Newspaper Page Text
Sliiirrol point Srilnmc.
w. H. BENNETT, 'Publisher. JIINEIUL POINT. WISCONSIN. CUSTER'S LAST CUAJtOF In von ravine, with teeming life, V*o thousand lodge* nee; Th.. Sioux iu camp, but ever rife. The warpath watch, with gun and knife 1 Well armed against surprise. Rut now our comrade* strite the trail. llaill email devoted band! Three hundred ol the Seventh, hail! Who ever knew a charge to fail With Custer in command? nre Cuater charge the savage lair Where duty meaus to die? I ivea answer quick the trumpet - * blare That •ou’id* hia la*t command in air; In column- -charge-by company!" Whom summon* thi* la*t bugle call To Charge the deadly pace* ti:„ brother*, kinsmen, doomed to fall, They number live, but they are all Akiu to Custer'* race. Let fall the rein, the chargers dash Like tiger* in a den Barred iu, thev fall ’neath rifle crash, But falling deal the deadly gash; They are hut one to ten. \t eve all lav. by Death enrolled, ' In ghastly bivouac. \lou‘e Death stalkad, the story told ill men of more than Spartan mold, That column of attack. The aim sunk down deep-dyed in blood. When lo! a phantom shade U l kindred spirits capped with hood lu battle line, to greet them, stood The deathless Light Brigade. Ii low salute their color* dip, \s Custer moves before; Their sabers sink, in veteran grip, Line gleam Illumines every tip, To comrades, as of yore. They wheel in rear, with pennon lance, An escort, man for man, Their champing chargers proudly prance. Through arch of glory they advance, Atm Cuater leads the van. —Leacitt Hunt, in X. }'. Evening Post. TrJE POWER OF BLACK CRAPE. When Mr. Greyson bought a seaside home, he found that, like all other lu.ildlv acquisitions, it brought its at tendant anxieties with it. What was lobe done for the safety of the city inuse. with its costly draperies and Hiiaments, and the rich wardrobes not needed in hot weather. It would nev ■r do to leave all these treasures un ruanled; and Mrs. Greyson could not i},;ire one of her trusty girls to watch iifin. A teamster who lived in a narrow ~u k street near by, was preparing for i summer rest for his family with “the ■I folks” up among the White Hills. iVhi'ii all was ready, he turned his key, mt it in his pocket, and went off as ■; t sv in mind as if his little castle were Mrrisoned by armed troops. He knew rery well that burglars did not want : s cooking stove, nor his hair-cloth ofa and rocking-chair. So, if he was wt blessed with anew house at the it-aside, neither was he burdened with he care of a costly one in the city. Mr. Greyson decided to inquire for lotne quiet person to leave in the house some widow, to whom the saving of i summer’s rent might be an object. Hie opportunity w “ 4 > ‘>on widely mown, and half a dozen mostundesir ible persons, and some of them with urge families, applied for the place, ilut they were not to be thought of; mil Mr. and Mrs. Greyson found their icarts rapidly hardening against all iimuuer housekeepers, when one day >-re came a genteel person, robed in K. and sending up her name as 'Mrs. Wilcox,” called. Her face had i ’icist mournful expression, and her . ■ a plaintive tone that was really rery touching. >li>- had " seen better daysbut her - 'and having died soon after invest .. ill heowned in an expensive build -"i" ! at inn. had left her poor. She M a frail young daughter to support, L " W'-i: as herself; and the needle was ■ i only resort. Her rent was her at trouble, and if she could avoid '■’tying it for a few months, she was ;>he could then get on very well tic rest of the year. Mr. Greyson '■•‘•'one of the most tender-hearted 1,-!l in the world. There were two ‘•M“ als to Ills sympathy which he “■or could withstand —a woman’s ■ : * and black crape weeds! After looking at two or three “ very otiMadory recommendations” —from "ivais he never heard of —and cou nting a tew moments in the back Hair with Ids wife, he said with real ensure: “Well, Mrs. Wilcox, we •ao- decided to let you keep the house Yon will find fuel, ■ tea and sugar here, and if you ; l “ ' "’ n °f anything, you may take k to the store and do not spend l ' ' ! . v "ur own money while here.” widow drew the magic crape •* i her lace and left, looking ten tounger than when she came. ' K,il, ‘ -'b. Greyson felt younger remarked that he should en mmer better for knowing '"'ying that house, a needy ‘"’ u u ‘ ll i have a good home for ll"lit its. • idler a few weeks, Mr. id in town, passed " Wli thi" avenue, and saw hi- neighbor I.eland’s be i,.