Democratic watchman. (Bellefonte, Pa.) 1855-1940, December 19, 1861, Image 1

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VOL. 6)
NO. 49. °
The Bemoratic Watchman,
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“W hen shall we meet again—
In thunder, lightng' or in rain ?”’
1 wonder of any of'fe readers of the New
York Weekly are sugititions ¢ I hope
not. In fact, | don’t{live they are ! To
speak the truth, I woll’t have the auda-
cious impudence to i it or imagine such
a thing. But notwit nding, there is a
®ertain class of people bse heads are filled
with very fanciful . ideas, and
whose power of imagittin is wonderful to
sensible folks. |
We have all of us, 8 gene period in our
Jives, met with them 35¢have been editied
by hearing some WODGey tale from their
lips, about the “awfulip» Susan seen in
the back kitchen, th gro night before
grandfather died ; thegpinge noises” Pe-
ter heard in the BAIT gop little Sis”
had the measles ; 8040) old Giles, the
village sexton, 8aW & ‘yj gure all dressed
up in white,” dancing sg the graveyard
gate. ;
These superstitious \gj duals, who be-
long to the Macbethia Gilpin, Tam
O'Shanter school, are giging away fast.
Thank Heaven for it, Di supertsition
make progress as rapid, oon conse
and knowledge, the Wor g 14 pave been
in a horrible state by is time, and ihe
days of Salem witcheral is pave been
nothing to the presente pujwer pag
truthfully said, “Know | power.” and
knowledge will grow ang. i strength
century by century as the world
stands, while ignorance gio ciivion will
vanish before 1ts triump|, i con as
the darkness of night flip.
the golden sun at morn
«« A yery good beginn. 5» t reader may
exclaim; “but thatis® op oo oo 0
‘We are waiting patient] | riabodt the
ghosts.” Very well, yepathonr about
Four years ago [ took yj 45 gee a
rich old uncle of mine, \| (wo nica farm
on the outskirts of a ple, ge. Iar
rived in the morning, sf; scant day.
ate a hearty supper, a0¢nioy ahcomiort
able chat with cousin Ki 3° evening.
When the family clock Yok b my a unt
and Kate rose to retire.
«You had better go ‘bed rly,” my
sunt remarked to me, “,p *t you to
drive over to L—ville ,, tning with
your cousin, and see ne So ie old
schoolmates.’’ 1
«« He can’t go !”’ said Yancemphati-
cally, “the boy don’t cq Tat
once a year ; and the Giaion he
takes must be with me. 20%81: on the
Lake . to-morrow, and ol vo lobe
here in a few minutes wi
If Kate takes him off par ah
have a chance to get a, slr 5
week, for he’ll be lugged canto anios
1 8
and the old boy only kn( i ins
among a lot of women. & on
1, v8 argument was |,
ladies retired rather ores) Joo Ze
cle Ben and myself lon der
«Ha! ha! ha!” L of ¥ainiols
“never give in to women § ?
Old Warren soon came... sols
and after shaking hands \ begh oer
haul our lines and hooks ;
+ «+ Tell us a good 8UOTY 1, wrenid ny
«t Wal, I don’t care of y W’
rot the rising of
’bout a ghost T seed fourteen years ago in
‘That’s a ghost,’ sez I. ‘an I'm a goin’ in
walked straight ahead until I cum within
about paces from where it was ; an’ thar [
stood and looked at it. It was orful dark,
but T want a bit skeered, although it kept a
waltzin’ back and forth again the wall. —
‘I'm bound to hev a tussle wi’ ye enyhow,’
sez I. TI buttoned up my coat and took a
step closter. Suill it waltzed away. T got
mad, fur it did'nt ’pear tew mind me a bit.
Finally I made a jump fur it, an’ as I jump-
ed I got a blow right on my nose that sent
me a staggerin’ ba %’ards, with the blood
streamin’ down my face. I looked up. an’
the darned thing was hitchin’ about jest the
same still. I got skeered an’ in tew the
sexton’s house. I woke him +y/an’ he got
a lantern an’ went back with me. ' We found
the devilish thing dancin’ away still. The
sexton went up tew it an’ began to laugh.”
** What was it ?” I inquired.
* Why the sexton had been workin’ that
arternoon about the ehurch. an’ he driv a
nal in the wall an’ hung his old coat on 1t ;
when be went home he forgot it. When the
wind blowed 1t moved, an’ I took it for a
ghost !”
