Sn RS RS a RR ge TO HEAR HER SING. To hear her sing—to hear her sing— It 1s to hear the birds of spring In dewy groves on blooming sprays Pour out their blithest roundelays. It is to hear the robin thrill At morning, or the whippoorwill At dusk, when stars are Be hing To hear her sing-—to hear her sing! To hear her sing-—it 18 to hear The laugh of childhood ringing clear In wooly path or grassy lane Our feet may never fare again Faint, fur away as memory dwells, ft is to hear the village balls At twilight, as the truant hears Them, hastening home, with smiles wis, Sach joy 18 18 to hear her sing, We fall in love with everything The simple things of every day Grow lovelier than words can say. The idle brooks that purl across The gleaming pebbles and the moss, We love no less than olassio streams— The Bhines and Arnos of our dreams. To hear her sing—with folded eyes, It is beneath Venetian skies, To hear the gondoliers’ refrain; Or troubadors of sunny Spain. To hear the bulbul's voice that shook The throat that trilled for Lalla Rook What wonder we in homage bring Qur hearts to her—to hear her sing. NER BROTHER, “Newell, do you know that splendid distingue-looking young man who shone as one of the chuef “hous” at Mrs. De Gray's soiree, Milo Newell looked about him with an indolent glance and replied: “Well, as the room is full of splendid women whom. I have the honor “You know which oze 1 mean,’im- “The queen of them all, of conrse; that glorious creature in the mauve crepe, with the yeliow lilies in her hair.’ ‘Of eourse, I know whom you mean,’ langhed Newell. ‘They are alwgas smitten when they see her. I was my- self. Yes, that's Miss Burkhardt?” ‘Miss Bu edt?’ ‘Yes: General Burkhardt's danghter, He was killed io the Mexican war, yon | know, Left alf bis wealth to Lis wife, and she died and left it to her daughter -about eight years ago, Miss Bark- hardt is the richest boiress in the State, Don’t why she hasn't married. She is twenty-three, and has had offers enough,’ ‘Will you present me to her?’ ‘Of course; you've got to go through with a grand passion for her, Every- body does; it is the regular thing. 20 better, She won't have you.’ ‘Why? ‘Don’t know; but she won't, She told me that she never wonid marry. Wouldn't tell me why. 1 proposed to her,” saad Milo cooly. ‘Men do, as a thing, Put they all get the ame answer, She sever will marry.’ ‘Upon my word, you do not seem to take your disappointment very hard!’ laughed his companion, ‘Oh! I recovered long ago. It’s no use pining over what one can’t help,’ said Newell, philosophically. *‘If there | was any hope I'd have persevered; but | it would be useless. I'd advise you to avoid her, if it would do you any general same, He lowered his voice at last, for they | were approaching the large group, of | whom 8iss Barkhardt was the center attraction. She was standing with resfing ou the back of a sofa Truly wes a splendid woman, A very (queen she looked surrounded by | her subjects. Her features were. not beautiful in the least, but her fsrm was | regal in its stately grace. Her heavy, | black hair was magmficent, and her | great, dusky eyes, glowing with a sort | of repressed light, like smoldering fire, i possessed a strange, weird attraction, a species of magnetism, altogether undefinable, but irresistibly fasci- nating. Yet the unbounded admiration which | she oxeited whereyer she went could | hardly be owing solely to her wonderful | eyes. There was some curious, indefi- | nite attraction about her—this dusky- haired, queenly womsn. Among the | mar 7 men who had laid their hearts at | Dissora Buarkhardt's feet, very few could bave told what it was in her that go enslaved them. ‘Mies Burkhardt, will you allow me to introduce a friend to you? asked Newell, after making his bow. “What friend? asked Miss Burkhardt, carelessly. ‘Otto Delavan, the artist, who has just returned from Italy,” was Newell's ANKWET i Miss Burkhardt grow dbathly pale, and grasped the sofa, a8 ¥ to steady herself. ‘What is the matter? Are you ili, Miss Burkhardt? cried Milo, agtonished at her si emotion, ’ ‘Yes; a sudden indisposition,” faltered ghe. ‘1 will go out in the air a moment, and when I return I shall be pleased to feceive your