’s only about a mile from
I again thanked him, and taking my lamp,
for it was now bedtime, I hade him good night
and went to my bed. I did not undress, but
lay in bed profoundly thinking. What if my
host should be the minister, and if he was
then he would bear watching, for he was doubt
less playing some high-handed game. With
these thoughts I dozed away the night. Once
or twice I heard suspicious noises as if some
body trying my door, but they finally ceased
and all was quiet again. The sun was stream
ing through the window when I awoke, so
hastily concealing my pistols I hurried down
stairs, where I found my host already up. He
was free from all bandages, and in his hand he
held a stout staff. In a few moments we were
on the road and was approaching a dense copse
of woods. Suddenly my guide exclaimed:
“ ’There’s the place.”
Keeping my band upon my pistols and my
eye upon my guide, I glanced in the direction
he pointed. Scarcely had I turned when he
aimed a blow at me. Quickly' stepping aside I
drew my pistols and pointed them at him.
“ Drop that, villain !” I exclaimed, “ or I’ll
put a half-dozen bullets in you.”
“ It’s only a joke,” he exclaimed, with con
siderable assurance.
I assured him it was no joke with me and
ordered him.to allow me to bind him. At first
he refused, but the dangerous proximity of my
pistols compelled him to obey with relustance.
I shackled him and had him conveyed to head
quarters, where he confessed himself the mur
derer of the drovers. In a few days he ended
his ci ime upon the scaffold.
The train from Paris to Lyon stopped at the
station of Joigny, a town upon the route, and,
after leaving a few passengers, again went on.
The station, for a moment crowded with rail
way-porters and lookers-on, was soon deserted
by all but two individuals. One of them was
an old man, dressed in the garb of a well-to
do farmer ; the other a youth of about five
and-twenty, who seemed to be waiting for
some one to come and meet him. To this per
son the old man presently addressed himself.
“ May I presume, sir,” said he, “ to inquire
if you are Clement B ?”
"Yes, my good man,” replied the youth,
with a haughtiness of manner, “ and I have
no doubt you are Mr. Martin?”
“ At your service, sir,” replied tho other.
“Well, Mr. Martin,” continued Clement,
in the same tone, “ I began to imagine you in
tended to keep me waiting. That would not
have been the best manner in which to have
insinuated yourself into my good graces.”
The old man, instead of replying, let his
hand fall upon his breast as if in deep afflic
tion, and conducted the new comerMoward a
large, nld fashioned carriage, to which a very
rough-looking horse was harnessed.
“Here is your carriage, sir,” said Martin.
“If you will be good enough to get in, I will
have the honor of conducting you to the Her
“That my camage, sir;” cried Clement.
“ Why, I shall be taken for a traveling ped
But a few days before, Mr. Clement B ,
who now put on so many airs, was a simple
clerk in a crockery warehouse in Paris, and
possessed the reputation of being a quiet, un
pretending little fellow. What, then, had
brought about this sudden and radical trans
formation ? He had become, since the pre
vious day, a rich man, and it may be well un
derstood the possessor of an income of twenty
thousand francs a year, finds it difficult to re
tain the modest demeanor of a poor clerk. On
the previous day, while dusting the large piles
of crockery under his charge, a letter arrived
for him by the post, conveying to him the
staitling intelligence that one of his uncles, of
whom he had often heard as au eccentric and
veiy wealthy old man. but whom he had
never seen, bad just died at his residence in
Burgundy, leaving his nephew, Clement, sole
heir to his estates, to the exclusion of many
other heirs.
The letter was from a notary in the Province
who desired him to leave Paris for Joigny, the
town near which his unclo had resided, where
he would be met by Mr. Martin, an old con
fidential servant of the deceased, and conduct
ed from the railroad to the “ Hermitage,” the
name which deceased had given to the estate.
Almost driven out of his senses by such an
unexpected stroke of fortune, Clement has
tened to obey the notary’s directions, and on
his arrival at Joigny joined Martin, as we have
On jolted the queer vehicle in which our
hero had so contemptuously taken a place,
until, after a ride of several miles, the occu
■pants arrived at their destination. Martin of
fered the honors of the Hermitage to the new
proprietor, called all the servants and intro
duced them to their future master, and then
conducted the latter to his own apartments.
“ This was the sleeping chamber of your
uncle,” said Martin, as they entered a large
apartment furnished in old-fashioned style. It
was in this room that he died ten days ago.”