¢ But what struck you on the nose ?"
asked Uncle Ben.
** That's the funniest part of the story,”
said Warren. © When 1 jumned to grab the
darned humbug, wy right foot came slap on
the teeth of a rake that lay on the ground.
and the bandle flew up and hit me an orful
slap right atween my eyes. I treated the
sexton to say nothin’ about it ; but it leaked
out somehow, an’ now I don’t care who
knows it.”’
We laughed heartily aud emptied our
“Tell us another, Mr. Warren,” said I
“Wal, Iwill, an’ then I muse be gettin’
along toward hum.”
The humorous old gentleman helped him-
self to the cider and begun :
‘I remember a thing that frightened me
wuss than the other. Wheu I was a boy
’bout nine year old, I was settin’ in the
Kitchen of my father’s farm house, waitin’
fur the old man to come home, so I coul)
pat up his hoss in the stable an’ go to bed.
He always went down to Rube Timon’s tav
ern overy night after supper, to spend his
evenings drinkin’. I had to set up to put
Bess in the stable ; fur he was giner’ly
drunk when he got back. Wal, this night
I'm speakin’ about it rained an’ blowed tre-
mendously. Twas past ten when I heerd
the hoss a comin’ up the lane ; so I rubbed
my eyes, an’ got ready fur my work. My
father came staggerin’ in, an’ arter hittin’
me a cut with his ridin whip, he scz :
“Go an’ put Bess in the stable, an’ mind
the devil don’t ketch ye, fur 1 seen him in
the yard.’
«I didn’t say a word fur fear I'd git an
other cut. but I went out an’ led the hoss
into the stable. Arter 1 finished rubbin’
Bess down I give her a good bed, took up
my lantern, went out, and locked the door.
The wind put out my light je t as I turned
round ; an’ somethin’ black an’ cur’ous
lookin’ come runnin’ rite up tew me an’ stop-
ped all of a sudden. ¢ Thats the devil,’
thinks [5 an’ [ begun to shake an’ tremble
with fear ‘I’m gone now,” sez [; and .
tried tew thiok of my prayers. I hadn’t got
mo-’'n three wo ds out afore the devil made
a jump, an’ away he went tearin’ round the
yard in circles like a skeered cat in a small
kitchen. I started toward the house, but
afore I got tew the door he was after me
fast. Wal, ef I didn’t run [ must ha’ done
some tall walkin’. I was faintin’ with fear
fur T heerd him arter me. I throw’d down
the lantern an’ sailed fur the door, an’ rush-
in’ agm it, it flew open an’ fell head over
heels into the kitchen, an’ fainted. When I
come tew I found mother and one of the
gals settin’ by my bedside. I asked ’em ef
the devil had gone ; and they both bust out
a laffin,
‘ ¢ Why, you foolish cretur, says my
mother ; ‘ther’ ain’t no sech things as devils
or ghosts on the airth- -the ghost ye get
skeered at is in the kitchen now, dryin’ itself
by the fire ; come an’ see it.’
¢* Thinks I, ef the women ain't afeerd, I
ain’t ; so I got up av’ follercd ’em.
«<I can’t see no ghost,’ sez I, arter [ had
peeped into the room, ‘whar is it ?
‘¢ ¢ Dew ye see the wmbrella settin’ thar
by the fire ?’ sez my mother.
¢t.¢ Yes, sez I.
«Wal, that's the ghost,’ sez she. ‘Sam
put itout on the back stoop, 'cause it was
wet ; an’ it was blowed off into the yard ;
when you went out to put Bess in the sta-
ble, it was blowin’ about still, an’ that’s
what frightened ye’
* Wal, I didn’t say a word, I was so
shamed I went rite tew bed, and I've never
b’lieved in ghosts or dewifs since.”
«My uncle and I laughed heartily, as we
ell ye
filled our glasses with cider.
the church yard. One night I was a comin’
home late, and jest as I was a passin’ the
church, I seed sumthin’ white movin’ back-
’ards and for’ards agin the church wall. —
and speak tew it.” So I opened the gate and
We finished our cider, and old Warren
rose to depart. He had just bade us ‘good
night,” and was in thc act of opening the
door, when a piercing scream rang through
the house and hurried footsteps were heard
in the hall. We sprung up. justas Bridget
thc servant girl, rushed breathlessly into our
presence in her night clothes, followed close-
ly by my aunt and cousin, who were pale
with fear.