friend. Will you give me yr arm, Mr. Brown? to a. middle aged bachelor Orother of Mrs. De Gray. Mr. Brown was, of course, ‘delighted,’ and Miss Burkhardt walked away with a step sufficiently firm and » y for an ‘dis woman,” Presently returned, looking her psusl celm self, and, with a bow and word of thanks fo her companion, tarned to Milo Newell, sa quietly: ‘Now, Mr. Newell, I shail be r to know your friend,’ and the introduc. ceremony was performed. Yo te Delavan was profoundly defer- ential; Miss Burkhardt, quietly court. ous, She wusysed 10. being introduost ol her and wlio Delavan,’ said Miss Burkhardt, by way of conversation, ‘I arrived two days ago,” he an- swered, ‘Aave you been long away?’ ‘Five years,’ eaid Otto. ‘It is good to be back in my own country again.’ ‘Yes,’ said Miss Burkhardt, absently, | ‘and it is four years since —" She stopped abruptly and began, with fingers that trembled, to adjust the flowers in ber bouquet. ‘Since when?’ he questioned. ‘Since I was in Italy,” Dianora said, ject, evening, escorted her to the music room, attende her to her carriage, and hopelessly in love as it is possible for a his, to ba, not forgotten, but unheeded, ‘I will marry that woman within a year or die!’ he said, deliberately, after a half hour's reflection; and in the iu- | most depths of his soul he felt the | meaning of the words, Two weeks passed. People begaa to remark —some lightly, some bitterly— | that Otto Delavan was Miss Burkhardt's last conquest. Little cared Otto, He thought of nobody, of nothing, except | Dianora Burhhardt, She was the one woman in the world to him, He be. lieved she loved him, But would she { marry him? He felt that for him life | { had no other hope. Thinking thus one | evening, he suddenly started from his | seat, exclaiming: ‘1 will wait no longer, This suspense | is worse than despair! I will know my fate this very night—this very hour! Aud this impulsive young man at once prepared to gO and propose to Dianora Burkhardt As he laid his hand upon the door there came a rap from the outside. A | letter, He just glanced at it; a dainty white envelope, a pretty, gracefully He tossed it carelessly on the table, saying, as he went out: ‘From Delia, It must wait till I re [ cannot stop now ro read one Truly, Mr, Otto Delavan, you could hardly be called a very devoted brother! Miss Burkhardt was ‘at home’ ! him, a8 she would pot have been to | everybody that evening. She was rather retired in her habits, did not go much into society and saw but little company. Once or twice a year she threw open her doors to her ‘dear five hundred friends,” and then her house was crowded with a more brilliant assem- blage than ever filled the rooms of gayer and more fashionable mansions, For Miss Burkhardt knew all the celebrities; many a distinguished char- acter was proud of her aequaintance, She was all the more courted for her self-seciusion. She received Mr. Delavan in a preity, cczy little parlor, which, with iis hangings of pale bufl and dark green, and its light, graceful furniture, made one feel twice as much at ease as in the | grand drawing room and reception parlor, where she received more formal visits, Neither was she in her society mood, though Otto had never seen hier look lovelier, She did not often look beantiful; but that evening she was more than that, Yet there was a sad, weary look upon her usually haughty face, which made her lover long to fold her in his arms | and soothe. away whatever sorrow or | care had brought it there, | Bie rose to greet him as he entered, but he quietly reseated her, and then, | standing before ber with both her | hands ciasped in his, he fold her at ounce, and without preparation, all his | Jove and his aspirations. She sat silent, with drcoped head and down-cast eyes, and heard his story She did not withdraw her hands from his hold; and he felt them tremble, as he finished with a passionate {0 that she wouid be his wife. : Then she spoke quietly, firmly, but | witu an undertone of pain in her steady | voice: i ‘I expected this, Mr, Delavan, but I | am sorry that you have said it; 1 am sorry, for I cannot marry you, and it is | very hard to give you pain, Oito,’ | She spoke his name at the last, with gorrow: and she drew her hands away from him, and covered her face with them, leaning her head against the table beside her, He had stood looking at her it almost angry despair; but when she uttered his name in that sorrowful tone he eaught his breath with a sharp gasp, and, leaning over her, he said: ‘Disnors, I know you love me.’ She made no answer, only a slight sob, “Toll me, do you uot?’ he urged. ‘Yes!" she answered almost abarply. “Then why will yon not become my wife? ‘l'ell me, Dianora; I have aright - ! poshage you do not know she has one, Bhe believe, and very properly, Yon see { is, he fell in Jove with me! He was a | splendid young fellow, handsome as a | pioture, but only a boy, not more than | marrying him, | flirt a little with him; I meant no harm { of course, and Florence was so dull at | that time. I know you will be terr - | bly shocked, and really I've had some | twinges of conscience myself, But I { don’t think I was responsible for—well, | his insanity; indeed, I do not. { tnelined that way, the physicians said, | all her fortune to Dianora, ‘But she just idolized her brother, and when he went raving mad she | out of my senses. And that brings me {to the reason why 1 tell you thus, I want to warn you against setting your affections on Dianora Barkhardt, | after that before they left Italy. Bhe refused them all, and said she should never marry, And one of her lovers— mined to know the reason, and he gave her no peace till she told him about her brother, and that she considered it for his sake she meant to remain sin- gle. Waell, of course he did not persist after that, I never heard of anything #0 foolishly romantic, She might send with her, and refusing so many splendid ’ Otto read vo further, With blazing eyes and lips enrling with contempt he that burned in in tones of in- onst them into the fire the grate, exclaiming ‘I knew that Delia was as shallow and heartless as she is beautiful, but I did not think her capable of such utter heartiessuess ae this.’ That evening he again went to nora aud told her of his sister's . essured her that her brother's misior tune would not affect his desire to make her his wile, and entreated her to re- call her refusal, ‘But my brother?’ she said, Walter; no, Otto, I do love you; cannot desert him, even for you.’ “You need not desert him, dear love, said Otto tenderly, ‘I could not be base as to ask it, i Faw but I 8 I will love him as a care for him, i for him all that you brother, and do could do,’ tated, finally allowed herself to be per- oad suaded S——— AD T———— Spearing sword-Fish, The fish are always harpooned from the end of the bowsprit of a sailing. vessel. All vessels in this fishery are supplied with an ; aratus for the support of the which consists of =» wooden platform about two feet square, upon which the harpooner stands, and an up- right bar of iron three feet high, rising from the tip of the bowsprit At the top of cular form, to surround the waist of the harpooner, “rest” or the “*pulpit,” A man is al ways stationed at the mast-head, whence, with the keen eye which practice has fins at a distances of two or threo miles. When a fish has been sighted, the watch “sing, out,” and the vessel is steered directly towards it, The skipper takes his piace in the pul- pit, holding the harpoon with hands by the upper end, and directing the man at the wheel by volee and ges. ture how to steer. When the fish is from six to ten feet m front of the vessel it is struck, The harpoon is not thrown; the strong arm of the har- pooner punches the dart into the back of the fish beside the dorsal fin, and the pole is withdrawn, The line is from tale dorsal both long, and the end is either made fast on board the smack, or attched to a keg or some other forta of buoy aud thrown overboard, After the flish had exhanst himsel! by dragging the buoy through the water, it is picked up, the fish is hauled alongside, and Killed with a lance, In the meantimes, several other fish may have been struck and jeft to tire themselves out in the same way. The Steck Exechango. him, He had been caught that day, and was not happy. “On! my love!” she wailed, “what fas gone wrong with you?” “loverything,” he answered de- to know.’ never marry—I1 must not, My duty forbids it,’ she answered, firmly. ‘But why?’ ened Otto, ‘I will not tell youl The knowledge would do you no good,” she replied, ‘Gio home and forget me if you can nay, I know it is hard to forget. Heaven help us all who would but can not.’ ‘Dianora.—’ ‘Don’t,’ she interrupted; ‘why will you torture me whan 1 have told you it 1s vsoless? [ tell you I shall never marry. Now, will you go? Without another word he went. For hours he walked the streets, go ing home at length, calm with the very bitterness of his despair, The fires thing that met his eyes was his sister's letter, He did not read it then, not, Not until late in the following day He could jectedly. “No, not eve am still true and loving," “Yes. you are all right, but it's that infernal Stock exchange.’ “The Btock exchange?” “You “What is the Stock exchange, love?” “It's a place, dear, where any blamed fool can exch hus stock of cash for some other man’s stock of experience, without being able to use the exper. fence.” “Why, dear, have you met a fool to- day?” “*Oh, no, love; the other man met the fool—but let's talk of so else; youll have to watt until spring for your sean lskin,” Dx, Hmwomoniers, who died Bishop of Peterborough, had much ready wit, He was asked one day what was to be understood by the expression, ‘‘He olothed with curses as with a garment,” “The clearest in the world,” the dootor; had a of swearing.” a AA A RL b Descendan » of the Presidents Living, | In connection with the coming of a | new president to Washington who will {be our 224 chief magistrate, it is of | interest to note how many of his pre- al capital by their descendants or near relatives. 1t is astonishing to find how any there are, and in what changed circumstances several of them appear as compared with the life of a president | and his family while he is in office. (ven. Washington, as all know, had | nmme who are related to him, are de- | scended from his brothers and sister. I'he members of the Custis family who | by her first husband are generally rank- | ed in the same category, he having (as | consider the grandchildren of his wife OWI. | stead in West Washington (formerly called Georgteown), and her niece, the | wife of Admiral Carter. Mrs. Ken- i non’s husband was Commodore non, who was one of those killed in February, 1844, by the explosion of the gun on the Princeton, when President | on an excursion on the Potomac, Mrs. Kennon clearly remembers and gives an animated aceount of a ball given at Tu- dor place by her mother (the Martha | Parke Peter mentioned In Gen, Wash- ington’s will) to Gen. Lafayette in 1824, wheu Mrs. Kennon was very young. Her mother was a sister of George Washington Parke Custis. The vice-regent for West Vuginia of the Ladies’ Mt. Vernon association, to which latter the old home of our first pre is Mrs, Washington, who is Gen, and Mrs, Washington. The hn Adams and 1 ot A a Qirect GEE ident belongs, Jobn Quincy Adams, ndant, Henry ho for several years has pa with I wife in Wash- Chey have lived in 7. Corcoran, and the handsome they are Ging next it 1s eted, Both houses face Lafayette re and the president's grounds be- The Adams family are believed the house One ond o have almost continuous e in Washington since John Quincy ns was secretary of Mon- roes administration, if nd ost of that time family has lived in th Mrs. Meikieham tes & daughters, : state in some repy direct Thomas Jefferson — Mrs. Melklehs granddaughis v f : : § ; rmerly or several yea ir Georgetown. hters has been a clerk tenor department | five years. As well known, | family have been straitend cir stances for some Learnis r need, General uly while pre at Meiklehan ted Mrs kieham is woman, finely proportioned, erect figure, excel- lent features, and winning Though 70 years of age, i jite thick and of a natural vr, shows no sign: of turning lives in Georgetown very near suburbs, in a frame house, with a porch | in front, like an residence in Virginia. high above the sireed for £03 EXpress JO. , which brown gray the Liat her lu yee old-fashionad country It stands very , 121 groun but are now me ¢ isa pump and yard, placed is which ®& » 2% 4% $ § 3} were once armace 1 repair. Ther the front t¢ nF OU OF