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New York dispatch. [volume] (New York [N.Y.]) 1863-1899, July 11, 1869, Image 6

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ONE TOUCH OF NATURE.
Words had parted us, years had severed us;
We had been friends from the dawn of our life;
Now in its noonday we seemed to be strangers, <
Nothing in common between us but strife.
Seemed — I knew it was semblance only—
Craved that the bitter feud would end;
Often my soul, in the night-time lonely.
Sighed out audibly, “Oh, my friend 1“
Passion returned with the light of the morning,
Vacant our gaze did we chance to meet;
Each one the other in silence scorning,
So we passed by in the crowded street.
Our locks grew gray, and our looks grew colder,
Thus to the world we played our parts,
Each grew sterner as each grew older—
Oh I the false pride of our foolish hearts.
Suddenly tidings of anguish crossed me,
Borne on the cold world’s careless breath—
Told me the child he had well nigh worshiped,
His only boy, lay stricken with death.
Pride passed away like a mist before me,
Gone in a moment was all my doubt;
My heart’s tide rolled like a torrent o’er me,
A pent-up torrent—l sought him out.
Sought him and found him where sadly lying,
His child sank hushed in life’s last decline;
Over the narrow bed of the dying
Our heads drooped lowly, his hand in mine.
Never a word or a sound we uttered,
Only our tear-drops fell like rain;
As our hands were grasped our souls were clasped—
Worlds cannot sever our hearts again.
[Original.]
THE POTOMAC SCOUT;
OR, THE
Adventures of Sergeant Hogan.
BY CA.PT. COXASGIIAM,
AUTHOR or “trank o’donnell,” “shbbman’s
MARCH THROUGH THE SOUTH,” “TH IRISH
BRIGADE,” &C., &C.
NUMBER V.
Out Reconnoitering—Mysterious Death of a
Comrade—Surrounded by Rebels—The Fight
and Escape.
In company with Sergeant Blew and a squad
of fourteen men, I started to reconnoitre the
movements of some blockade runners, which
were reported in the neighborhood of Mat
tocks Creek. We discovered two of them, and
attempted to capture them by dismounting
and opening a fire on the crew fromthe banks.
Our fire was returned, and finding that we
could effect nothing without artillery, we gave
■up the business. While returning along the
Westmoreland Road we heard the report of a
shot from a log house beside the road. We
rode up and demanded the cause of the firing
from an old woman who had come out to meet
ns.
She seemed agitated and frightened, and not
giving a satisfactory answer, we searched the
ouse, but discovered nothing suspicious, but
we made a haul of three ten gallon kegs of
whisky, a lot of tobacco, and a thousand dollars
in Confederate money.
While searching for a team to carry our
booty, we found the. body of a Union soldier
lying in the woods near the house. He was
dead, but yet warm. On examination we dis
covered that he was a cavalry scout, and that
there was another, horseman with him when he
was killed. We were at a loss to make out
what had become of his horse and comrade,
and could only account for it on the supposi
tion that when the shot was fired, the com
rade ran away, and the murderer made bis es
cape on his victim’s horse.
We scoured the woods around, but could not
get any trace of the fugitives. We returned to
the cabin, and threatened to shoot the old wo
man if she did not tell us who shot him, and
where he had gone to, but the old hag was ob
stinate in protesting that she know nothing
about it. I could scarcely keep the infuriated
men from hanging her up, and I believe her
age, more than her sex, saved her from being
lynched. There was no one with the old wo
man, but two small ragged children, not even
a negro servant from whom we could get the
least information. We were certain that the
■ deed was done by some one belonging to the
house, certainly, not by the old woman or
children.
The place belonged, to a man named Baggs,
whose son kept a tavern a little farther on.
We next rode up to the tavern, and when ap
proaching it we saw two men on horseback
making for the woods ; we pursued them for
some distance, but soon lost sight of them.
We returned to the tavern and found in a pen,
forty head of cattle, for Baggs was a rebel com
missary, and was evidently bringing them to
camp. We decently burned our comrade, de
stroyed the house and concerns of the mur
derers, loaded Baggs teams with our booty,
and prepared to return when we saw a squad
of about thirty rebel cavalry approaching. We
saw at once we would have to give up our
booty and fight our way. We hastily destroyed
the tobacco and the whisky, except what we
had in our canteens.
The tavern was at one side of the road, and
a large barn at the other. There were no trees
or shelter around, which was greatly in our
favor.
Sergeant Blew took command of seven men,
and barricaded himself in the tavern, while I
occupied the barn with the othor seven. We
placed our horses under us while we occupied
the top part. We at once port-holed the sides
of the building, and awaited the siege. Armed
witli seven-shooters, we felt confident of suc
cess, unices the rebels were largely rein
forced.
The reader will naturally ask why, with our
superior horses and arms, we did not charge
right on them, and cut our way through, or
depend on the speed of our horses. The reb
els were advancing along, the road by which we
should return. Had we retreated the other
way, we would be riding into the enemy, in
with others in our , rear; beside, we did not
give up the hope of carrying off the oxen, and
thought that after emptying some of the rebel
saddles from our concealed position we could
the more safely encounter the remainder, and
our horses needed the more rest, for they were
pretty well used up. Before entrenching our
selves, we secured our horses, and gave them
feed, which we found in the loft.
The rebels advanced within range of the
house, and there halted for consultation. They
at once understood our design, and knew that
if they were to ride up to us without the least
shelter to cover them they would be exposed to
a disastrous fire. After a short consultation,
they.unslung their carbines, and dismounted.
They left their horses in care of a few of their
party, and deployed as skirmishers to the right
and left of the road.
As there were no trees to shelter them, they
covered themselves with a kind of ridge that
sloped up to the houses. They had got quite
near us before a shot was exchanged. The
Btock-pen was beside the barn, and a party was
making for this shelter when we opened on
them, and two of them rolled over, dead or
wounded. ■ Our friends in the tavern had now
opened a pretty brisk fire, to which the rebels
replied, .firing at random at the house. The
thin boards were little protection against the
bullets, so I ordered the men to watch closely,
and when the rebels were going to fire, to he
down. The firing continued for about fifteen
minutes, without injury to our men, except a
few slight scratches, but the others had evi
dently lost some half dozen mon without mak
ing the slightest progress. Finding our fire so
destructive, they seemed to hesitate for some
time.
We soon saw a squad of about eight closing
together, as if for a charge. The whole party
opened fire on the houses, while the. storming
party made a dash for the kraal under cover of
it; but we were prepared for them, and as soon
as they got within open range, a well-directed
volley sent at least half of them to bite the
dust. The remainder gained the pen only to
find their death there, for the rails were
knocked down in crossing them, an I the oxen
broke loose, madly dashing away, thus expos
ing them to our fire.
I had, up to this time, one man of my party
killed and three slightly wounded.
A splinter of wood had struck myself in the
arm lacerating the flesh.
The rebels round it too losing a game and
fell back to hold another consultation. We
availed ourselves of this respite to bind up our
wounds, and to sink a grave at the end of the
• barn for our dead comrade into which we has
tilv laid him.
the rebel council of war came to a close and
we soon saw two men mount and ride off at
full speed making a safe detour around the
houses.
Sergeant Blew popped his head out of the
window of the tavern and shouted:
“Hallo, Sergeant Hogan I”
“ Hero old fellow 1” I replied, popping out
my head.
“Isay, Hogan, what are the devils up to
now?”
“ Can’t say, ’zactly, I guess they have sent
to camp for reinforcements or a gun to blow
us out of this.”
“Likely enough ; then the sooner wo Clear
out the better.” . . .
•‘ So I think, and while they are at safe dis
tance let ye break across, I’ll throw open the
door for ye, we will then get on our horses and
do tbe best we can; have you many hurt ?”
“ One man badly and three slightly.”
“ Bring the wounded man with you.”