** Bless me, what's the matter 2’ exclaim
ed my uncle. ‘Is the house on fire 2”
“Oh dear! oh dear!” cried Bridget,
spasmodically, ‘‘there’s a ghost in—oh dear,
Sir—in—in me room. Sure I seen ud before
I- I went to slape, but I didn,t mind it till
I woke an hard it breathing undher me bed.
Sure its there sthill. Oh, murther! go
hunt it some of yeez or I'll die dhis min-
Leaving the trembling females in the
kitchen ; ourselves, the valorous trio, armed
with a poker, tongs and gridiron, the first
weapons we could seize upon, lit another
lamp, and quickly ascended to Bridget's
chamber. The door was open. We paused
and listened. All was still,
¢“ Go in and raise the bed valance with the
poker,” whispered my uncle.
I cautiously crept forward, held the light
low, and placed the point of the poker under
the hangings. Slowly | raised it, while Un-
cle Ben grasped the tongs with both hands,
and Warren brandished aloft his murderous
gridiron. When I raised the screen, no
ghost appeared ; there was nothing under
the bed but an old cradle, in which was
thrown a lot of old rubbish. I burst into a
loud leugh, and my allies ground their
« Imagination !"’ said my uncle.
*“ All nonsense !?’ exclaimed old Warren.
*“ Hold on !”’ I returned ; “I have discov-
ered the mystery, Come up close, and keep
perfectly quiet. Bridget said she could hear
the ghost breathe. Now stand still and
I laid down on the bed, and turned slow-
ly over.
«I hear it breathe !”” said Uncle Ben.
I turned over again.
«1 can hear it too,”
“Wha is it ¥’
<*T'll soon show you !”’ T replied, spring -
ing from the bed. and I put my hand beneath
it into the cradle and drew out—* What 22
methinks the reader exclaims—¢‘two blad-
ders ! and threw them on the floor.”
“ Them bladders was what she heard
breathing !’ shouted old Warren. «When
she turned over she pressed the wind out of
‘em. Bladders, coats, rakes, and umbrellas,
turned into ghosts. Ha, ha, ha, I declare!”
And the old fellow laughed so heartily we
were forced to join in his merriment.
The noise brought Bridget, my aunt, and
cousin Kate ap * tairs to learn the cause of
the uproar. When the mystery was ex»
plained, they laughed almost as heartily as
we did.
Soon afterward they retired ; and Uncle
Ren, Warren, and myself went down stairs
to drink another glass, and pat away our
warlike impiements.
The clock struck eleven before the old man
left us ; after locking the doors we put our
‘Fishing Tackle” in order, and retired for
the night.
I stayed with Unele Ben a fortnight, and
enjoyed myself famously, WkLen I was oid-
ding them ‘‘adivu,” as we stood ’'neath an
old elm tree that guards the garden gate,
like a mighty senttnel, I whispered in Uncle
Ben's ear: *¢ You take the New York
WEeekLY yet, Uncle ?’
muttered Warren.—
“Oh yes my boy! we can’t get a‘ong
without it. That paper is our most welcome
visitor !?
“Well, look sharp,” I replied; ‘and
sometime you will find a sketch in its col.
umns, entitled The * Three Ghosts.” Don't
say a word about it to any one until it comes
will yon ¢’
“Not to Cousin Kate, eh?”
«I won’t, then !”?
The sound of the horn echoed far down the
road. and in a few minutes the stage coach
stopped for me.
* When will come again 2” inquired my
** Next Summer, if God spares me!”
A Ongar BREAKFAST. —-A son of Erin, at
Schenectedy, heard the breakfast bell ring
on board a canal boat just starting out for
Buffalo. The fragrance of the viands indu-
ced him to go aboard.
«Sure, captain, dear, (said he,) and
what'll ye ax a man for travelin’ on yer ille-
gant swand of a boat 2’
Only a cent and a half a mile, and found.’
replied the captain.
An’ is it the vittels ye mean to find,
sure 2”
“Yes. And if you are going along, go
down to breakfast.”
«« Pat didn’t wait to be told a second time,
but having descended into the Cabin and
made a hearty meal, he came on deck and
requested that the boat might be stopped.
+* What do you want v0 stop for 2’’ inquir-
:d the captain.
« How far have we come 2" asked Pat.
“Only a little over a mile .”