- ow u - h.-ads bobbing about in ; l1 "' heard the sound of a - "ii the quiet air of the orh.NHl. ■ ' ■ :lll '“lf: “ 1 thought the ■ ’ mountains—queer ■ •* and inn this hot night.” ~ " ‘ op at the windows of ! v t • re one pale light —and felt very glad n -o well able to pro a- serurity uf his own home. Several times during the summer, at the suggestion of kind Mrs. Grey son, who feared the widow’s modesty would made her too prudent, he sent her a pair of chickens, and half a dozen baskets of strawberries; and he felt the poor woman’s interests to be his own, as he thought of her pale face as seen through her veil. The summer wore pleasantly away, and September was passing, with now and then a chilly day. As the even ings grew too cool for rowing, the Greysons decided to return to town. They sent word to Mrs. Wilcox to have a good lire in the library on the ap pointed evening, and generously offer ed her and her child a home, till they could make arrangements for them selves. It was a raw, chilly night when the Greysons tilled two backs with them selves and their baggage and rode up town, happier to get back to their home than they had been to leave it. Great was their surprise, however, on drawing up to the door, to lind the house all dark. It was evident, Mr. Greyson said, that Mrs. Wilcox had not received his note, and that she and her daughter had gone out. There they stood, a weary, shivering group, on the doorsteps, Mr. and Mrs. Grey sou consulting in a perplexed sort of way. Miss Greyson encouraging the little boys to patience, while they and two little sisters were calling out, fret fully: “ Why don’t you go in, papa?” The nurse was jouncing the frac tious baby about in her arms; the hackmen, having deposited innumera ble trunks, with Big box, little box, Bandbox, bundle, on the sidewalk, were skipping about, impatiently waiting for their pay. A belated pedestrian stumbled over the baggage and, in not very delicate lan guage, asked the puzzled group wby they didn’t take their traps into the house and go to bed. They could not tell why. The prancing of the horses brought neighbor Leland to his door. “ Good evening, good evening,” he said. ‘‘Glad to see you back again. We’ve been at the mountains all sum mer and have just got home ourselves. Someone rang at our bell an hour ago and left your keys here;” and he handed them to poor, puzzled Mr. Greyson. So the summer dance was not in neighbor Leland’s house. Opening the door, they were met by a strong odor of tobacco, and they fancied something more than that also. The house was dark and cold, and the air within it heavy with impurity. The gentleman struck a match, and having ushered the family into the cold library, proceeded to the cellar for materials to make a tire; but alas, the cellar was as empty as a blown egg shell. Even the ash-barrels and the boards that composed the coal bins were gone. He turned to a smaller cellar where he kept the boards for protecting the brown stone steps from snow and ice, resolving recklessly to have a tire at any cost. Hut they, too, had vanished. He flew up stairs again. He caught up his hat and ran to that refuge in all city emergencies, the cor ner grocery, and ordered kindling wood to warm his children. “ I had wood and coal in my cellar for six months,” he said; “but it is all cleaned out.” “ I’m afraid you’ve had rather hard tenants this summer, sir;” said the grocer. “Tenants! I have had no tenants!” was tin 1 reply. “We put a widow and her daughter in there to take care of the house.” ‘‘Why the woman told me she took the lions" and her living for the season in payment of a debt you owed her husband; and she’s run up a pretty heavy bill here;” said the grocer. “Well, I’m swindled; but I’ll pay you. Send in the wood at once;” said the gentleman. When Mrs. Greyson was warm enough to move round, she and her husband went over the house. Such desolation was never seen before in a beautiful home. Every bed had been occupied ; old hoots and shoes lay about in the chambers; champagne and wine bottles were still standing and had left their marks on the upholstered mantel pieces and marble