Piew and his party soon found us bearing
the wounded man between. As soon as the
rebels saw this move they set up a yell of de
light and leaving a few in our front, the rest
swung round to gain the tavern. *
“Not a moment to be lost,” I exqlaynod,
“ every man to his horse.”
We first tied the wounded man to his saddle
ordering one of the men to take care of him
and another to lead the idle horse. The barn
had a large door, through which loads passed.
This I threw open and called on the men to be
ready, carbine in hand, the moment I gave the
word.
I waited until the tavern lay between ns and
the assaulting party, and then cried out;
“ Now, boys, let us dash on them 1”
The men were acquainted with my scheme
and ably seconded it, while our horses were
recovered from their fatigue. We dashed out
through the large door and hastily forming
four abreast swept down the road to where the
jeb el horses were picketed,
The body charging on the tavern gave a yell
of rage and despair, and opened a fire noon us.
without, seriously injuring any of the party.
Ahorse’a leg was.broken by a bullet, but the
led horse, supplied his place.
The.men in charge ofthe horses had them
on a turn of. the road, and never felt us until
we swept just on them ; they darted through
. the woods without firing a shot.
■ “Let every man,” I shouted, “lead a horse,
and cut the others loose.”
.. This was immediately done, and after giving
one rousing cheer at our success, and receiv
ing one parting volley from the disappointed
rebels, we dashed down the road and safely
reached camp with our prizes and the loss of
one man.
.iTobe continued.]
{Original. 1
MELYOTTE GREY:
08,
The Student’s Vengeance.
BY’ CAPT. CHAS. HOWABD.
Baxter Nonhoff and Rogerton Overton were
chums. They had been playmates in child
hood, and when they reached the ages of one
and two and twenty their respective fathers
sent them to the college at Worchester. The
two young men were tall, well shaped and
handsome, and soon found many friends in the
college and in the city in which it was situated.
One night the two chums went to the only
house of amusement Worchester as yet boasted
of. The play was the ever popular one of
“Hamlet,” and as it was the first opportunity
Rogerton had ever had of witnessing it, he was
enraptured. Nonhoff was seated at his chum’s
elbow, and presently Bogerton heard him ex
claim :
“An angel, by heavens!”
“What’s up now, Baxter?” said Overton,
without turning his eyes from the stage.
“Look yonder.”
Then Rogerton turned, and Baxter directed
his gaze to a young woman who, seated at the
side of an elderly gentleman with gold specta
cles, was looking listlessly around upon the
audience.
“Who is she, Rogerton?”
“Some adventuress looking about for a rich
husband,” was the reply, and the speaker
turned away.
Baxter bit his nether lip in vexation, and
continued to gaze impertinently at the un
known.
Rogerton occupied the interval between the
first and second acts in looking at the woman
who had fascinated his chum, whom he loved
with his whole soul.
She was the fairest being ho ever saw. Her
face would have thrown a painter or sculptor
into ecstacies. Nut brown curls fell in luxu
rious profusion over her shoulders, and lay
upon her swelling bosom. Her eyes—one gray,
the other black—seemed to read the secrets of
one’s heart, and a chill colder than ice passed
through Rogerton’s frame as he encountered
them. He believed them capable of charming
—as the serpent charms the bird—to destroy.
“Well, wnat do you think of her?” asked
Nonhoff, when his chum finished his scrutiny.
“ She is very beautiful.”
“An angel I”
“But angelic beings have not such eyes.”
“ What about them?”
“ Can you not see ? One is gray, the other
black as midnight clouds. Beware of them, for
they can lure a man to destruction. They are
in society what false beacons are on dangerous
reef's.”
Rogerton was in earnest; he spoke believ
ingly.
“Bshaw 1” sneered Norhoff. “They are bea
con. lights—not false ones—toward which I
shall steer.”
The play was resumed, but Baxter noticed it
not. His eyes rested upon the strange woman,
whom he already loved.
Arm-in-arm, at the conclusion of “Hamlet,”
the students left the house of amusement, and
spoke not till their room in the college was
reached. Then Regerton, noticing the per
plexed.look on his chum’s face, said :
“ ’Tis no use to trouble yourself about that
woman, Baxter. She is, no doubt, seriously
speaking, a proud heiress, who sooner than
wed a student would beg.”
Nonhoff remained silent, and no more words
passed between them that night.
Days went by, and handsome Baxter Non
hoff grew love-sick. He neglected his studies,
and even his chum, who loved him as a broth
er. He had, since the night when “ Hamlet ”
was played, learned the name of her who had
captivated him. It was Melyotte Grey. She
was the.only child of Joshua Grey, a million
aire, who resided in a beautiful residence on
Cedar Hill, one mile from Worchester. Bax
ter Nonhoff longed to enter the millionaire’s
abode and bask m the smiles of her who was
its sunshine. But he would not go thither
without a pretext. He waited for one. At last
it came.
One evening Baxter stood at the gate which
opened on the lawn in front of the college. He
heard a step approaching on the pavement,
and raising his eyes he encountered those of
Miss Grey. He did not dare not address her,
for, as yet, they had exchanged no words ; and
as she passed, she bowed a silent good evening.
The. entranced student followed her with his
gaze, and saw her lace handkerchief fall from
her side to the ground. She seemed not to no
tice her loss, but swept on majestically as be
fore.
As Melyotte turned into another street, Bax
ter threw open the gate, rushed forward and
fleked up the highly scented and costly hand
kerchief. Then holding it with his fingers’
ends, as though it were saturated with a poi
son, he hurried to his room, where he con
fronted his chum.
“See !” he cried, “ Venus has lost her ker
chief.”
Overton looked up from his geometry.
“ What do you mean ? Are you crazy ?”
“ Allow me to answer your last inquiry first.
lam not crazy—at least I have.received no pass
for Blackwell’s Island, and I mean just what I
say—Venus has lost her kerchief. You don’t
understand me, eh ? I’ll explain. The modern
Venus is Miss Melyotte Grey.”
“Yes, yes ; let me see the article,” and Ro
gerton extended his hand.
Baxter approached and deposited the ker
chief on the table, at the same time glancing
at his chum’s hands.
“I see, Bax, you don’t want me to touch it,
for I’ve been to the laboratory. Well, I won’t.
It is a delicate thing, isn’t it? Lost it, eh?
How lucky you were to find it. Of course you
will keep it—as a curiosity, you know ?”
“Keepit!” cried Nonhoff. “I shall do no
such thing. I shall return it to her.”
“Through the post-office?”
“No ; I will take it to Cedar Hill. I’m going
now. Won’t you accompany me ?”
“Thank you Bax; twojproblems to be did to
night. I wish you a pleasant time—plenty of
growls from old Grey.”
With a smile Baxter left the room, and his
chum was alone. He would have dissuaded
him from going to the home of Melyotte Grey,
but he knew his would have been of no
avail. Rogerton was a deep young man—he
was a reader of faces, and he had read the mil
lionaire’s daughter’s. He saw that a fickle
heart beat in her bosom, and feared the result
of Nonhoff’s fascination.
The night was fast wearing away, and the
stars were paling in the azure vault, when Non
hoff rushed into the room. Overton was still
seated at the table,
“Oh, Rogerton!” gayly shouted Baxter, “I
have seen and conversed with Venus, and she
told me to call again.”
“ You will not do so.”
“ I will.”
“Booh! Bax. Do you think the millionaire
would let his daughter wed you ?”
“ I do not care what his ideas are,” replied
Nonhoff. “If she loves me, it is enough.
‘ Love levels all,’ you know.” Then the two
students retired.
Baxter Nonhoff became a constant visitor at
Cedar Hill. The Sabbath evenings he was
wont to spend with Rogerton, he now passed in
the presence of Melyotte Grey, and with pain
ful heart Overton noticed the course matters
had taken. Often, when alone, did he loudly
curse her who was stealing from him the love
of his dear friend.