But the nephew, instead of evincing any
emotion upon being shown the chamber of his
benefactor, threw upon all around him a look
of scorn, and cried :
“ Upon my word, I can’t say I think much
of the old boy’s taste. I never saw anything
so very ugly in all my life.”
“ Notwithstanding, sir,” replied Martin, “ it
is the best we have here ; and if you cannot
content yourself, I really don’t know where
you will find other lodgings.”
“I live here!” exclaimed the young man.
“ You do not imagine I am such a donkey, I
hope! For us young fellows, do you see, Paris
is tne only place; so'l shall sell this old crazy
rockery at once, and then be off.”
“ Sell the Hermitage !” exclaimed Martin—
“ your uncle’s favorite place of residence ?
Impossible ! And we servants, who hoped to
end our days under this roof, what is to be
come of us?”
“Mr. Martin,” retorted the young man,
“ let me have none of your complaints, I beg.
Get me some dinner, and afterward you will
drive me to the notary’s.”
After having eaten a hearty meal, notwith
standing he found the meats" inspid and the
wines sour, the legatee, still accompanied by
Martin, re-entered the carriage, and the two
started off.
“If I am not mistaken,” observed Mr.
Clement after an hour’s ride, " we passed this
spot this morning; and that,” pointing to a
i building, “is the railroad station. De we take
the train there ?”
“ Yon alone will do so,” responded his com
panion, speaking very gravely, and in a man
ner which caused the young man to treqible
in spite of himself. “I, sir, am your uncle,
and happily lam not dead! Having heard
good accounts of your conduct, I had resolved
to make you heir of all I possess ; but before
doing so, I wished to ascertain if you were
really deserving of my generosity, and I had
recourse to stratagem, which has thoroughly
exposed your true character to ine. Good-by,
Mr. Clement; return to your business, and re
member that your arrogance and ingratitude
have lost you that which will never again be
placed within your reach.”
A writer in the Philadelphia Age observes:
‘ ‘Perhaps under this head may be classed
the notion that a galvanic ring, as it is called,
worn on the finger, will cure rheumatism.
One sometimes see people with a clumsily
looking ring which has a piece of copper let
into the inside, and this, though in constant
contact thorough out is supposed (aided by
the moisture of the hand) to keep up a gentle
but continual galvanic current, and so to al
leviate or remove rheumatism. This notion
has an air of science about it which may per
haps redeem it from the character of mere
superstition; but the following case can put in
no such claim. I recollect that when I was
a boy a person came to my father (a clergy
man) and asked for a “sacramental shilling,”
i. e. , one out of the alms collected at the Holy
Communion, to be made into a ring, and worn
as a cure for epilepsy. He naturally declined
to give one for “superstitious uses,” and no
doubt was thought very cruel by the unfortu
nate applicant. Ruptured children are ex
pected to be cured by being passed through a
young tree, which has been split for the pur
pose. After the operation has been performed,
the tree is bound up, and if it grows together
again, the child will be cured of its rupture.
I have not heard anything of this for many
years; perhaps it has gone into disuse. There
is an article on the subject in one of Hone’s
hooks, I think, and there the witch elm is
specified as the proper tree for the purpose;
but, whether from the scarcity of that tree,
or from any other cause, I am not aware that
it was considered necessary in this locality.
Ague is a disease about which various strange
notions are prevalent. One is that it cannot be
cured by a regular doctor-it is out of their reach
altogether, and can only be touched by some
old woman’s nostrum. It is frequently treat
ed with spiders and cobwebs. These, indeed,
are said to cccitain arsenic; and, if so, there
may be a touch of. truth in the treatment.
Fright is also looked upon as a cure for ague.
I suppose that, on the principle that similia
similibus curantur, it is imagined that the shak
ing induced by the fright will counteract and
destroy the shaking of the ague fit. An old
woman has told me that she was actually cured
in this manner when she was young. She had
had ague for a long time, and nothing would
cure it. Kcw it happened that she had a fat
pig in the sty, and a fat pig is an important
personage in a poor man’s establishment.