Pat thereupon handed the captain two
cents; and cooly told him that he believed he
would not go any fu:the with him, as Judy
would wait the breakfast, not knowing that
he had breakfasted out.
The joke was so good that the caplain
took the two cents, ordered the boat stopped
he ever have occasion to travel that way
again he would be most happy to carry him.
How 10 Restore tie UNtoN.—The N. Y.
Lrpress, in a reply to the Abolition ultraists
thus forcibly and plainly puts the case:
«If Abolitionism did not exist in the North
in ninety days the Unionists of the South
would reconstruct the Union. It is only the
terror of No: thern Abolitionism that makes
the South the solid column it is! Nor can
slavery be trodden under foot unless the rep-
resentative three-fifth principle of the Feder-
al Constitution and the fugitive Slave com-
pact article be trodden under foot too! To
tread these under foot, is of course, to tread
the Union under foot. This brief paragraph
is a sufficient answer to all the twaddle
about *¢ abolishing slavery ”’ in order to save
the Union. To abolish ¢* slavery ?’ is to over-
throw the Constitution at a blow, and not a
State would be bound by that instrument, for
its terms of union would be abrogated. But
beyond this, even if we had the power to
overthrow *¢ slavery,” it would be the ruin
of the North to do it. We should be simply
cutting off our own noses.
¢ Trem HARNESS.” —A poet says :— Oh,
she was fair, but sorrow came and left his
traces there.”” What became of the rest of
the harness he don’t state.— Erie Dispatch.
Ohno! Farther down the bill of poetry
it says—* Come wi’ me, my lassie, and I'l
take thee to thy hame.”” The balance of the
harness is still missing, however. — La Cros~
se Democrat,
You are mistaken about that,—The same
poet, speaking of the lady says—¢And all
the lines that sorrow left have faded out in
joy.”” The rest of the harness is still miss-
ing.— Exchange.
No ;—stiil another piece has turned up;
for further on, the ** poick” informs us, that
—* loving hands with simple flowers had
decked her for the bridal.” Nothing yet has
transpired as to the whereabouts of the rest
of the harness.—York Repubiican.
Or Mgrs. EaToN, widow of Gen. Eaton,
Secre ary of War under Jackson, the Wash-
ington correspondent of the Ch cago Journal
+ This lady is now residing in this city,
having recently married an Italian dancing
master of the matured age of 26. The ac-
quaintance sprang up through his teaching
her grand children. The newly married
pair are represented on canvas in their par-
lor, her head reclining on his bosom in a
very loving attitude, and as the artist hag
given her * form and fatures,” one would
not suppose her to be over 30 years of age.
She is in affluent circumstances, is very fond
of company, has fine conversational powers
and disposes hospitality with a liberal
——— ea
WarniNe. —It will be well if the public
ever learns the truth of the following words,
from Mr. Parton’s life of Jackson :
¢* The chief employment of a soldier’s life
is Waiting. He waits his life time for the
| A tear fell upon my cheeck, as I sprang
| up beside the driver, and my heart was ope
pressed with saduess as I looked back, and
| waved my hand. [Iu fourdays I reached my
home in this great bustling city, and once |
{ more [ sat myself down to tol for the com-
| forts of life. I had been at home but three
weeks, when I received a letter from Uncle
Ben. It informed me that Cousin Kate
{| was dead. She was killed by a fall from
| her horse,
For a long tim: I could not bear to write
this sketch, but to afford others pleasure, I
| have at last done so.
Punca thinks they had beier have stuck
to the name ot Leviathan” for the Great
Eastern, for ic seems that the share holders
are doomed to blubber.
breaking out of war. He waits for months
after the campaign opens, for the day to ar-
rive which decides its fate and his own.—
Through the long hours of the day of bat-
tle, he waits, comprehending nothing of the
huily burly around him, till it comes his turn
to advance and be shot. He is a man whose
Jife-time’s work is done in a few thrilling
hours or minutes, and the rest of his life 1s
waiting for these hoars or minutes to come
helped Pat ashore, and told him that should |
£57 The following lines, which we copy from
the last Lycoming Gazette, are quite beautiful,
and are said to have been written by a young girl
only fourteen years of age—Miss Nancy Patton—
of Ralston, Lycoming county. They were a part-
ing gift to a soldier, and are certaitly highly cred-
itable to their young authoress :
Comrades, how goes the night without ?