Six months after his self introduction to Miss
Grey, Baxter hinted to his chum about propos
ing, and Overton resolved to partially forestall
him by ascertaining if the millionaire was will
ing to accept the student for a son-in-law.
One afternoon Bogerton made his way to
Cedar Hill, sought and obtained an interview
with Mr. Joshua Grey in his study. Our friend
entered at once upon bis errand, by telling the
old gentleman all. He gave him a sketch of
the life of Baxter—which was without a blem
ish—and concluded by asking his auditor if he
would consent to the marriage of Melyotte and
his chum.
Mr. Grey, after a moment’s silence, removed
his gold-nmmed spectacles and said:
“I thank you, Mr. Overton, for what you
have told me. God has given mo riches, but I
am not miserly hr proud. lam willing, aye, I
desire, sir, that my daughter marry her lover
and your friend, Mr. Nonhoff. When he weds
Melyotte, I shall start him in business, satis
fied that he is an honest, upright young man.”
For a moment Rogerton Overton Was happy;
but, then, the eyes of Melyotte Grey appeared
before him, and he inwardly cursed the day
that had brought him to Cedar Hill. Thank
ing the millionaire for his decision, he left the
mansion without encountering, in person, the
woman whom he despised. He did not wish to
see her.
The following Sabbath, Baxter proposed, and
was, to his inexpressible joy, accepted. On
his return to the college ha embraced Overton,
and told him all.
The tidings fell like lead upon the heart of
Bogerton, and it , ■.
" Seemed if an angel up in the clouds,
Was aingiug to him in hell.”
That day six months hence, the wedding was
to take place, and great preparations were
made at Cedar Hill for the event.
The news of Baxter’s betrothal soon became
Known to all the students, and they camo to
offer their congratulations to the happy man.
Bogerton stood apart with an aching heart.
There was in the College a student named
Cooper Wiley, who shared Overton’s feelings.
Quite an intimacy had sprung up between
them, and they were often together.
] Ths six months quickly rolled around, and
the evening preceding the wedding-day came.
At the request of Mr. Grey, the soon-to-be
son-in-law invited all tbc students and profes
sors to the festive gathering.
Without the knowledge of the bridegroom
expectant, the students purchased a silver tea
service for the bride that was to be. On the
evening above-mentioned, young Overton,
while walking the streets in a meditative mood,
encountered Joshua Grey, hurrying toward
the college. The face of the millionaire was
the picture of despair.
“My God! Mr. Overton,” he shrieked, and
fell forward upon the student.
“ What is the matter, Mr. Grey, tell me ?”
“O, Melvottel”
“ What ill betides her ?”
“She is gone 1”
“Dead?”
“O, no, no, worse than dead I”
“ Where is she, and what has happened to
her ? Speak”—and Bogerton shook tho old
man violently.
“She has eloped with Albert Jason, the
banker’s son.”
“Then she was merely playing with Baxter.
I feared this.”
When Mr. Grey became calm he told Over
ton all about his daughter’s elopement with a
heartless roue. She had left the mansion two
hours before to invite, she said, friends to the
wedding. She went directly to the wharf, met
her rich lover, entered a vessel which bore
them away. A letter left by the woman in her
boudoir, informed her parents of her plans,
and with a crushed heart the millionaire
sought the friends of Baxter Nonhoff.
“Break the news to him gently, Mr. Over
ton. I cannot. You know not how I love him ;
poor fellow, my hopes are dashed to earth,
never to rise again. God can forgive her; I
never!” and pressing Rogerton’s hand the
father hurried away.
Slowly the student bent his steps toward the
college. In the hall he met Cooper Wiley,
whom he acquainted with the situation, ana
together they entered Nonhoff's room. Bax
ter was seated at the table, writing.
“ Hello, boys 1” he cried, rising. “ Glad to
see you. This is the last night of bachelor
hood for mo—to-morrow—blissful day l—l wed
an angel 1”
Then the speaker noticed the deathly pallor
on the faces of his friends, and shrank trom
them:
“ Speak, boys I” he cried. “ Something unu
sual has happened.”
“Baxter ,” began his chum, there he
paused.
“Tell me,” demanded Nonhoff. “Keep me
not in suspense. I can bear it now.”
“ Melyotte has eloped with Bert Jason,”
said Cooper, slowly and distinctly.
Baxter moved not. His friends expected to
see him sink under the tidings ; but he stood
erect without support. A faint smile parted
his lips.
“It is true J” he said, half interrogatingly.
“ Too true,” answered Overton. “ Mr. Grey
told, me a short time since.”
Then Baxter’s face assumed an ashy hue,
and he walked to his desk. The two young
men did not, could not, move—some invisible
chains seemed to bind them to the floor. Rais
ing the lid of the desk, Nonhoff reached in
and drew forth a revolver. Then the couple
found motion, and sprang forward; but too
late. When they reached Baxter he lay on the
floor with blood and brains oozing from a
frightful wound in his tpmple, and the instru
ment of death still smoking, .clutched in his
right hand.
_ For some moments they silently regarded the
dead, and then mechanically raised the body
and laid it on the bed.
“ This is a woman’s workl” cried Overton,
breaking the stillness. “And I swear to fol
low her, and mete out unto her a terrible
vengeance.”
“I .am with you, Bogerton,” said Cooper,
and the two joined hands over the ghastly
corpse.
Tho report of the revolver was heard through
the building, and students and professors
rushed into the room, and gathered round the
bed. Overton told them of Melyotte Grey’s
false heart, and curses, not loud but deep,
were.uttered against her.
Water was at hand, the blood and brains
washed from Baxter’s face, and one by one the
students took their departure, leaving Cooper
. and Rogerton with the dead. A telegram was
at once sent to [Nonhoff’s parents, and the fol
lowing day the two friends took the body to
them. The grief of the aged parents is in
discribable, for Baxter was their only child and
the comfort of their declining years. The sor
row of Mr. and Mrs. Grey was poignant, and
they caused an imposing monument to be
erected over him who was almost their son.
After seeing Baxter laid in the grave. Over
ton and Wiley returned to college, and longed
for the ending of the term. At last it ended,
and the two students prepared for their 1-e
--venge. They had discovered that Melyotte
and Jason were in tho Cresent City.
I shall hunt her down, Mr. Grey,” Rogerton
said to the father of Melyotte, one day.
“ Baxter Nonnoffs spirit .calls aloud for ven
geance.”
“Mr. Overton I can analyse your feelings.
He was a brother to you. Deal with her as
though she were not my child.”
Then the vengeance hunters loft Worcester
for New Orleans, and arriving there discovered
the whereabouts of the fugitives. They
moved in the circles of fashion, and balls and
receptions were given in their honor. Melyotte
devotedly loved her dissolute companion, and
the friends {determined to strike her the first
blow through him.
Albert Jason was a great gambler, and, thor
oughly disguised, Cooper and Rogerton sat
with him at the roulette table. The game be
gan, and the twain won. Jason bet heavily,
and lost great sums of money. At last, when
his last dollar had been swept into the hands
of his opponents, he sprang to his feet and ac
cused Rogerton of cheating. The young man
indignantly denied the charge ; the lie was
given and returned, and a challenge followed.
Jason.was an indifferent shot, but no coward;
while Overton was a splendid marksman. The
next morning, the principals and their seconds
met in the suburbs of the city. The distance
was measured, the shots fired, and Jason fell
upon his face, pierced to tho heart. Overton
was unharmed.
As Albert Jason fell, the door of a house near
by flew open, and Melyotte, with streaming
hair, ran forward and throw herself upon the
corpse.
‘‘Oh, Albert I” she shrieked, “ why have
they killed you ? O God ! why hast Thou
called him ? Restore him to life again, and
take me. O, Albert, Albert 1” and she covered
the yet warm cheeks with kieses, and moist
ened the lips with her tears.