bureau-tops. Pine slicks, well charred, were in the grates; and a little sauce pan on a dirty hearth showed that water had been heated, if cooking had not been done there, also. The two spam chambers in which the ricli winter wardrobes had been locked up, were the only rooms tit to sleep in that night; and when fairly ; seated in one of them, poor Mrs. Grey l son found comfort in that blessed relief | for troubled woman—tears. Mr. Greyson sent his family to a i hotel, and brought in n corps of carpet cleaners, house cleaners, wldtewushers and plumbers; and many of the ear pets that came up never went down again. When this was going on, Mr. Grey son received the grocer’s bill, on which I was charged for two women in three : months: thirty dozen eggs, twelve 1 dozen lemons, two boxes of oranges, ninety pounds of sugar, twelve pounds of tea. thirty boxes sardines, raisins, tigs, jelly and every other conceivable luxur the grocer could supply, j Then came the provision-dealer’s hook, with charges of mutton-legs and ' beef-roasts of powerful dimensions, of steaks, cutlets, chickens, sweetbreads, oysters, and in short everything an epicure could desire, in quantities large enough to supply a boarding-house! The uelghlK>rs did not know what Mrs. i Wilcox brought, but they knew she carried off two cart-loads of boxes and barrels. When all was again quiet in Mr. Greyson’s house, he stepped on to the stairs late one evening to turn off the gas. when a key was put into the latch. A spruce-looking young man sprang in, and, passing the gentleman, darted up stairs, three steps at a time. “ What do you want up there, sir?” asked Mr, Greyson. The young man turned indignantly and replied: ”1 don’t know as it is any business of yours what I want. Hut I’ve been out of town for a fort night, and have come home to my wife, Mrs. Wilcox’s daughter. When told they were gone, the man asked ” Where?” “ I’ll give you a hundred dollars to answer that question for me,” said the gentleman; “for they’ve swindled me out of hundreds of dollars, and ruined my furniture, and, for aught I know, they kept a saloon or a lodging house here in my absence.” The man descended more humbly than he went up, and said in a subdued tone; “We Occupied the second lloor. I don’t know anything of the other people.” His wife was the frail child Mrs. Wilcox had to provide for. (Scarcely had he thrown down the latch-key and gone, when there came a tremendous ringing at the door. Mr. Greyson opened it, and stood face to face witli a buxom, over-dressed girl, and a hackman with a trunk on his shoulder. ‘‘Mrs. Wilcox in?” the girl asked, with a confident, flippant air. “ She doesn’t live here,” was the cool reply. The girl looked puzzled. “ Isn't this her house?” she asked. “No; it’s my house. She was my housekeeper, hut she’s gone now.” “ Where?” “ I cannot tell.” “ Why, she :uid her daughter stayed a fortniglit at onr house, in August, and she invited me to visit her in Sep tember at her House, 48 avenue. Where shall I go V” “ I can’t tell, unless you go to a re spectable hotel,” replied Mr. (Ireyson, who was in no mood to entertain Mrs. Wilcox’s invited guests. The hack driver, tired of holding the trunk, civ illy suggested the name of a first-class hotel not far away, and the poor girl, after looking wishfully into the hall, finally turned away and dragged her long, clumsy trail down the steps, fol lowed by the knight of the whip. Since that summer, Mr. (Ireyson turns his key, and trusts his treasures to the. tender mercies of the burglars, regarding them as more magnanimous and less expensive than strange house keepers. He says that never again will he allow his sympathies to be wrought by black crape, till lie makes sure that it is put on in mourning for someone in particular, and not as a mask for a swindler. —Mrs J. /). Chaplin, in Congregatioualist. RELIGIOUS AND EDUCATIONAL. —The Primitive Methodist Church of Canada lias received a proposition foi union from the Methodist Church of Canada. —Notwithstanding the expenditure of from two-thirds to three-quarters of the whole income of Rhode Island for public education, fully forty per cent, of the children are not at school. —A wealthy gentleman called a few days ago at the ollice of the Presby terian Hoard of Foreign Missions and handed the Secretary a check for Si 0,000. —The