Well aware of the importance of piggy in
her eyes, and determined to give her as
great a thcck as possible, her husband came
to her with a very long face as she was totter
ing down stairs one day, and told her that the
pig was dead. Horror at this fearful news over
came all other feelings; she forgot all about
her ague, and hurried to the scene of the catas
trophe, where she found to her great relief that
the pig was alive and well; but the fright had
done its work, and from that day to this (she
must be about eighty years old),' she has never
had a touch of the ague, though she has re
sided on the same spot. Equally strange are
some of the notions about small-pox. Fried
mice are relied on as a specific for it, and I am
afraid that it is considered necessary that they
should be fried alive. With respect to the
whooping-cough, again, it is believed that if
you ask a person riding on a piebald horse
what to do for it, his recommendation will be
successful if attended to. My grandfather at
one time used always to ride on a piebald horse,
and he has frequently been stopped by people
asking for a cure for whooping-cough. His in
variable answer was, “ Patience and water
gruel ;” perhaps, upon the whole, the best ad
vice that could be given. Ear-rings are con
sidered to be a cure for sore eyes, and perhaps
they may be useful so long as the ear is sore,
the ring acting as a mild seton ; but their effi
cacy is believed in even after the ear has healed.
Warts are another thing expected to be cured
by chai ms. A gentleman well known to me,
states that when he was a boy the landlady of
an inn where he happened to be took compas
sion on his warty hands, and undertook to cure
them by rubbing them with bacon. It was
necessary, however, that the bacon should be
stolen ; so the good lady took it secretly.from her
own larder, which was supposed to answer the
condition sufficiently. If I recollect rightly,
the warts remained as bad as ever, which was
peihaps due to the bacon not having been bona
Jide stolen. Ido not know whether landladies
in general are supposed to have a special facul
ty against warts ; but one, a near neighbor of
mine, has the credit of being able to charm
them away by counting them. I have been
told by boys that she has actually done so for
them, and that the warts have disappeared. I
have no reason to think that they were telling
me a downright lie, but suppose that thbir im
agination must have been strong to overcome
even such horny things as warts. A mere co
incidence would have been almost more remark
able. -There is a very distressing eruption
about the mouth and throat, called the thrush,
common among infants and persons in the last
extremity of sickness. 'There is a notion about
this disease that a person must have it once in
his life, either at his birth or death. Narses
like to see it in babies ; they say that it is
healthy, and makes them feed more freely ;
but, if a sick person shows it, he is given over
as past recovery, which is really indeed ex
tremely rare in such cases. lam no doctor,
and do not know whether the disease is really
the same in both cases, but it appears to be so.”
Pork and pie have a great deal to answer for
in this country, and we wish most heartily that
the old Jewish law regarding the usage of the
former could be observed by our people. Few
persons have digestive organs of sufficient
strength to master this meat, and whether we
eat it boiled, roasted or fried, or more indiges
tible still, in the shape of sausage .meat, it is
almost certain to rebel against us. It is but
seldom that we ever use this food in our fami
ly, but we had the curiosity the other day to
ascertain how much fat or grease was con
tained in two big doggy-looking sausages,
weighing half a pound. The result was that
over two table spoonful of clear lard was ex
tracted from those two sausages alone. We
have frequently seen men, aird women too,
eating this sort of diet, and have heard them
complain that “it did not sit very well.” We
should think not. A table-spoonful of lard
between the sensitive coats of the stomach is
not apt to induce the most delightful sensa
tions, and those persons who persist in using
pork in any shape, would find themselyes
much better off without it. Down with the
sausage 1 Let us have no more of it; it has
created enough distress already, and we hope
it will disappear from our table entirely. We
are borne out in our dislike of pork by medi-
. cal testimony of a high character. Repeatedly
have physicians declared that it was unwhole
some, and so on ; but still the people cannot
i relinquish the forbidden food. We are
“ down” on pie, too; not, however, in so
great, a degree as we condemn pork. Pies,
made in the proper manner, are not necessarily
unwholesome, but in the hands of ordinary
cooks they are tremendous weapons of offense.
: The unwholesomeness of pies arise mainly
; from the quantity of butter (shortening) em
ployed in the pastry. Fruit baked between
crusts is not unhealthy, but the crust itself is,
and lies heavily on the stomach. The butter
turns sour, gives flatulence, and creates dis-
■ tress generally in persons of ordinary digestive
force. In the country everybody' eats pie ; at
morning, noon and night there is a deluge of
pie, which old and young eagerly attack. The
’ little children cry for it, the old ones demand
> it; and we heard with horror, on one Dec i
sion, a woman say she had baked seventeen
pies for the week. “How many are there in
your family?” we asked. “Two,” she said.