The wind seems wintry cold ;
A weary watch ’twill be to-night
For our pickets brave and bold ;
A weary watch for our noble boys,
But their hearts are brave and true,
And they who wish a soldier's name,
A soidier’s work must do.
A weary watch the picket keeps.
But his stout heart never fails,
As his keen eye scans the distant hiils
And intervening dales,
Through long, dark hours that endless seem,
Without one resting breath;
For should he sieep upon his watch,
The penalty is—Death!
Death! Oh! how hard the thought must be
At such a time and place,
When danger’s ever threat'ning form
to stares him in the face,—
With naught to break the stillness
That seems as of the grave,
Except his own, firm, measured tramp,
That seems the grass to pave.
Perhaps some distant musket boom,
From out some rebel lair,
Or a comrade’s death-shot—who can tell ?2—
Breaks on the midnight air.
The sound excites a moment's thought—
A moment's wonder slight—
As soon forgot as echo sinks
Back to the caves of night.
He thinks of what? of war? ah, no!
Home memories throng his mind,
And he thinks of letters fresh from home
And of dear ones left behind :
Of loving ones beside the hearth,
And a little form at prayer,
And he, thinking, says, © Elsewhere forgot,
They'll not forget me there."
Thethours creep on, and daylight breaks—
A comrade takes the beat ;
And the guard, unfalteringly true,
Dare rest—and rest is sweet
Upon his lowly camping-bed
He seeks from cares release,
And dreaming still of frierds and home,
The picket sleeps in peace.
Ralston, Lycoming Co., Pa., Nov. 19, 1861.
5" We do not know who wrote the following
lines, but they possess a melancholy beauty very
appropriate at the present time :
Weave no more silks, ye Lyens looms,
To deck our girls for gay delight ;
The crimson flower of battle blooms,
And solemn marches fill the night.
Weave but the flag whose bars to-day
Droop heavy o’er our early dead;
And homely garments, coarse and gray,
For orphans that must earn their bread.
Keep back your tunes ye viols sweet.
That pour delight from other lands!
Rouse there the dancers’ restless feet—
The trumpet leads our warrior bands.
And ye that wage the war of wor ls,
With mystic fame and subtle power,
Go. ehatter to the idle birds,
Or teach the lesson of the hour!
Ye Sybil Arts, in one stern knot
Be all your offices combined!
Stand close while courage draws the lot,
The destiny of human kind !
And if that destiny could fail,
The sun would darken in the sky,
The eternal bloom of nature pale,
And God, and Truth and Freedom die!
Affairs in Charleston and Richmond.
A correspondent of the Boston Traveller,
writing from Fortress Monroe, on Monday,
says : .
«1 have had a long conversation with a
gentleman who ‘eft Charleston last Friday,
and he assures me that the people of the
North are much deceived about the true
state of affairs at the South, if he can judge |
from the tone of northern papcrs which he!
has been enabled to peruse. Ile has been a |
resident of Charleston the last two years,
and is in every way entitled to credence.—
Our forces had not occupied Beaufort when
he left, and the Southerners were anxious for
the Federal force to make an advance. He
is confident that the Confederates greatly
outnumber our troops, and this notwi h:
standing that they have received no reinforce-
ments of any moment from Virginia. He
states that one company only had returned
to the State. But one feeling and determi-
nation seemed to animate the whole people.
Fresh provisions were cheap, and so was
Malice Qutwitted.
The owner of a saw mill in the country,
having a little enmity against a neighboring
farmer, laid no less a plan of revenge than
to get him arraigned as a thief. convicted.
and sent to the penitentiary. But as the
honesty of his neighbor afforded him no fair
grounds of accusation, he resorted to the
foul expedient of secretly conveying some
of his own property upon the other's prem-
1ses ; 80 thu it being found there, it might
be proof of his guilt. For this purpose he
took a thousand feet of boards, having his
own mark on, and at dead of night dumped
them into the field near his neighbor's
house. But the farmer did not happen to
be as fast asleep as his enemy supposed. —
He heard a noise, or thought he heard one,
and getting up pretty soon after to satisfy
himself on the subject by the help of a lan-
tern he found a load of boards ‘with his
neighbors mark vpon them. Tow they came
there and why they came there flashed upon
him at once. lis course was promptly tak-
en. Allowing his enemy just time to get
fairly home and into bed, so that the light
of the burning pile might not be detected,
he set fire to the boards, which, being well
seasoned, were, ina few minutes, ecatirely
Early in the morning, as the farmer had
anticipated, the sawyer came with a consta-
ble and search warrant, to look for his prop-
“ You are suspected,” said the «officer, “of
having taken a thousand of boards from this
man, and by virtue of this warrant I hold
in my h nd, I must search your premises.”