i woodshed in The interior is smumply furnished, tu rears its treas Wal. but has among ires many heir looms of the family in the way of china, srie-asbrac and books. Another lineal lescendant of Thomas Jefferson hives far from here, at Ellicott City 8 the daughter of Th tandolph, a lady of lected the private papers of her father in a “The Domestic Life of Thomas Jefferson! Miss Randolph now has charge of a gounshing school for young ladies ai Ellicott City, which Mr. Lancoin Phelps formerly presided, do volume entitled over President Madison until near her death, and received | marked attention from residents of the city as well as the officials up to her last moments, has had nephews and nieces | living here most of the time since. One of these. Col. Richard Cutts, who held an tmportant position in the United States coast and geodetic survey, died jast year, just after his return from attending (as a delegate to represent { the United States coast survey) at the early autumn of 1883, as a consequence | of the action of which congress, that which met in Washington in October of | last year to determine upom a common | prime meridian for all nations was | definitely decided upon. Cel. Cutts’ | widow and daughter still live in Wash- | ington., | President Monroe has two great | granddaughters, the Misses Gouvern- | eur, who with their mother have lived over ten years in Washington. One of them was at one time a clerk In the interior department, and another suc- ceeded her in that place, and held it until she was married, two years ago. Mrs, Gouverneur and her unmarried daughters live in a very modest little house in the northern part of the city. They have most of the heirlooms and papers which once belonged to I'reidi- dent Monroe and his wife, Mrs. Gow | verneur has lately had framed an exqui- | site miniature of Mr. Monroe, painted by Duplessis in Paris while Mr. Monroe was minister there. The latter was then under 40 years of age, and the portrait which is very beautiful, looks even younger, They also have a clock, made for Mr. Monroe by Lepine a cele brated maker of who made this one clock, which he presented to Mr. Monroe while American minster to France. President Jackson's adopted i ar | daughter gives music lessons, Mrs, Wilcox was highly educated mm Berlin | while her futher was minister to Prus- | sia, She is an Accomplished linguist, | During the sessions of congress Senator | Harrison of Indiana, the grandson of President Harrison, lives in Washing- | ton. Mrs, Semple, the daughter of Presi | death presided for her father in the {| White House until his second marriage, { which occurred only eight menths be- { fore the expiration of his term, has long | been an inmate of the Louis home, the institution founded by W. W. Corcoran for the benefit of *‘gentlewomen’ who, having first been thrown upon thelr | own resources when mo longer young enough to support themselves, need a | home, A son of President Tyler also lives in Washington, and his widow and youngest daughter often visit that city, | The latter was married iu Richmond, Va., the 13h of this month, President Tyler's daughter, formerly Mrs, Bliss, now Mrs, Dandridge, who presided at the White 1louse for her father when he was President, her | mother being physically unable to min- gle in society much, was ton last spring visiting old friends on married daughters, Mrs. Johnson, who, as Miss Harriet Lane, was the lady of the executive mansion during the term of her uncle, President Buchanan, lives in Baltimore, but cocasionally comes to visit her old friend, Mrs Hornsby, the { da guter of the late ex-attoruey-Gen- eral Jeremiah Black, in Washington, Though possessed of ample means, Mrs. Johnson's situation is perhaps the sad- dest contrast to her former life of that of any of these related to our presidents, Within two years she has lost two pro- missing sons and a devoted husband, and is thus diess as well as a widow. sm—— ————— Mniuer Friepds In Arkansas. Several weeks ago, while Judge Gap- was out on a fishing excurs took shelter during & ra house of old Andy Spillers, | man aware of his guest’s h position made extra to entertain him, and, after the storm had subsided, a | companied him to the