Comment is superfluous. Here are two per
sons who eat seventeen pies in a week, quite
as a matter of course. They were always
sighing and complaining; the husband was
: downcast and unhappy, and always taking
“ tonics,” and they were at a loss to imagine
. why life seemd so commonplace and dull. We
ventured to suggest that the seventeen pies
had some responsibility in the matter, but
i were met with scorn and derision. This is not
■ a solitary ease; wo juight cite jaauy others.
and if the reader lives in the country his ob
servation will bear us out in our statement.
Pie is a good thing in its way, but it is not a
household god, and to live on it is to be dys
peptic and lull of all manner of minor trou
bles. The man who introduced pie and pork
as articles of diet has a great deal to answer
for; and consumers of such edibles have
usually a heavy doctor’s bill to settle annu
ally. — Scientific American.
{Written for the Sunday Dispatch.]
By G. C. Howard.
“L’amour, I’amonr!
Chantez ma belle, chantez toujours.”
My far one’s form moves through the air,
As if her dwelling place were there ;
So sylph like in its bounding pace,
Unconscious of bewitching grace.
My fair one’s face with beauty beams—
My thoughts by day, at night my dreams;
Its radiance and perfections tell
Where purity and goodness dwell.
My fair one’s bosom heaves for who ?
. Oh 1 could I answer that, how true
Through all my life my faith I’d prove,
To dwell within that seat of love.
My fair one’s eyes fond youth beware
The magic power that lingers there,
Or else like mine your hearts would prove
Less pain to die than cease to love.
My fan’ one’s smiles shows the white chain
That binds my fluttering heart and brain,
While splendors throw a charm around
In the bright circle all are bound.
My fair one’s voice, ’tis music”s soul
That my fond senses all control.
Fresh from its native coral cave
It echoes through the air’s mild wave.
My fair one’s tears they flow, for why?
I know not, but the trembling sigh
That dies upon her perfumed breath
Speaks of devotedness to death.
Oh, be forever what thou art!
A joy to all who know thee living ;
And when from earth you must depart,
Go mingle with the stars in heaven.
gtemsi for
A Turkish Wife. —During the plague,
says a doctor who had traveled much in the East, a Turk
of distinction, at Amasia, requested me to visit his wife,
who was ill. The women of Amasia are reputed to be the
handsomest in Turkey ; and this lady was considered,
even among them, as an extraordinary beauty. Her hus
band’s name was Jassuf Aga ; he had resided at Constan
tinople, and obtained an official appointment in his native
place, Amasia ; but on the removal of the pacha who
conferred it, he was deprived of his office. With the au
thority over the town, he lost also his authority in his own
house, where his wife reigned absolute mistress. She was
a Turcoman, and had, from mercenary motives, married
her husband, who had seitled upon her a considerable
dower, and to this was added a handsome fortune left by
her lather. The Musselim, as he was called, on the other
hand bad become reduced in circumstances, and his wife
allowed him very little for his support- The poor fellow
was shabbily dressed, while she glistened with jewels.
The lady had several negro slaves to wait upon her—he
had not so much as an attendant to carry his pipe. Before
I entered the harem, the husband begged me to wait a lit
tle in the courtyard ; and when all was put to rights, I
was ushered in. Ihe women’s apartment is arranged in
the tame manne ras the men's The room was square ;at
the entrance there was a small place where people took
off their slippers. The lady was seated in the corner of a
sofa at the window, and at the farther end was a railing,
where the female slaves awaited the commands of their
mistress. She never stirred, either for her husband or tor
me. A more beautiful woman 1 have scarcely ever be
held. Iler bracelets and necklace were garnished with
emeralds Her cattan of velvet was embroidered with
gold, her pipe was enriched with diamonds, and a great
number ot precious stones adorned her fingers and the
clasp of her girdle. As soon as I had seated myself,
she ordered the slaves to bring me a pipe and coffee,
and complained of her ailments, which seemed to be
rather imaginary than real. I recommended exercise
and change of air “ Yon are right,” replied she.