“Very well,” replied the farmer, ¢ yon
are at liberty to search as much as you
please. But if you find the boards, I'll en~
gage to eat them for my breakfast.”
“ You'll have something harder to digest
than that, I fancy,” said the sawyer, with a
He then trinmphantly led the way to
where he had dumped the boards, where he
confidently expected to find them, and lo!
there was nothing but a heap of ashes !--
His disappointment, chagrin and morlifica«
tion may be judged of. He sneaked away
home ; and the secret of his foul plot get-
ting wind in the neighborhood, the ghost
from the ashes of the load of boards never
ceased to annoy him; until, taking advan
tage of the darkness of another night, he
picked up his all and left the country.
Om me :
Strange Sight -Scventy Swarms of Bees
at War.
Ezra Dibble, a well known citizen of this
town and for many years engaged ex‘ensive-
lv in the management of bees, communicates
to us the following interesting pariiculars of
a battle among his bees. Ile had scventy
swarms of bees, about equally divided on the
east and west sides of his house. One Sun-
day afternoon, about 3 o'clock, the wea'her
being warm and the windows open, us house
was suddenly filled with bees, which forced
the family to flee at once to the neighbors,
Mr D. after getting well protected against
his assailants, proceeded to take a survey,
and if possible, learn the cause which had
disturbed them.
The seventy swarms, appeared to be cut,
and those on one :ide of the house were ar-
rayed in battle against those on the other
side; and such a battle was perhaps never
before witnessed, They filled the air, cov-
ering a space of more than one acre of groud
and fought desperately for some three hours
~-not for ¢ spoils,” but for conquest ; and
while at war no living thing could exist in
the vicinity. They stung a large flock of
Shangai chickens, nearly all of which died,
and persons passing along the roadside were
obliged to make haste to avoid their stings.
A little after 6 o’clcck, quiet was restored
and the living bees returned to their hives,
leaving the slain almost literally covering
the ground, since which, but few have ap-
peared around the hives, and those appar-
ently stationed as sentinels to watch the en-
emy. But two young swarms were entirely
des royed, and aside from the terrible
slaughter of bees no other injury was done.
Neither party was victorious, and they only
ceased on the approach of night, and from
utter prostration. The occasion of this
strange warring among the becs 1s not easily
accounted for; and those most conversant
with their management never before witness.
ed or heard of such a spectacle as here nara-
ted, — Locneaut (Ohio) Reporter.
SECRETARY CHASE is considered a pretty
shrewd financier ; he corducted the affiirs
of Ohio pretty well, and left the Gubernato-
rial chair with a good d al of credit. Tt
will be seen, however, that he is no match
for the sharpers of Wall street. Tn his last
negotiation for $50.000.000 the agreement
rice. Flour was falling in price, tho’ still
at $10. i
There was no suffering among the poor of |
Pie emis
iREAT talkers use their minds as spend- |
thrifts their cash, bestowing it on all objects
— enh
Way is John Smith likea badly colfked
buckwheat cake ? Because he isn’t Brown,
SPURGEON is called the Barnum of the gos-
pel by the London Spectator.
the city, as they were finding ample employ- |
ment in manufacturing articles formerly
proce sed from the North. i
“airs at Richmond are smd to be very
Jivty, the meeting of the Confederate States |
Corgress imparting a good deal of anima- |
conto everything, and drawing a good deal |
of gaiety to the Capital.
To iilustrate it, a lawyers and politicians are
was that they should take 6 per cent. bonds
ata price that would realize them 7 per
cent. on the equivalent. This was figured
up by the Secretary at 904, when, in fact,
871 is all that he will receive, the bankers
thus making $500,000 through Chase's inad~
vertance. It would take a lightning caleu-
lator or a broker’s clerk, to find his way
through the labyrinthian mazes of our be-
wildering per cents, and though Western
trained to
young lady, just arrived by a flag of truce, | shrewdness. they are not quite up to the
remarked to me—** Such nice times, I didn’t | practised keenness (to call it by no harder
want to leave a bit.’
name) of Wall street.