creek and ca | a string of fish for him. The juris x pressed in warm terms his gratitude, and upon taking hisdeparture sad: “My dear sir, I should be pleased seive a visit from you in the city, and let me say that should you come thither, Il deem it a pleasure tw lin tori, in the The old v ok efforts 14 enleriain re such a high man in “Nonsense my dear nan, and 1 beseech in approaching I don’t are h, i ain't afeerd, Judge. back for nobody.” “You : ' exclaimed the Judge.” bye, and don’t forget to call upon me.” other day old Spillers came to ind’ hearing that the Judge was he said to hus companion: s see him. 1 aint no summer coon, me tell vou, an’ I'll sion what a ’portant man I am, Oh, 1 stick to me an’ you'll ind yourself all right among these town folks.” When they entered the tne Judge was engaged in delivering an important r “In the case Hamilton vs. Chadson,” sald hb court, and, I think, with muel held"? “Hello, Judge,” exclaimed old Spi- Everybody looked around, and shocked more “2000 - el court-room i i ing. of ee, he wisdom, lars, aitnost properly speaking the Influences which to Arkansaw, the carpet his spectacles and gazed came the voice, repeated Spiliers, the jurist, Ww O01 Sm % OF. eonsidering | brought him i 3 : bag ii t { wersn he direction when “Hello Jedgs,’’ pressing forward, * Mr, Sheriff, arrest that man!’ “What, you don’t know me, I | reckon,” Dun forgot old Andy Spillers? Don't you recolleck o’ how we liad to drive the cob stopper inside the jug afore we could get at the licker? Dont you know how I cotch the fish for you?” These expressions fell like burning coals on the Judge. He was acandi- ii ticket, the country, boasted of his skill as a fisherman. “Where is the sheriff?’ demanded | the Judge. '* some one replied, “Please call him.” “Jedge, you can’t put up no sich a joke on me. Come on, Ben. and less lift him from behind his box.” weave the room roarad the judge. CWhat!' said old Spiilere, stopping and gazing fn surprise at the judge. | “Bf I hadn'ter thought that my com- | pany was welcome I wouldn'ler come. | Rockin you've forgot how you soaked | my licker. Fine man, come out in the | country an’ git on a hurrah an’ beg a | feller to come to see you, an’ when he comes fling up yer head an’ sport like a five-year-oid.” The sheriff arrived and seized the old fellow. “Don’t put him in jal, Mr. Sheriff, but see that he goes home.”’ “That's all nght, Jedge. Reckin you'll come out thar when you wanter git on an- other rip-snorter. Good-bye, old turn- coat. Ketch you out my way, an’ I'll mop up the face of the yearth with you," “Lone © Antiquity of Trade Marks. A foreign contemporary hes discov. ered that trade marks are nearly as old Ancient Babylon had property symbols, and the Chinese clalm to bave had trade marks 1,000 years before Christ, Gutenberg, the inventor of printing Bargaining for Bloods In 1882 » man named Jackson, was engaged in freighting to the Uncome | patigre snd White River agencies, haul- | ing governmet freight and supplies, In | his employ as a driver was his nephew, | 8 young man, also nsmed Jackson. One | day, after having delivered a load of freight at the agency, on their return | the Jacksons went into camp for the night, after having travelled some miles, No sooner had they stopped than aa | Indian rode wp and demanded supper, | Young Jackson aid: “Supper is not | ready; as soon as we get it you can have | some,” The Indian Yecame very abusive, | and with some rough epithets said ; ‘Me want it now.” Jackson repated | ns former statement that it was not | ready sud he would have to wait, This | seemed to enrage the redskin, who st onee pulled his gun on the young man i to enforce his demands, Jackson then ran around the wagon, got his rifle and fired at, but did not hit, thefIndian, | who galloped off at full speed to the | agency, where Le reported the matter | in his own way, The agent immediate- 7 returned with him and a party of ndians, and demanded frora Jackson | the surrender of the young man, Fear- | ing for his safery ibe old man refused | av first, but the sgent gave his word | that he should not be injured, that he | would merely be taken to the post for a hearing to satisfy the Indians. Upon | this