“lam the daughter of a Kurd, a soldier. I can climb
mountains and tame the wild horse. Formerly I could
rove at liberty about the country, and needed no vail
when I went abroad. What occasion, indeed, has an hon
est woman for avail? There I lived, there I breathed;
now I am obliged to muffle myself up, now I crawl about
gloomy and silent, with a troop of slaves continually at
my heels, and visit stupid Turkish women, with whom I
am forced to associate. Yes, the air will do me good, and
liberty still more.” The husband heard my advice with
evident dissatisfaction ; she observed it, and desired him
harshly to go and order some more coffee, and not come
back till lie should be sent for. He accordingly went and
left us alone. “Thou hast seen the old brute,” said the
lady to me ; “he is the real cause of my illness, and that
consists entirely of ennut, which I feci with him. He is
unfortunate, and what pleasure can there be in living with
a man who has no authority in the town?—nay, who even
has nothing to eat My dear soul, is there no way of get
ting rid of him ? Thou art the king of physicians, the
ouintessence of doctors : canst thou not give me some lit
tle thing or other which, by the blessing of God, can re
lease me from him ? Then would I return to the country
where I was so happy, and live as I was wont from my
youth up, and foiever leave this town, which may God
sweep from the face of the earth.” I was not tempted to
aid her in poisoning her husband, and only repeated my
advice to her husband to take her Uito the country, and
to give her plenty of exercise. This anecdote I relate to
show how little scruple is felt in Turkey to the use of poi
son, and also what mistaken notions are sometimes enter
tained respecting the women of that country.
French Women. Dr. Bruix, a
French author of some note, in alluding to his gay and
vivacious countrywomen, said, “A woman, pretty in
France, wonld be ugly elsewhere ; a gifted woman in
France, will be so everywhere;” and Madame de Girar
din, “In France, except the blue-stockings, all the wo
men are women of mind.” There is some light thrown
upon the peculiar superiority some writers claim for
French women by an article in Once a Month, to the effect
that a certain fairy having called together all the daugh
ters of each, meted out to them gifts in the following pro
portion :
“She gave to the young girl who represented the Gas
tiles, hair so black and so long that she could make a
mantilla of it.
“To the Italian girl she gave eyes, sparkling and bril
liant as an eruption of Vesuvius at midnight.
‘ To tne Turkish, an embonpoint round as the moon and
soft as eider down.
“ To the English, an aurora borealis, to tint her cheeks,
her 1 p , her shoulders.
“'Io the German, such teeth as she had herself, and
what is not worth less than pretty teeth, but which has
its price—a feeling heart, and one profoundly disposed to
“To the Russian girl she gave the distinction of a
“ 1 hen passing to detail, she placed gaiety upon the lips
of a Neapolitan girl, wit in the head of an Irish, good
sense into the heart of a Flemish ; and when she had no
more to give, she prepared to take her flight.”
The Parisian alone had been forgotten, but all the gifts
being gene, the question was how to remedy the diffi
culty. At length the fairy proposed to many favorod
ores, that each snould bestow unon the forgotten sister, a
small portion of her recent donation, by which she her
self would lese but little, and contribute largely to the
haj piness of the other. They gracefully acquiesced, and
ai j reaching the Parisian, threw her, as they passed, one
a little of her beautiful black locks ; another a little of the
rose ot her complexion ; this, some rays of her gayety ;
that, what she could of her sensibility. And it was thus
that the Parisian, at first very poor, very obscure, and
very down-hearted, found herself in an instaut, by this
act of sharing much richer and better endowed than any
of her companions.
A Fickle Scotch Bride. —Lately in a
parish church not a hundred miles from New Pitsligo, the
precentor proclaimed to the assembled congregation “a
purpose of marriage” between a widower and a young
woman. No objections were offered to the proposed union,
and a certain day had been fixed on as the wedding-day.
The usual ceremony of “feet washing” was pleasantly per
formed on bride and bridegroom at the bride's father’s on
the previous night, and “all went merry as a marriage
bell ” Tfie knot was to be tied at five o’clock, P. M., at
w hich hour the bride and her party were to meet the
bridegroom and his. The marriage feast was spread at
the bride’s father’s, and all things were ready. The bride
groom, according to custom, dispatched a brother and an
other young lad as ,‘sends,” with his compliments to the
bride, and to bring her with them. Five o’clock came,
and Mess John with it to link the happy pair together.
Six o’clock came, but neither bride nor bridegroom had
yet made their appearance. Mess John, getting a little im
patient, sent a messenger to hasten their coming, but said
messenger, like Noah's raven, did not return with either
“alms or answer,” and the parson’s stock of patience being
almost worn out, he himself, at 6.30 P. M., set out to inquire
about the non appearance of the contracting parties. Here
he was met by one of the “sends,” who said that the bride
had changed her mind, and would not come to be married.