Irish Presbyterian General Assembly hail a stormy debate over the use of instrumental music in their congregations. The result was that no censure was passed upon those who continue the use of harmoniums, but the Assembly requested that, for the sake of peace in the Church, the instru ments should be removed. —A contributor to the Church Eclectic suggests the substitution of guilds in every parish, instead of ves tries, and he proposes thus to place the lay powei in the hands of all baptized members of the church, and to lake it out of the hands of the vestries, who, in his opinion, “have not only outlived their inllnence, but havelived to do in fmite harm by maladministration, by persecutions of the clergy, by domina tion over the laity, and by general ob structiveness.” —The English Episcopal Church in London is afflicted with the double malady of a plethora of unemployed clergymen and an unsupplied demand for working preachers—a paradox which is probably explained by the fact that the supply is not of such a character as to meet the demand, or that the demand is not of such a kind as to b.'ing the supply, whether the trouble comes from the lack of zeal and ability in the redundant clergy, or the want of capital or other attraction in the vacant churches. —The old prejudice against the or gan in church is rapidly dying out in Scotland. The steady increase in the number of church-organs in the prin eipal cities and towns in Scotland, and the scarcity of Scotch peonle who can properly play the organ are so great that organists have to be imported from England. Prejudices die bard, however, in some of the country places, and there are to he found plenty o) Scotchmen and Scotchwomen who would indignantly tramp out of church at the first sound of the notes of the “ unholy kist of whistles,” as they persist in railing the organ. —At the fiftieth or Jubilee Confer ence of the Maine Congregational . Churches, just held, important statis tic* covering the entire half century were presented. Twenty-nine of the churches in Maine are older than the Declaration of Independence. The oldest is the church in York, founded in 1072. One hundred and twenty live of the churches are over fifty years old, and 117 less. There are this year 242 churches, having an aggre gate of 19,860- members. In twenty years the increase of members has been 2.1*23, or about seventeen per cent. The total number of members added this year is 1,130; deducting losses by death and otherwise, the net gain is 381 members. One hundred and eighty-two churches, having 10,- 284 members, report their average congregations to be 22,801; adding six ty churches that do not report their congregations, the total of the average attendance of the congregations of the State is estimated to be 28,010. (’mint ing three adherents for each communi cant, the total population of Maine holding the Congregational faith is be lieved to be 84,000, or one-seventh of the whole population. Custer’s Last battlefield. The Little Big Horn, whose general direction is from south to north, here runs in a nearly westerly direction, re suming, however, its general course at the point where Heno crossed it. The point where Heno crossed is where the trail followed by Custer emerged into the valley where the Indian village of some 2,000 lodges was situated. This valley is about three-quarters of a mile wide, defined on the left by a ridge of low hills, which, about four miles farther down, close in towards the river. The Indian village filled this valley and extended beyond this rauge of hills last mentioned. On the right was the river bottom, covered with a growth of cottonwood trees and bushes. Custer, following the trail al ready mentioned until he could see the Little Horn Valley and the Indian village, ordered Heno, who was ahead with three companies, to push into the valley, where clouds of dense smoke were seen arising, as if the Indians were running away, and Custer him sclf fatoprofnyus with five companies marched along the crest and behind the bluffs, and apparently made an at tempt to cross the river into the vill age. Hut here he was apparently met by a superior force, and compelled to retire, as the remains of dead men and horses indicate. From this point he was driven back to make successive stands on the higher ground. His line