“Come, Rogerton, our vengeance is com
plete—she suffers enough,” and Cooper grasped
the arm of his chum.
Overton tore the false beard from his face,
and approached the grief-stricken woman.
Their gaze met, and, uttering a heart-chilling
shriek, she fell backward—she had recognized
him 1 The student raised her head; the lips
parted; she tried to speak, but failed; and
she was dead. Tbe avengers turned and left
the fatal spot, satisfied with their terrible ven
geance.
During their absence from Worchester, the
millionaire and his wife died, and their wealth
fell into the hands of the parents of the unfor
tunate Baxter Nonhoff, to whom it bad been
bequeathed.
TELL YOUR MOTHER.
I wonder how many girls tell their mothers
everything? Not those “young ladies” who,
going to and from school, smile, bow, and ex
change notes and cartes de visite with young
■ men who are perfect strangers to them. I
grant this may all be done thoughtlessly and
innocently, for “fun,” and without any wrong
intention ; but surely—surely—such young
girls should be told that not in this spirit will
it be received; and that to hold themselves in
so cheap estimation is certainly to invite in
vite insult, how disguised soever it may be in
the form of compliment and flattery. Imagine
a knot of young men making fun of you and
your “ picture ;” speaking of you in away that
would make your cheeks burn with shame
could you hear it. All this, most credulous
and romantic young ladies, they will do, al
though they gaze at your fresh young face ad
miringly, and send or give you charming
verses and bouquets. No matter what “ other
girls do ;” don’t you do it. No matter how
“ ridiculous” it is that you have “never had an
offer, although you were fifteen last Spring;”
there is time enough and to spare yet. Girls
who, falling in love, insist on getting married
when they are babies, find studying after mar
riage tedious work. A premature, faded, va
cant old age! you surely cannot desire that.
When is your mind to be informed, or to grow,
if you place it in a hothouse, that only the
flower of love may be forced into early bloom,
to the dwarfing of every other faculty ? And
even should such a foolish flirtation end in
early marriage, how long think you, before
your husband would weary of a wife who only
knew enough to talk about dress or dancing ?
How painful for you to bo sflout, through ig
norance, should you chance to have intollgent
guests at your house. How painful, when your
only charm, youth and its prottiness, has
faded, to find your husband gradually losing
sight of you, as his mind expands, and yours
grows still narrower, with tbe inevitable cares
that only the brain of a sensible woman can
keep from overwhelming her. How painful, as
time passes on, and your children grow up
about you, to hear them talk intelligently on
subjects of which you scarcely know the names.
And this, remember, is taking the most
favorable view of the result of school-girl flirta
tions. They may end far more disastrously,
as many a foolish, wretched young girl could
tell you.
But let us not talk of this. Your yearning
for some one to love you and you only is nat
ural and right; it is a great need of every wo
man’s heart. But there is a time for every
thing ; and it is wisdom before seeking this to
wait. Your choice at fifteen would be very dif
ferent from your choice at twenty. A man who
would quite suit you then, would only dis
gust and weary you when you grew older. Till
school-days are over, therefore, you can well
afford to 'let love rest. Don’t let the bloom
and freshness of your heart be brushed off in
silly flirtations. Study all you can, and keep
your health. Render yourself truly intelligent.
I And, above all, tell your everything. “Fun”
I in your dictionary would sometimes be indis •
NEW YORK DISPATCH.
cretion m here. It will do you no harm to
look and see. Never be ashamed to tell her,
who should be your best friend and confidante,
all you think and feel. She was once a girl
herself; she had her drcam, and can under
stand it. Not having been always as wise as
she is now, she can spare you many a pang of
humiliation and regret if you will profit by her
advice.
It is very sad that so many young girls will
tell every person before “ mother” that which
is most imnortant she should know; it is very
sad that indifferent persons should know more
about her own fair young daughter than she
herself. Don’t you think so ? You find it quite
easy to tell your mother that you want a new -
dress, or hat, or shawl; but you would be quite
ashamed to say, “Mother, I wish I had a
lover.” Why so ? That is nothing at all to be ’
ashamed of. It is a perfectly natural wish;
and your mother was given you to tell you just
that, and a great many other things, which
would convince you, if you would listen to her,
that it was best for you not to hurry into life’s
cares and responsibilities till your soql and
body were fitted to carry you patiently and
hopefully through with them.
RICHARD ROCK'S
Since his wife died, Richard Rock had lived
alone and friendless. She, poor soul, had kept
some good feeling about the house, and now
and then a spare plate stood on the table, or an
extra chair by the fireside. Mean as he was,
he had never quite brought himself to say to
her, “ You shall not have a guest,” though he
prosed away by the hour about the “terrible
expense,” after each stranger departed. Nei
ther could he quite prevent a deed of charity
now and then—the gift ot a loaf, or an old
gown, or a few pence. The unhappy woman’s
kind heart would have its way at times, for
Richard Rock’s parsimony was not induced by
poverty, but by a miserly soul. He had only
been a very economical young man when she
first knew him; but the greed of gold grew
with every year, though they had no children
to whom to leave it, and were possessed of
enough and to spare for any ordinary lifetime.
Mrs. Rock died suddenly. A little better liv
ing, a few luxuries, the use of a carriage in
wet weather, and, above all, a little more love
and tenderness, might have saved her life.
Perhaps old Rock did not perceive it.
When she was gone he felt.her loss as he had
never dreamt he would. Her placid face and
mild blue eye hunted him. The neatness
which she had kept within the dilapidated
house, the skill with which she had prepared
the coarse viands, the quiet way in which she
ministered to all his wants, had scarcely been
understood before she was taken from him.
More wretched than he had been in all his life
before, he shut himself up alone in the great
barren farm-house, and lived there like a beg
gar. No one ever paused there for charity.
No guest entered his door. With its closed
shutters, and naked garden, where once the
wife’s simple flowers and herbs grew, it was as
desolate a place as one could dream of.
It was winter now, and the snow lay piled all
about it—was heaped upon the fences, in the
window ledges, and upon tbe chimney-pots.
Long icicles hung from the eaves; and within,
a little wretched fire burnt in one small fire
place, over which rich Richard Rock shivered
and shuddered, as though he had been the
poorest creature in the town.
It was nine o’clock, and a Saturday night.
Few lights burnt in the town, but the lecture
room was all aglow. There they held a fancy
fair, the proceeds of which were to be bestowed
in alms upon the poor of the place, who had
suffered much through the hard winter. Some
rich men had given considerable sums in aid
of the object; and one interesting individual,
bolder than the rest, had appealed to Richard
Rock with no success whatever. He had in
deed hinted that he himself stood in need of
aid, property was bringing in so little ; and the
charitable beggar fled affrighted. They talked
him over at some of the tables that night, and
said how, if Mrs. Rock had been alive, at least
a guinea would have been found somehow for
so excellent a - purpose.
When people are talking ill of one, they say
the ears burn. Richard Rock’s should have
been red enough that night, were this the case;
but instead, they were cold—cold as ice-cold
as was all the rest of his person, from head to
foot; not with quite a natural coldness, either.
He was not used to much fire, and he had an
old railway wrapper about his shoulders, over
his ragged great-coat. It was a chill that
seemed to come from the heart, and made him
shiver fearfully. The first shiver seized him
when the clock struck nine. It was such a
deadly, curdling chill, that it frightened Rich
ard Rock wofully; and before it had passed
away a knock at the door set him shivering
again. It was not a loud, fierce knack—just a
timid, tremulous rap or two; but none the less
did his heart leap into his mouth at the sound.
Who could it be, at that time of night ?
Richard Rock crept to the door, and unbarred
it as he asked the question. A figure, all
draped in gray, a shawl or a mantle over the
head, dropping down to the feet, stood with
out. It turned its face toward Richard Rock,
and clasped his hands, and said, in a voice that
set him shivering again.