The parson’s advice was asked as to what was to be done
under the circumstances, the bride having assigned no
reason for the sudden change that had come over the
spirit of her dream. The advice given was to go and ask
her reason for not fulfilling her promise ; but lo and be
hold, when the bridegroom and two men went to the
bi ide’s lather, they were told that she was off, and could
not be found, and wjfh her the other “send,” a young man
of 18, with w hom, it is said, the bride had been previously
com ting, and was very deeply in love. The disconsolate
bridegroom returned, aud for the night the marriage was
quashed. Some friends pursued the runaway bride and
her lover, who it is stated, took the train for Peterhead,
w here they were that night caught and brought back—the
bride very much repenting the very rash step she had ta
ken in running away from her loving bridegroom. The
bridegroom, however, met his bride at her father’s next
day. forgave her, and a reconciliation on b >th sides was
made, and the two were indissolubly united for better or
Warning to Young Ladies. —The
London Star in its gossip with its readers, recently gave
the following good story, which it asserts to be quite pop
ular among certain circles of the metropolis : “ The pre
cocious young Lord A., whose wit has rendered him the
lien of the W Club, came out with a new joke the other
night before that honorable body’, that has added fresh
laurels to his already brilliant reputation ; enparenthese.se,
the W Club is composed of scions of the British nobil
ity, wno have arrived at the age remarkable for its rap
tures over pretty ballet dances, its affected drawl and
lisp in conversation, its tendency to drive a team tan
dun?. and to sport a showy ‘tiger.’ ‘You must know*,
my dear W.’s,’ said A., ‘that I was down a day or two
since at the horticultural fete at C. The bonrgeoise were
out in full force with their pretty daughthers upon
their arms, fresh and rosy as May mornings. I saw
a eharming face among the crowd that quite infatua
ted me, aha desirous of a closer observation I accordingly
edged my way carefully through the throngs, until I had
arrived within a few paces distant, and near enough to
distinguish the conversation proceeding between herself
ard mamma. She had the face of an ang fl; I gazed en
raptured, fascinated, awaiting anxiously for the latter in
dividual to cease her chat that the lovely creature before
me might respond thus giving me a chance to hear the
music of those exquisite lips. Presently mamma says—
My dear, how have you progressed in your botamy, I be
lieve they call it at School ? What is the name, of this
flower? Oh, don’t ask me, returns my angel—the hard
Latin names puzzles me horribly. The only two flowers
I can ever remember arc the aurora borealis and the deli
rii.m tremens. My sympathising W ’s imagine my indis
cribable consternation at the unparralleled ignorance of
the little sinner. Of course my dream was dispelled—l
can never forgive her for the shock I experienced.
The Women of Paris —Stephen Mas
sett, in his new work, “ Drifting About,” says upon this
subject: “I do not agree with my friend Belle Brittan that
‘the women of Paris are not handsome.’ I think, as a
general rule, that they are. But Ido agree with him that
there.is something indescribably neat, trim, and fascin
ating about them ; and that they take much more pains to
please, in little things, than cither the American or English
women ; and to me there is a certain indescribable witch
ery of manner about them wonderfully irresistible, and a
tilt Kiftcvy fwbftutipg. Crwwj I wv
bodorous,’ but give me a French woman before any other 1
Gad, it’s enuff to drive any nervous man into 1853 fits a
minute to Icok at ’em I For take the veriest and most
ordinary waiting-maid, and even if not pretty, she will
have a deliciously fitting dress, with such a pretty little
waist, and look so trim, clean, andpieat. with a little whiter
‘cap a “top,”’ put on so wickedly, that it requires a
‘great deal of nice consideration,’ as John Brougham*
says, to pass ’em by without wishing them a happy Ne-.o
The Hair Crop of Brittany. —From--
15 to 40 years of age the hair is saleable abont severe
times, but the price diminishes on each occasion, because
of the greater coarseness of the product. Now, as the to
tal female population of the three hair-growing depart
ments stands at 893,000, of whom at least one-half are
abeve 15, it follows that if three quarters of them pursue
the trade, some 250.000 heads contribute in that district
alone to the supply of wigs and fausses queues to the rich
er classes. The thing is such a habit in Brittany, and is
regarded as so natural (though there symptoms that itis ;
diminishing), that if a young girl wants a pair of sabots
her mother w ill simply send her to market to exchange
her hair against them. The women who have contracted
the habit of dealing regularly, as long as they can get a
crop, cannot bear to have their hair long afterwards, so
when it turns grey, and is no longer saleable, they hack it
down themselves, and keep it in such a bristly state that
when they take off their coiffes it jumps up into a thorny,
aureole, like a firework in explosion.