of retreat stretches from the river to the spot where he fell. On the line of retreat, says the notes which have been furn ished us, Calhoun’s company seems to have been thrown across it to check the Indians. At a distance of about three-quarters of a mile from the river nearly the whole of Calhoun’s compa ny lay dead, in an irregular line, Cal houn and Crittenden in place in the rear. About a mile beyond this, on the ridge parallel to the stream, still following the line of retreat, Keogh's company was slaughtered in position, his right resting on the hill where Custer fell, and which seems to have been held by Yates’company. On the most prominent point of this ridge, Custer made his last desperate stand. Here, with Capt. Yates, Col. Cooke, (’apt. Custer, Lieut. Riley, and others, and thirty-two men of Yates's com mand, he went down, lighting heroi cally to the last, against the tremen dous odds which assailed them on all sides. It is believed by some Unit, finding the situation a desperate one, they killed their horses fora barricade. From the point where Custer fell, the line of retreat again doubles back to ward the river, through a ravine, and along this line in the ravine twenty three bodies of Smith's company were found. Where this line terminates near the river are found the dead men and horses of (’apt. Custer’s company commingled with Smith’s, and the situation of the dead indicates that some desperate attempt was made to make a stand near the river or to gain the woods. Heno, crossing the stream at tin point indicated, charged the camp, which he found immediately across the stream. Compelled by superior numbers to arrest his charge, he formed a skirmish line, and fought Unison foot for fifteen minutes, when, being overwhelmed by the savages, lie was compelled to retreat across tin river. 11 is retreat was a rout, and In cut his way through tin-savages to Un hill, where he withstood a siege of twenty-one hours. Reno lost in his charge, runt, and defense of the hill, forty-seven killed, fifty-two wounded, and two officers, being two-thirds of the whole for* e In- took into the light. Henteen, wita his three companies, was moving up on Custer’s and Reno’s trail, when, seeing the desperate situa tion of Heno, n< joined him on the hill where he was defending himself. On this trail, a little later, came McDoug all’s company with his trail of pack mules. We have in this explanation fol lowed the notes furnished by one who was on the grounds, and they corre spond precisely with Gen. Terry’s of ficial report of the battle, — St. Paul Pioneer- Pres*. Tins is hard. A New York dealer chuckles and says that one-half of the crowd of smokers can’t tell a live-rent cigar from a twenty-live cent one, ex cept as they are marked on the I Mixes. Nkvkk marrv a girl named Sue. Tin- Sioux an- mneh too fond of raising manly scalp-locks. HAVING PONE ALL , TO STAND. “llavino done all, to Und"-tht word* ring down TV echoing corridor* of time. No frown Of adverse fortune when in fickle mood; No fear of foos that lay In wait for blood - The veuoined sling 01 friendship. false and dead w hen sorest needed; not the crushing tread Of bitter grief upon the bleeding m-rt; Nor vet the great arch-Mend moat subtle dart. Could from those lips the smallest tribute wring That conquering cried, ** Oh. Dealbl where 1* thy sting? Oh. Grave! where i thy victory'?” He aloud fan Through light and storm; finished his course a* laat; And, having kept the faith, the battle won. Keceived the crown from GvkPs Eternal Son. Should I then simply stand : my work abate; Sit ,dly don, folding my hand*, and wait: Trusting that Ciod will order all thing* right! Not >o' Am 1 not railed main to fight! Something there fa to do, for me, for all; 1 he t hrlstians' trumpet* to a ba tie call. And yet resistance win*. In year* long lied, n hen Carthage threatened Koine with vengeanM dread, One man, when many other* fought In vain, l!y watchful waiting won a great campaign.’ Often on some lone rock, amidst the roar Of winds and waves that la-li the savage shore, \\ llh care ami skill is reared the massive tower. That hold defies the whirling tempest's power. Scorning the foes that in the billows lurk. Vnawed it stands, snd, standing, does its work; And, though it move not, vet amid the crash Ol warring elements, (he welcome flash Sends life and hope to thousands. , So may we, " Kh earnest, patient purpose, steadfastly Stand and rssi-t the billows tossing high; And, as the lighthouse lenes multiply The feeble lamps so, though our light be faint. The voting disciple and the strongest saiut Can thousand-'old intensity impart. Reflected fiom the mirror of a heart Hurnished by love from Hod. Nor shines in vain, If from the deep death of the angry main One soul be saved, though hundreds, tempest tossed. Heedless of warning, sink forever lost. Of all sad thoughts that through the memory roll, The saddest this—l might have warned a soul. So should we strive to keep the mirror bright. That o er life's sea may shine our leeble light; \\ ilh childlike faith, holding our Father's hand. Always look up, ami, "having done all. stand." H. K. Carter, tn ,V. Y. Obeerver. International SnndajSchool Lessons. THIRD QI’AUTKR, 187 fl. Ang. fi. Solomon's Prosperity.. 1 Kings 10; 1 10 Ang. 13 The fall of Wisdom. Prov'bs 1: ao 33 Ang. 90. The Value of Wisdom.'Prov'bs 3; 1 -19 Aug. 27. Honest Industry Prov'hs B; fi la Sept. 3 Intemperance PiovhsaS; ltt Sept. 10. The Excellent Woman. ITov bs3l: 10- 31 Sept. IT. A Godly Life Keel ts la; 1 U Sept. a-l. Review; or a Lesson selected by the 1 school. The Highest Good. Man is always in search of what ho thinks the highest good the t long that will make him happiest. 11 is very sins are attempts to he happy, foolish and delusive indeed, hut real e(Torts to save himself from misery, to reach u good that will shed over his life peren nial gladness and beauty. Hut the goo;l all seek some may fail to find, not because it does not exist for them, hut because their search is misdirected, an attempt to extract the sweet from what is essentially hitter. If a man thinks self the highest be ing in the universe, the supreme law or god, then he will think the best thing self-indulgence, and the only fruit such a highest and best can yield is a calamitous misery. I’assion can never create pleasure. A self-centered becomes c self-tortured life, a curse to the man that lives it, an offence to our common humanity, a grief to our com* mon Father. The highest good must be the holi est, for happiness and holiness coalesce, are only different sides of the same thing. And so a man to get the one must seek the other, seek it alone where it can be found, in the kingdom of God. Hut the way to it many (bid made impassable by the hard and merciless necessities of life. The struggle to satisfy the ceaseless hunger of the present, seems to forbid thought and action in the future. The claims of the world are too im perious and manifold to leave the soul either opportunity or energy to regard those of God. And so men who wish to be good after adiviner sort than the imae secular honesty that is only the policy necessary to success in life, often find that they cannot; business, trade, will not let them; hourly neces sities, demanding hourly thought and effort, stand in the way. They would like to love God, live in His Kingdom, obey llis laws, anticipate His heaven, hut time absorbs their energy; the labor needed to obtain food and rai ment forbids. So after a hard struggle to servo God and Mammon, the necessities of the hour prevail; God is forsaken, as far as possible forgotten, that the world may he served through and through. Seeking first what they shall oat, what they shall drink, mid wherewithal they shall be clothed, they seek no further, want no more, live and die with their immortal being sacrificed to the needs of their mortali ty.—A. M. Fairbaim. It is well for the professing Chris tian to tell what the Lord has done for his soul; but for the most part lie need not tell it In words. We would not give a cent for a man’s Christian ex perience which is only made known to ids neighbors at prayer or class meet ing. When the Lord captures a fort, He hangs out 11 is own colors. The garrison need not stand on the battle ment and cry aloud, “This is the Lord’s foil!" —< h. titaudurd. “So physician ever weighed out medicine to bis patient with half so much exactness ami care as God weighs out to ns every tllal: not one gram too muidi does lie ever permit to be put in the scale." > Good prayers never come weeping home. I am sure I shall receive either what I a-k or what I hould ask. — liiihop Hall,