“ I’m cold to-night, very cold, and I have no
shelter. Let me in, and give me a crust to eat,
and let me lie anywhere, and heaven will bless
you.”
Richard Rock shrank away.
“I never encourage beggars,” he said, and
shut the door and fastened it; but before he
had reached the fireplace, the knocking came
again.
Again he opened the door, and repulsed the
beggar with harsh words; but the being—man,
woman, or child, which ever it was—never
stirred from the spot. It stood just where he
had first seen it, and called him to the door
eleven times. On the eleventh he yielded, and
said:
“ Come in, then.”
The figure advanced, and approached tho
fire-place. There were two chairs always stand
ing beside it. One was Mrs. Rock’s into that it
dropped.
The gray drapery hid its face, but a pair of
strange bright eyes gleamed through tho sha
dow upon Richard Rock’s face. They fright
ened him again. In fear, rather than pity, he
went to the table, and brought to it a piece of
bread and a cup of milk. The singular guest
took them, and ate and drank. Then it sat
looking at the old man steadfastly. To break
the spell which seemed to be falling upon him,
Richard Rock spoke.
“You’re a stranger here, I suppose?”
“I come from away,” said the beggar,
not showing him tnore of the face than he had
yet seen.
“ You chose a bad time to travel,” said
Richard.
“I had work to do,” said the stranger.
“ For whom ?” asked Richard.
“ For the poor,” said the stranger.
“You look poor enough yourself,” said the
old man.
“But there are poorer than I,” said the
stranger. “In this very town many will die if
they have not neither fire nor food. I want a
gilt for them, Richard Rock.”
“You?” cried Richard. “Good heavens!
This is a trick, then, of that confounded fel
low with the subscription paper. I’m ”
The strange figure lifted its hand. “ A year
ago there was a woman here,” it said.
Richard started.
“She sat in this chair knitting,” said the
voice under the gray hood. “I think you
loved her a little; was it so ?”
“ Surely, I did,” said Richard Rock.
“ You married' her when she was a blithe
young girl,” said the figure; “and you made
her an old woman before her time. She toiled
wearily from morning until night. She lived
on coarse and common food.”
“ So did I,” said Richard.
“ She knew it,” said the being. “ She hard
ly blamed you. She loved you. You miss her
now sometimes ?”
“ Heaven knows I do,” said Richard.
“Yet you thought wine too dear to buy, and
let her die for want of it,” said the stranger,
“No, no,” cried Richard. “Who told you
that ? If I had thought that, I ”
“It is true,” said the stranger. “Yet she
died loving you. If she could come from Heav
en now and ask a boon of you, would you
grant it?”
“Heaven knows I would,” said Richard;
“but the dead never return.”
And then—so he afterward averred—the
figure arose slowly, and all tbe gray drapery
dropped away, and he saw, robed in white,
more beautiful than when he wooed her in her
girlhood, and with a shining halo round her
head, bis wife herself, and no other. He could
not speak.
She looked upon him with a gentle smile.
“ They said you would not receive me ; but I
made you,” she said, softly. “I knew you better
than they. Promise me, before I leave yon, to
do just what I say.”
Rich could only gasp, “ I will.”
“ A year from this night you will die,” said
the spirit. “You can take nothing with you
whither you must go. There are poor crea
tures dying of want close by ; succor them.”
“I will,” said Richard.
“ Give your gold to those who will use it for
the poor,” said the spirit, “ and blot out the
long selfish years by one of utter generosity.
At its end I will meet you. Richard, good-by.”
Tbe clock struck twelve as she spoke. He
saw her fade, as the rainbow fades from the
skies. He strove to clutch her robe, but it
eluded his grasp, and he fell fainting to the
floor.
From that hour Richard Rock was a changed
man. His gifts to the poor were countless,
and the will he made was full of wise and char
itable bequests. The houseless learnt that
under his roof they might find food and rest.
He died, as the spirit had foretold, a year
from the night of its visitation, and on his
death-bed revealed the story to the venerable
c lergyman, on whose authority it is repeated.
A couple ran off to get married,
and came back to the bride’s house, where she hum
bly sued for the forgiveness of her father, kneeling
at his feet, all tears. “Forgive, forgive me, dearest
father I” sobbed the lovely suppliant. “Forgive
you 1” exclaimed the old gentleman; “why, I am
only too glad to get rid of you. Your ill-temper and
idleness have been the plague of my life, and make
your marriage no loss to me, my dear child. So,
take her,” added the old gentleman, generously, ad
dressina the hannv •« and may you be happy.”
ETERNITY.
In joy or in sorrow, it will strike on .the. ear,
As our actions through life.have been murky or clear;
From its portals *tis certain no mortal can flee,
For there is “no such a thing as ceasing to be.”
My theme is unpleasing, both to young and to old—
To the wealthy, the lowly, to every degree;
But the wealthy, the lowly, aye, all must be told
That there is “ no such thing as ceasing to be.”
To the victor in battle, with vanity flushed,
The conquered still gasping on low-bended knee—•
Alike, and to each one, it can never be hushed,
That there is “ no such thing as ceasing to be,”
But the victor and vanquished together shall lie,
The once deai’ning huzza and the heart-breaking
sigh,
Like the rivulet’s ripple that speeds to the sea,
And proclaims in its “No ceasing to be,' 1
Yet be cheerful in traversing life’s rugged road;
Never halt on the journey your neighbor to goad.
Try to lighten his burthen, but teach him to see
That there is “ no such thing as ceasing to be.”
Ere the journey is closed, and you wearily look
Back over the programme, on each page of the book.
And the fruit’s boing gathered from life’s stunted
tree,
May the heart be impressedi “ There’s no ceasing to
. be.”
It cannot be disguised that mar
riage is an alarming episode in a man’s life.
Many a brave fellow who would face a battery
without flinching, and smile amid the deadli
est hail of musketry, finds his heart forsaking
him in that magic moment when he changes
from a gay young bachelor into a sober Bene
dict. A friend of the reporter has just passed
through the ordeal, and this is what betel him:
The ceremony was over, and the music and
dancing done. The company had retired, and
the bride had sought her chamber. The young
man had been a model boy from his youth up
ward. He had learned a great many things,
but, having no sisters, had never learned the
mysteries of a lady’s, toilet. Like Japanese
Tommy, he thought the amplitude of skirt was
designed to protect large dimensions, and
often wopdered to himself why the rosy-faced
creatures were not formed after the fashion of
men. Still'the bewitching face had power to
allure him, and he was willing to accept it in
atonement for what he supposed to be a singu
lar discrepancy in nature.
Ascending the, stairs to. the chamber, he
opened the door and peeped cautiously m. The
gas burned dimly, and weird shadows played
around the room. With a silent prayer for
safety, he entered and closed the door. On his
left the bod was shrouded m many a fold of lace;
but through the bar he perceived on the far side,
outlined beneath the covering, a form beauti
ful in its symmetry. On his right rose a huge
pyramid of skirts and snowy linen, crowned by
a throng of slender bars fashioned like a bell,
and, to the uninitiated observer, resembling
the old wire cage set every evening in the pan
try as a snare for vermin.
“ What the mischief’s that ?” he thought; but
he said nothing, restraining curiosity and pro
ceeding to disrobe. It must be confessed,
however, that his fears were the least bit ex
cited, and the perspiration began to bead his
forehead. Approaching the toilet table to lay
down his cravat, his hand struck upon the lower
half of a human jaw—a semi-circle of grinning
teeth staring him in the face. He started back
in terror, but said nothing, only tho simple
ejaculation, “ the devil I” But it wasn’t—only
false teeth; nevertheless the cold chills ran
over him, and ho was steadying his hand to
unpin his collar, when his eyes encountered
two half globes of some white linen substance,
resting on the toilet table, and a great braid
of hair, flanked by a huge coil behind them. Ho
started back surprised, bewildered; but as he
did so, his feet struck against a pair of flesh
colored tights, suspended from a chair, and,
with their patent calves and padding, looking
like veritable legs.
Astonishment held him spell-bound I If all
these were adjuncts, what in the name of heav
en had he married ?
He was turning to the bed to inquire, when
he stumbled over the hump of a Grecian bend,
and, falling, struck a little stand, knocking
from it a tumbler of water, out of which rolled
a glass eye.
“Gracious heavens 1” he frantically ejacu
lated, “is there nothing left of her?” and
springing to his feet, he bounded through the
door, calling for the bridemaids to come and
put his wife together again. His cries for help
soon brought tho household around him, to
whom he detailed hie grievances. The assu
rance that everything was right finally pacified
him. and, after much persuasion, he went back
to the mysterious chamber, and by this time
has probably become familiar with a fashion
able toilet.
An English paper says : The public
topic is Ireland, but the private theme is the
Prince of Wales. When the dinner is over, the
ladies have retired, and the gentlemen have
resumed their places and their wine, his Royal
Highness is sure to be very soon and very thor
oughly discussed. The old rumors bearing
upon his manner of life are rehearsed, and new
ones are added. And as persons are frequently
present on such occasions who speak that
which they know, and testify to that which
they have seen, the conversation is not untro
quently of a very piquant description. One
“ has it from the very best authority” that the
heir apparent called upon a certain very beau
tiful and brilliant American singer; but she,
having recovered from the startlement occa
sioned by the presence of such a visitor, main
tained her composure and her self-respect, em
phasized, perhaps, by a coloring of indigna
tion. The company agree that a visit by such
a visitor to such a person could have no grounds
for excuse, and could have but one explana
tion. Another says the Governor of— told
him he felt a great load of responsibility taken
off when the Prince had taken his departure ;
for while he was under his care he didn’t know
what scrape his Royal Highness might indulge
in; and a third informs us that another earl’s
daughter had gone to Paris to cover her shame
and the Prince’s crime, and a fourth relates
that the other day one of his maid servants
said to his wife :
“ Missis, is there anything the matter with
the Prince of Wales ?”
“Why do you ask, Biddy?”
“Oh, because,ma’am, I’eard one man say in
the homnious to another that he’d better mind
or he’d get shot yet.”
“ So you see,” added the gentleman, “those
stories must be circulating among the lower
classes, if they are discussed in the ’busses.”
The same speaker continues: “I recollect see
ing the Prince of Wales and the Duke of Edin
burgh step up to a group of ladies in the Bo
tanic Gardens, and enter into conversation
with them without removing the cigars from
their mouths. Indeed, they smoked right in
the ladies’ faces. Now, either the latter were
not ‘ladies,’ or the former were not gentle
men.”
“Well,” said a titled gentleman of high sta
tion and character, “ one thing is certain, Eng
land will not tolerate another George IV. A
licentious court in this country would produce a
revolution. We have seen an end of the Georges
as far as their vices are concerned.”
“ But the king’s licentious courses would be
more covered now than in the time of George
IV., ana so, however the peoplejmiglit suspect,
they could not feel sure.”
“ Don’t you believe it. With our freedom of
speech, liberty of the press, and popular jeal
ousy of the privileged classes, there would be
no keeping the court vailed from the people.
They would see through it without much prov
ocation.”
Such is the outline (I dare not print any
more than the outline) of a conversation which
is a conversation highly specimentary of what
is talked all over England, in dining hall and
servants’ hall, in omnibus and club-room, by
your West End host as he touches glasses with
you, by your East End shopkeeper as he tells
his tale of woe inflicted by a wandering count
and prodigal prince, by your barber as he cuts
your hair, and your Turkish bathist as bo rolls
you over on the marble slab.
An Illinois paper, the Peoria Zran
script, tells this story :
In the Winter of 1865 there resided in Terre
Haute, Ind., a Mr. William Cook, who had a
wife and one child, three years of age. Mrs.
Cook started on a visit with the little fellow to
a friend, and while waiting at the Union De
pot, Indianapolis, was approached by a gentle
manly-looking personage, who, after patting
and fondling the little boy, asked permission
to take him out and buy him some candy. She
gave her consent, and the stranger departed
with the boy. The lady waited for his return,
but he did not come back. Tne time for tho
departure of the train drew near, but still the
child could not be found. A search lasting
through days and months was unsuccessful in
revealing the whereabouts of the missing boy.
Advertisements were inserted in the leading
papers, and the skill of the detective force was
resorted to, but all without avail. Tho par
ents were finally forced to the conviction that
their child had either been murdered or had
died of grief.
In the year 1867, Clark Conard, formerly a
member of the Second Regiment, Michigan In
fantry, was arrested in the northern part of
this State on a charge of breaking open a safe.
He was convicted and sent to Joliet. Mr. L. B.
Perry, of Pontiac, an old New York detective,
hearing of the abduction of tho child, had
worked the case so far as to lead him to suspect
Conard, and, promising to use his influence to
get him pardoned for the crime of safe-break
mg, he induced him to divulge the whereabouts
of the child and the particulars of the abdue
tion.
Conard acknowledged the abduction, and
said it was done for the purpose of obtaining
the reward which he supposed would be offered
by the parents of the child. When he took the
child from the depot, he delivered it into the
hands of a woman whom he claims as his wife.
She was to keep it until the reward was of
fered, but fearing detection and arrest she es
caped to Michigan with Conard. The officers
were in close pursuit of Conard to arrest him
for the safe-breaking operation, and the pair
were obliged to abandon the child in Union
City, Mien. The county authorities there took
charge of tho child and sent it to the poor
house. The boy was an interesting one, and
was supposed to be an orphan. Bev. Mr. and
Mrs. Harshbarger, the Episcopal minister and
lady of that town, took the child from the poor
house and adopted it as their own. As they
were childless, they soon learned to love their
charge as their own, and the boy learned to
love them and regard them as his parents.
A few weeks ago Detective Perry went to
Union City and informed the foster parents
that he was in correspondence with the natu
ral parents of the child. The grief of the new
parents at this was uncontrollable, and when
the rightful parents arrived the others would
not give up the child until compelled to do so
by the course of law. Mrs. Harshberger feared
all the time that the child was yet a victim of
conspiracy, and on the 17th of last month ac
companied the boy to bis old home, and there
gave him up, when satisfied that all was right.
The mutual love the mothers entertained for
the child caused a lively love for each other to
spring up in their hearts, and when Mrs. Harsh
barger returned to her home she was somewhat
consoled for the loss of her adopted child with
the knowledge that she would always be wel
come at his home, and might see him when
ever she would.
In an exchange we find the follow
ing curious account of the origin of the rattle
snake i >”■ - ’-
The attachment of the Red Indian abo
rigines ot this famous reptile is proverbial;
among nearly all the tribes, even at this pres
ent day, it is seldom disturbed, but is desig
nated by tho endearing epithet of grandfather.
It is recorded, however, by the early historians,
that when one tribe desired to challenge ano
ther to combat, they Were in the habit of send
ing into the midst of their enemy the skin of a
rattlesnake, whereby it would appear to have
been employed as an emblem of revenge. And
as to the origin of the rattlesnake, the old men
among the Cherokees relate a legend to the
following effect:
A very beauttful young man, with a white
face, and wrapped in a white robe, once made
his appearance in their nation, and commanded
them to abandon all their old customs and fes
tivals, and to adopt a new religion. He made
use of the softest language, and everything he
did provod him to be a good man. It so hap
pened, however, that he could make no friends
among them, and the medicine men of the na
tion conspired to take away his life. In many
ways did they try to do this—by lashing him
with serpents, and by giving him poison, but
were always unsuccessful. But, in process of
time, the deed was accomplished, and in the
following manner. In was known that the
good stranger was in the habit of daily visiting
a certain spring for the purpose of quenching
his thirst, and bathing bis body. In view of
this fact, the magicians made a very beautiful
war-chest, inlaid with some mud-shells, and
decorated with rattles; and this chest they
offered to the Great Spirit, with the prayer
that ho would teach them how to destroy the
stranger. In answer to the prayer, a venom
ous snake was created, and carefully hidden
under a leaf by the side of the spring. The
stranger, as usual, came there to drink, was
bitten by the snake, and perished. The Chero
kee nation then fell in love with the snake, and
having asked the Great Spirit to distinguish it
by some peculiar mark from all the other snakes
in tho world, he complied by transfering to its
body the rattles which had made the chest of
sacrifice so musical to the ear, and so beautiful
to the eye.
The New Orleans Picayune tells
this story:
Some years since the daughter of Prince
Henry of Reuss Greiz, a small German princi
pality, in the middle of Germany, became
deeply attached to a young subaltern who
commanded the annual contingent furnished
the army of the King of Prussia. Of course all
thought of marrying him with the consent of
the prince was out of the question ; but it was
arranged that the young lieutenant should re
sign his position in the army, and together
they would escape to the United States. Em
barking at Antwerp they came to New York,
and were married there. But being young
and without experience in the ways of the
world their little means were soon exhausted,
and they found themselves in a strange land,
friendless, and in poverty. They were afraid
to communicate with any of their countrymen
lost the circumstances of their flight should be
come known and themselves arrested.
Unacquainted with our laws, and supposing
that the authority of their petty prince was as
potent here as among the grain fields of their
native land, they sought obscurity and shrunk
from their names and station being blazoned
abroad. At last, pushed to the extreme of
poverty, tho husband, who was an excellent
musician, obtained a situation in tho orchestra
at Niblo’s Garden, but learning that inquiries
had been made by'the Prussian consul of their
presence in the city, he threw up his engage
ment and came South, and in the Summer of
1867 fell a victim to the yellow fever. His wile,
now left alone, and reduced to the extreme
verge of poverty, applied for and obtained a
situation in a beer saloon in this city where
she now is.
It is a strange episode in real life, but a true
one, and exhibits as no moralist could describe
the vicissitudes of fortune. She is now, per
haps, twenty-gve years of age, small in stature,
with an elegant symmetrical figure, and a face
decidedly pretty. Her face is shaded with light
brown curls, and her manners and conversa
tion evince one accustomed to good society.
She displays a good deal of reluctance in talk
ing to strangers, but once interested in con
versation, she becomes animated and engaging.
She seems to feel her questionable position
very sensibly, and the slightest allusion as to
what she was, and is now, is sufficient to pro
voke her to tears.
A good story is told of two boys
living in Western New York, many years ago,
whose father, on his return from a visit to the
East, brought them as a present a silver
“ bull’s-eye” watch. There was a warm dis
cussion as to which of the boys should carry it,
but it was finally decided that one boy should
carry it one day, and the other the next, and
that the one not carrying the watch should
always have the key in his possession. This
watch was the only one in the settlement, and
the display of even the key was an enviable or
nament. One day the elder of the brothers
was to make a journey to the city, to be gone
two days, and, after a long and serious con
sultation, it was determined that he must
maintain the dignity of the family by wearing
the watch, but the younger was to retain the
key. So they bethought them to give it a good
winding, that it might run for its twice usual
period of twenty-four hours. The key was ap
plied and twisted vigorously for fifteen minutes,
when they found, to their consternation, that
the little machine no longer “ticked.” They
shook it, and thumped it; no signs appeared.
So a diagnosis was determined upon. After
careful inspection of the interior mysteries,
the elder brother exclaimed:
“I have it, Joel Don’t you see that fine
hair curled up in there? That’s what stops
it.”
“ Fact,” said Joe; “ that must be it. Can’t
we yank it out?"
A pin was at once bent up into a hook, and
“the hair” was “yanked” out. The watch
didn’t go any better when relieved of it, and to
this day the boys have not been permitted to
forget the watch with “ the hair” in it.
The following curious facts con
cerning Paris are taken from the Journal de s
Connaissances Medicates:
The total population is, in round number,
1,700,000, viz.: 750,000 men, 700,000 women, and
250,000 children. Of these 1,700,000 inhabit
ants, 400,000 live on their private property, or
on the produce of their professions, as govern
ment officials, 1 lawyers, physicians, and mem
bers of other liberal professions; 100,000 are
in schools, hospitals, prisons, or religious fra
ternities, 200,000 are engaged in trade, whole
sale or retail, in shops, markets or the streets,
1,000,000 are occupied in manufactures, either
as masters or workmen, and 35,000 are military
men of all ranks. Coming to more minute par
ticulars, manual labor employed in producing
all the various articles, large and small, consti
tuting what is called articles de Paris, is rep
resented by 416,811 working people. Of these
285,861 are men, 105,410 women, and 25,540
children. We now come to tho question, how
many hands are represented by steam in Paris ?
There are 1,800 engines in the capital, em
ployed in a variety of trades, and forming an
aggregate of 10,000 horses’ power. Now, as
one of the latter is equivalent to the working
power of seven hands, it follows that to the
416,811 working people above stated, we must
add 70,000 hands, or 35,000 individuals more.
Hence, if all steam-engines were suppressed
hero to-morrow, it would require an influx of
35,000 workmen to keep the daily production at
its present rate.
An exchange furnishes the follow
ing sad romance:
“For many months post a poor woman,
meanly clad, may have been noticed sitting at
the corner of Plum and Longworth streets,
Cincinnati, keeping a lonely vigil and waiting
for the coming of one who never came. Her
husband died in the army. She would never
believe that he was dead, and was firm in the
faith that he would again return to her. Con
stant brooding begat derangement. An im
poster told her that if she would take her
stand at one of the street corners every day
her absent husband would soon come back to
her. She did bo, and every morning the pa
tient watcher was found at her post, waiting
wearily despite wind and weather, and, regard
less of the jeers and smiles of passers-by, she
peered anxiously into every face, or gazed long
ingly toward the river, in search of the one so
dear to her, but whose features shall never
more gladden her eyes. Few that saw the
wan and weary watcher failed to bestow a
glance of pity, and many were the inquiries as
to her sad history. But the faithful sentinel
has left her accustomed stand, and her vigils
are ended. The officer came yesterday and
sent the pitiable creature to the Longview Asy
lum, where, perhaps, she will await her unre
turning husband until called upon to join him
beyond the dark river.
Mb. Catlin, the great traveler, in
his curious book called “Shut your Mouth,”
maintains that the Indian babe is much better
off than any other. Our babies (thanks to civ
ilization) die so terribly fast; feather beds, bad
nursing, heated air, and sleeping with their
Sunday Edition. July 11.
mouths open and their nostrils covered, het
says, kills most. But with the rude American
savage it is quite another thing. Catlin looked'
at the burial-places, where the skulls remain
a bove tho ground, and saw no babies’ heads.
None of our women die In childbirth,” said
the chief of the Pawnee-Picts, “ and hone of
our ,, J” es die * n teething: we seldom lose a
small child; we have no medical attendants.” \
Bad spirits, rum, fire-water, pills, doctors,
ground wheat, instead of buffalo flesh, and
maize, and other benefits (?) of civilization,
have done their work now upon these tribes;
but ft is still a fact that few children die, ana
that they are stronger and healthier than ours.
Whisky and rum are killing away the red men,
and women: but the babe of the savage, ac
cording to Mr. Catlin, has a very superior lima
of It to ours.
Philosophical happiness is to want
little and enjoy much; vulgar happiness is tn
want much and enjoy little.
Every man gas freedom enough, if he conlcf
only satisfy himself, and know what he is fit
for.
Solomon was undoubtedly right in sayina
that a double-minded man is unstable ip all
bls ways ; but we fear a half-minded one is nOk
better. I
In things of every kind, earthly as well as
spiritual, “godly simplicity and integrity” is
the only right course; and, whatever it may
cost, it will bring happiness in the end.
Religion is the final centre of repose; the
goal to which all things tend; apart from
which man is a shadow, his very existence a
riddle, and the stupendous scenes of nature
which surround him as unmeaning as the
leaves which the Sybil scattered in the wind.
If there is a man who can eat his bread at
peace with God and man, it is that man who
has brought that bread out of the earth by his
own honest industry. It is cankered by no
fraud; it is wet by no tear; it is stained by no
blood.
The poorest circumstances in life, with a re
ligious spirit of resignation, and an honest
and upright heart, are for better than the
greatest abundance and highest honors with
out them; for these cannot give that peace of
mind which the other can never want.
The Vicar of Doncaster (the Rev.
Dr. Vaughan) has been taken to task by an
over-scrupulous parishioner for having enter
tained the children of his parish schools with a
visit to a circus which was performing in tha
town. Tho doctor thanks his correspondent
for his kindly and well-intentioned letter, but
hopes, on reflection, he will regret having
written it. He ought to have credit, he thinks,,
for making inquiries and exercising due con
sideration in such a matter, and having found
that tho performances were in all respects un
exceptionable, he says he had no hesitation in
sending the children. Dr. Vaughan adds:
“It appears to me that, in proportion as a
clergyman is bound to protest against such
public amusements as are demoralizing in their
character, he is bound, on the other hand, to
show, by word and act, that he rejoices in those
popular recreations which are innocent and of
good report. I cannot fear that in this in
stance I shall ‘be found, like Samson’—to use
your own words— ‘ giving my strength and the
glory of the Lord to the uncircumcised Philis
tines.’ ”
On the 19th of February, Colonel
Franks was engaged near the village ofCham
ba with a body of rebels, and many prisoners
were taken.. One of them, a Bengalee, aged
about 54, was conducted before the authorities
to undergo interrogations.
“I had then,” said Surgeon-Major Famy,
“ an opportunity of observing personally the
following effects. The prisoner for the first
time appeared to realize the danger of his sit
uation when ho found himself stripped and
surrounded with soldiers. Ho trembled vio
lently, terror and despair being depicted on his
countenance, and when replying to the ques
tions addressed to him, he appeared absolute
ly stupefied by fear. Then, under our eyes,
and in the space of some half an hour, his hair,
which we had seen to be of a brilliant black,
became gray on every part of his head. The
sergeant who had charge of the prisoner cried
out, ‘He is turning gray, and called our atten
tion to the singular phenomenon, of which I
thus, with many other persons, was enabled to
observe tho completion through all its phases.”
Prof. Goldwin Smith, in a speech
at the annual dinner of the Toronto University
Association, on the 10th ult., said that only a
short time before he thought his position m
America somewhat precarious, and was afraid
he should have to take refuge in Canada. He
was glad now to see that the thunder-storm
was rapidly passing away without doing any
harm. He sincerely hoped it would blow over,
for the more he saw of the American people
the more he was convinced of their readiness
to meet every other people in a fair and honor
able spirit. England was ready to repair any
wrong she might have committed, and though,
free enough with her purse, was jealous of her
honor. This truth it was for America to bear
in mind, or serious consequences might ensue.
Social and commercial intercourse were the
great cords binding nation to nation, and these
must ever, he thought, prevent any serious
breach between the two countries.
The babies are redeemed. The
mortuary list among infants may now begin to
grow “ small by degrees and beautifully less.”
A Swiss chemist has at last invented a food for
infants, which is said to have already found its
way to this country, called bread and milk
flour.” It is composed of wheat and the ele
ments of cow’s milk in combination, and in such
accurate proportions as to give it the exact
constituents and nourishing power of mother’s
milk. The medical men have given it their ap
proval, and it is said to be coming rapidly into
use. We rejoice for the poor martyred inno
cents. Let the reign of poisoning and starva
tion come to an end once for all, and the babies
take their chance with the older ones of us,
They have been too long crowded out.
M. Deville, cure of Clan dies, in
that department, had been waiting at tha
church of that town for his vicar, M. Jampy,
in order to celebrate a marriage, and at length,
as the hour fixed for the ceremony was passed,
went to seek him at his house. The vicar re
ceived his superior in a very rough manner,
and, on a remonstrance being made, caught
hold of him, and pushed him against the door
of tho kitchen, and then, seizing a hammer,.
which was lying by, struck him several blows
on the head, causing blood to flow in abun
dance. The unfortuuate cure at last managed
to escape from the hands of his assailant, and
took refuge m a neighboring house, where a,
surgeon dressed his wounds, and pronounced
them not fatal. In the meantime, M. Jampy
had attempted to commit suicide by drawing a
razor across his throat. It is stated that tha
aggressor was under tho influence of mental
alienation.
A traveler in Paris, having occa
sion for a hair-cutter, sent for one. At the ap
pointed time an elegantly attired person ar
rived, and the gentleman sat down before his
dressing-case to prepare for the operation.
Tho man walked round his “client” once or
twice, and finally taking his stand at some dis
tance, attentively scrutinized the gentleman’s
face with the air of a connoisseur looking at a
Jiicture. “ Well,” said the traveler, impatient
y, “ when are you going to begin ?” “ Pardon
me, sir,” was the polite reply ; “ I am not the
operative, but the 2>hysiognomist.. Adolphe,”
he cried out, and a sleeved and aproned barber
entered from the hall; “a Za Virgil!” With
this laconic direction as to the model after
which the gentleman’s hair was to be arranged
the artist retired.
Banish all malignant 'and revenge-*
ful thoughts. A spirit of revenge is a spirit of
the devil, than which nothing makes a man
more like him, and nothing can be more op
posite to the temper which Christianity was
designed to promote. If your revenge be not
satisfied, it will torment hereafter. None is a
greater self-tormentor than a malicious and,
revengeful man, who turns the poison of hiai
own temper in upon himself. The Christian,
precept on this case is, “Let not the sun go,
down upon your wrath;” and this precept,
Plutarch tolls us, the Pythagoreans practiced
in a literal sense, “who, if at any time in a
passion they broke out into opprobrious lan
guage, before the sun set gave one anothes
their hands, and with them a discharge from
all injuries ; and so, with a mutual conciliation,
parted friends.”
The granite rocks which have sa
long impeded the navigation of the arm of tha
sea between New York and Long Island ara
now being blasted. Proper apparatus is erect-,
ed for working a drill under water by steam.
The drill bar at its cutting end is an inch and
a half in diameter, and has nineteen diamonds
imbedded in its face. When in motion, it makea
from three hundred to five hundred rotations a,
minute, and in that time, such is the cutting
effect of the diamonds, the hole is sunk an inch
and a half. A number of holes, consequently,
can be drilled in a day. A diver then descends j
and charges them with cartridges of nitro-glys
cerine, which are exploded in the usual way, ■
The way in which the people wera
looked after in tho “ good old times,” shows
the paternal idea which tho powers of the day
had of the functions of government. The dres.3
they should wear, the food they should eat, the
wages they should earn, were all prescribed by
law. At one time the hour at which theji
should go to bed was fixed. In religious mat-(
ters the government of the church was assist
ed by the State in arranging and prescribing
for the spiritual practices of the people. Bap
tism, confession, receiving the sacraments, at-,
tendance at church, were ordered by thq
Roman Catholic Church ; nor were rules relax-,
od to any very great extent by the Reformat
tion. )
Let wine drinkers be on thei#
guard, for certain clever chemists in Belgium
have started the manufacture, of mock-cham.
pagne and other light sparkling wines on a,
great scale. Aided by patent machinery, they
can produce the wine lor sale at a franc a bot
tle and gain a profit of seventy-five per cent.;
and it is stated that hundreds of houses on the;
continent will soon be ready to supply custom
ers.
“A play upon words,” as the
boy said when he kicked the dictionary up and dowq •.
tlio school-

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