Ornaments for the Hair.—Since
combs have been reinstated in public favor for ornament
ng ladies’ hair, jewelers have given special attention to
these decorations. Many of their manufactures are re
markable for their beauty and costliness. One of gold,
with the top in the form of a crescent, studded with tur
quoises and diamonds; a second, like an arrow of diamond
sparks; and a third, a vine with flowers drooping, the
blossoms of rubies and the leaves of emeralds, have re
cently been the admiration of the belles of Paris. All
varieties of precious stones are impressed into the service
—pearls, opals, beryls, topazes, garnets, and a host of
others. Wreaths are made of artificial flowers with dia
mond hearts, or with leaves entirely of gold and jewels.
Pearls aie wrought into a variety of forms : coral is also -
admissible, carved in clusters of gorgeous blossoms, or in
fragile delicate sprays.
The Love of Old Maids. —From a
late number of the .Home Journal, we have this grave
declaration : “ Say what you will of old maids, their love
is generally more strong and sincere than that of the
young milk and waler creatures, whose hearts vibrate be
tween the joys of wedlock and the dissipations of the ball
room. Until the young heart of woman is capable of set
ting fiimly and exclusively on one object, her love is liko
a May shower, which makes rainbows, but fills no cis
terns.” Whatever the, “ lords of creation ” may privately
believe up* n this matter, they afford us daily proof that
their hearts in opposition to their heads, incline to said
“milk and water creatures” evidently quite willing, as
we have remarked throughout our lifetime, to trust their
happiness to the May shower love, the formidable cloud
in the way of ball-room dissipation notwithstanding. Just
notice how some of them will toss their heads and shrug
their shoulders at the mere mention of old maids.
Weddings.— Speaking of this sub
ject, usually one of great interest to the fairer portion of
the community, the Cburt Journal remarks : “It appears
that in America they have established a ‘ tin’wedding—.
that is, the celebration of the twelfth year of marriage.
In Germany the first celebration is the silver marriage,
after twedty-flve years, and the second the golden, after
fifty years of marriage. Having commenced an innova
tion, and having tin, silver, and gold, thev might consti
tute a greenback wedding, payable at the' remotest date,
which would be in accora with the character of the se
curity named after. The golden wedding has been car
ried a step in the literary direction, by a very wealthy
Prussian gentleman giving a grand fete to all his relatives,
friends, and acquaintances to celebrate the fiftieth year—
of his subscription to the Beilin News.
A Suggestion.— An Eastern editor,
having been asked by one of his correspondents for his
opinion of women in general, answered in part: “ Wo
men are queer creatures, and what would please one
might mortally offend another. We will suggest, how
ever, that Sam Slick likens a young lady to a colt in a
pasture, He savs if you attempt to catch the colt by
chasing him the task will be vain, for he will only allow
you to get almost within reaching distance, and then
throw his heels at yuu. But if you take a pan of oats,
stand still, and draw him on by degrees ; he will soon ad
vance boldly, and you may then throw the halter over
his head.” He leaves the correspondent to dig the moral
out of this for himself I
Belles in the Kitchen. —“ From a
gentleman of Alabama, who came North from Richmond
a few days ago, under a flag c f truce, to Fortress Monroe,
we learn that, between the effects of the Emancipation.
Proclamation and the necessity the rebel chiefs arc under
of employing negroes on the fortifications, it is almost im
possible to keep any house servants in Dixie, and the first
ladies of Virginia are obliged to go to work in their own kitchens.
In Richmond, there are a few rebel women who still man
age to dress well; but a majority of the rebel sex took shab
by enough, and hare no luxuties whatever. «How different is
the situation of our loyal fair of the North, who. possess
more facilities than ever for all the luxuries of fashion and
style, and can scarcely even grow old in appearance.”
A Triple Peeress. —We learn from
good authority, that the famous Anne Clifford was the
daughter of an Earl of Cumberland, and wife, first of
Sackville, Earl of Dorset, and secondly of Philip Herbert,
Earl of Pembroke and Montgomery, and, consequently, .
throughout a long, final widowhood, was obliged, by the
rules of the Herald College, to divide her titles as she had
done her heart, between two dear, defunct husbands, by
signing herself “ Anne Pembroke Dorset and Montgom
ery,” according to the peerage creations of her two lords
—a case without parallel in the history or rom nice of the
English peerage.
A Bold Philosopher. —Dr Sulger, in
a lecture on “The Sphere of Woman,” maintained that no
woman had ever made a great and useful discovery,
started a new and striking idea, or done any other promi
nent and lasting good to mankind. We think the learned
Doctor would be inclined to recant if lie and his prevail
ing idea were subjected lor a short period to the tender
mercies of certain Woman's Kights conventions in our
community, who chance to differ in their views from his
assertion materially.
Parisians are just now remarkable
for the display of precious stones in their toilets. “Spirid
ion,” a correspondent of the Boston Saturday Evening Ga
tetie, recently stated that there were evenings at the Ital
ian Opera, when at least thirty millions of dollars of pre
cious stones could have been seen in the boxes. It was
quite a common thing to see two hundred thousand dol
lars of on a single lady's brow and neck at last
winter’s bans. _
Maternal Solicitude. —The women
of Poland have a watchful eye over their daughters, and
make them wear little bells on their person, to denote
where they are and what they are about The editor of
the Galena Times recommends the idea to the considera
tion of American mothers, as he thinks the youthful fair
of this “gem of the ocean” are a trifle (only a trifle)
“ fast ”
A Coquette.— A contributor to the
Wheeling Gazette asserts that when he hears of a coquette’s
marriage, lie is reminded of the custom of marrying Ven
ice to the sea, which, in spite of the ceremony, is as free to
all flags as before.
Curious Case of Poisoning. —The
upas tree, a native of Java, is so well known,
in that island for its deleterious qualities that
it is generally called the poison tree. Thera
are, we believe, only two species, the upas an
tiar and the upas tieute, both of which yield a
milky juice with which weapons are poisoned.
The Medicate states that a short time ago
a scientific gentleman at Berlin received a small
quantity of the condensed juice of the upas,
and resolved to try the effects of it upon him
self. One afternoon he accordingly took three
grains of this drug, which he found very bitten
and rather saltish. Immediately afterwards
he felt extremely gay, and a bad headache
which he had at the time disappeared, but
after awhile he experienced a sensation of op
pression in the stomach. Nevertheless, he had
the imprudence to go out; on turning a corner
he became aware of a considerable stiffness
along the spine ; this was about half an hour
after having taken the poison. An hour later,
while taking a cup of coffee, he felt a violent
shock throughout his body and stiffness at the .
extremities ; at the same time his head was
thrown backwards, he lost all power of speech,,
but his mental faculties remained unimpaired.
There was a slight remission of these symp
toms for a few minutes, and then a fresh attack
came on, and this continued until the patient
at length succeeded in expressing a wish to ba
taken to the hospital of La Charite As he
was being helped down stairs to get into, a car
riage a new attack impeded his progress, but
during the drive he had none, although the
slightest shake seemed to bring it on. These
attacks were attended with but little pain
deglution was very difficult, and the patient
felt very weak. After every attack the mus
cular system relapsed into inertness. At the
hospital emetics were immediately adminis
tered to expel the poison, if any remained ; the
vomiting was attended with sudden starts,
spasms in the glottis, and difficulty of breath
ing ; rhe latter symptoms, however, soon sub
sided. The pulse was at 72. Thirty drops of
laudanum were administered at the rate of ten
for every quarter of an hour, and thirty more,
in three parts, at intervals of half an hour.
The patient fell asleep, but was often awakened
by the contraction of the muscles of the back
and neck. Laudanum was again administered,
and sleep returned. On the following morning
the patient felt very weak, but only complained,
of stiffness in the left muscles of the neck ; the
pulse was at 66. Wine aud light food were
ndw given instead of medicine, and dn the sixth
day the patient left the hospital perfectly re
covered. — Galignani’s Messenger.
Soldiers Discovering Gold. —The
Berkshire, Mass., Eagle, says that when the
52d Massachusetts regiment was at Barre’S
Landing, La., a few of the boys went out to
dig some potatoes. While digging the pota
toes they dug up a small box, buried by some
skedaddling rebel, containing SBOO in gold and
silver. The boys, too honest to pocket the
change, although sadly in need of it, immedi
ately turned it over to Uncle Sam to replenish
his empty pockets.
Hie mail privileges to the army of
the Potomac have been greatly abused. . On
Thursday before last six large packages of ob
scene books were seized. Another package with a
penny stamp upon it contained a roll of solo
of sole leather weighing 40 pounds, for a pri
vate hi one of the batteries.

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