assurance the young man was given up, but notwithstanding the pledge of the agent they had not proceeded tar on their return to the agency when the | agent yielded to the demands of the tes, and surrendered the prisoner to them, They at once took him to the | timber, tied him to a trees and amid | the most disgusting orgies tortured him { to death in 8 most horrible manner, His uncle, upon ascertaining his fate, made the best of his way back, snd | upon armving at Del Norte detailed the particulars of the tragedy to a large and excited erowd, Among those present was a young man named Lowe, who, upon hearing the story, said: “The agent should be killed,” “1 will give you a horse and £500 if you will do it,” said Jackson Lowe accepted the proposition, and the next day, well mounted and armed, and with a libsral advance of the sum agreed upon, stated out on his mission As whe feeling of having money in his pocket was a novel one, upon arnving at Saguaché he proceeded to get drunk, Having spent all his money. there was nothing left for him but to get sober, sud proceed on his journey to the agency, Upon arriving there he was met by the agent who per- haps mistrusting him, proceeded to ply him with liquor, and, while under its effects, Lowe esnfided to him the object of his mission. The agent, naturally feeling that his position was a critical one, and feeling no compunctions for the fate of ihe younger Jackson, to which he had so largely contributed, then mede a proposition to Lowe fully as extraordinary as the one made by Jackson, which was that he would pay §1 000 for the murder of the freighter. I'uis being a better offsr, Lowe at once accepted it, and started on his return to garry out the terms of the contract, Arriving at Del Norte, he at once sought out Jackson, who asked if he nad killed the agent, “No,” said Lowe, “{ found ham fo be a very good sort of a fellow, and, besides, he made a betler offer than yours.” “What was it?” asked Jackson. ‘ He raised you and offered me §1.000 to kill you, and I want to know what | you are going to do sbuot it, “I don’t understand you,” unaged freighter, “1 mean just what Isay; he has raised | you $500, and I want to know if you in- wend to raise him.” | “Wny, no of course ool” said Jackson, ‘and if 1 don’t what do you tend to do?” “Well, I think that nnless you made a better offer 1 would have to acoept his,” “You do, do you?” said Jackson. “Yes,” saad Lowe; “‘what else can I do?” Jackson then walked off and left him snd got a double-barrelied shotgun ‘from his house. He then went fo Ewing's hardware store, obtained some pauckshiot cartridges, with which he ioadod the gun, and returned to the blacksmith shop Lere the conversation took place, Lowe in the meantime went off, got | shaved and then got on his horse and started down the street, Winchester in hand, Jackscn, who was standing in | the door of the Wiacksmith shop, saw | him coming, and feeling sure that Lowe | would carry out his cold-blooded in- tention, raised his gun as Lowe passed him and put a heavy charge of buck- shot into bum, killing him instantly, Lowe's lifeless body fell from the horse into the street, Jackson, as soon as he | saw the the result of his shot, jumped | upon his horse and fled the country, | remaining away until the convening of | the Distrect Court, when he returned and surrendered himself for trial, which took pisce ai the same term of court. Knowing that his own oourse in the was not free from he having been the first to offer a price for | his enemy's life, be made the peculiar | defence that Lowe had slandered his wife, also that he had self-defence, The result, however, was that he was acquitted. BE ——_— His Last Wo as, “Good-by, my darling, good by.” “Good-by, my beloved husband." “My will is in my private safe,” *Y »" “Yon remember where the key is, don’t you?" / “Yes” “And don’t . that my life in. surance policy 18 in the bands of the h Conpany.”’ “i won't, love.” “And now one just embrace and thea farewell,” He was for a two-days journey on a United States man-of-war. Tun man who accepted the note of another, payable one week after he hen he pen en Be if blood. said the ss that |
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers