———.ll— IM* l' I » «- „ . -- ... ~ ' ' j!|-, /, ’ S . i *w r ■■l 'in -I am '■om £®S.. VOL. 52. American _yolunteer. PUBLISHED EVERY THURSDAY MORNIHO BY JOUN U. BRATTOM. If TERMS: Subscription.— Two Dollars if paid, within th . «g. tt rr and Two Dollars and Fifty Cents, if not paid the year. These terms will bo rigidly ad- to in every instance. No subscription dis r ’.fgantinued Unt u a ll arrearages aro paid unless at option of the Editor. r Advertisements — Accompanied by the cash, and exceeding ono square, will bo inserted three $3t(»08 for $2.00, and twenty-five cents for each- insertion. Those of a greater length in 'flfjoD-PniNTiKa— Such as Hand-bills* Postlng-bUls Blanks, Labels, Ac. Ao.> executed with [curacy and at the shortest notice. Sp ; . fortital. I TAKE THE PAPERS. BT N. P. WILLIS.' Why don’t you take tho papers ? They're tho life of my delight; Except about election time/ And then I road for spite* Subscribe, you cannot lose a cent— Why should you bo afraid ; For cash thus-paid is money lent On interest, four fold paid^ Go take the papers, to-day nor pay delay. And my word for it is inferred, You'll live till you are gray. An old newspaper of mine, While dying from a cough, Desired to hoar the latest nows, While ho was dying off. 1 . /$3 ••-•Vi X took tho paper, and I road Offcflomo new Pill's in force, He bought a box—and is ho doad? No—hearty as a horse. I know a printer’s debtor once, Rakod with a scorching fever, Who swore to pay her debt next day,. If her distress would leave her. Next morning she was at. her work, Divested of h w pain, But did forgot to pay bor debt, Till taken down again. “Hero, Jessie, take these silver wheels, And pay the printer now I” Bhe'slopt and slept, and then awoke, With health upon her brow. I know two men, as much alike, As o’er you saw two stumps; And no phrenologist could find A difference in their bumps. ; Ono takos tho papers, and hia lifo Is happier than a king's ; His children all can road and write -' fS And talk of men and things. Wr I.)| The other took no paper, and ”!£i| While strolling through the wood, A tree fell down and broke bis crown, And killed him, u very good," Had ho been reading of the nows, ;■At homo like neighbor Jim, I’ll hot a cent that accident - Would not haro happened him, . Why don't you take the papers ? ,' /VXi Nor Irom the printer sneak, Because you borrow of his boy •iA paper every wcok.■ :’ x i For he who takes the papers. And pays his bills when due; ‘Wf Can. Uyo in peace with God and man, And with the printer too. m Sii«wllirnnni«. UNDER THE CHARCOAL, .j|ln New York you mny live next door to pother or five-and-twenty years and never , Mow his name. In Paris your own brother Mfilit ocoujy rooms under the same roof Aflyou might never meet each other, might mo and marry and die there and never -guess the neighborhood of a kinsman. For ’;poao who dosiro it, it is the loneliest place AW the world.' iNo one. unless it was the porter of the 1 many-storied house in the Hue De , ew that Monsieur. Paul Dupont occupied irowcnieof that dwelling, or that he was artidf. it was a matter of perfect indiffer le to all but his few artist friends. For i matter of that, poor, folks “are of little iseqUenca ahyWhere, whether they paint, 8 sing, or not, nr scribl-10. When they be me rich, it is another thing, and folks te notice of thorn, and they should put gpmir names in the directory and let the know when they are at home. But a wlW* man , ot woman—bah 1 Paris, as a tb ‘ n S> let Monsieur Dupont paint , i .TOtne, and the Emperor had never visited .ajsstudio yet. It was an odd place that ait A litter of portfolios and cauvass ■ !Ln * caß ts and tassels and piotures, in irames_ and out them ; where segars and > * aUn ? 3 ab °ut,- and empty wine 0S ‘ wb ‘ eb ba( A contained very innocent iS’mi 890 f ® ren °l» wines, graced the .corners ; there was a north light and canvass in lower part of the window, and a pot for making of chocolate, and any number of £%J§ 0 °“ ao3t °'d French books, and some mod one3 by Sue and George Sand and Du where there wore also a violin, a flute tilt a .S u *tar, a sword pud a couple of pistols Sslmimotimes fallen down and sometimes in use, 11*611 the pistols, for there was a painted oir |||S ro * e with a spot in the oeutre over the man at which Monsieur Paul often took aim |®r practice, without bringing in a neighbor pW discomposing the mind of tho landlord. I*™ ara so many suicides in Paris that na.man hears tho report of a pistol he ;; j3 n 7 thinks, ‘ It is my neighbor blowing his l rain s out,’ and does not interfere with what ' Idj 038 n't’concern him. I; ,^ nro °fing this, a la Asmodeus, to take a ■P oe P>.y°u might have seen one bright May A nor mng Motisieur Paul Dupont standing de- S-i| parmgly before a picture—tho sort of pio- M m ‘ e J ni gbt htivo expected of a' French- ; nn? ''llbrce-and-twonty—airy, graceful arid 1 n- o' ?• A lOTOr at the feet of hie belov’ed; -A no °ki beside a fountain; a ifo [ 6 . *hh*w ' 8 10tailoa ! a duenna asleep uh || r tab tfeos on a garden bbneii.' A picture destined to bo colled 1 La,Declaration. 7 Tho youth was handsome, and the duenna brown and corpulent, 'the maiden, ns yet but a ghost-like sketch. There was the difficulty ; Paul could find no model for his beauty. True there were plenty to bo hired for so many sous an hour, but ho wanted an inno cent face, and much staring at in artists’ studios had banished tlie blush from ißost of tho faces young and pretty enough for his purpose. _ Monsieur Paul had always found it impossible not to imitate the expression of 1 his models, and it would not do for the hero -1 ino of •La Declaration’ to look brazen. At last he flung down his brushes, kicked over a stool, put on his hat, with its pendent tas sols, and his velvet paletot, and went down stairs and out into the Rue De Capuch em it was a quiet street enough. Tho, houses looked half asleep. The only sound was the distant rumbling of yehieles in some wide thoroughfare and the hideous yells,of .a fieh woman, with a basket on her head,- crying her stock for, sale. Monsieur Paul snun teredon, with his hands deep in the packets of his paletot, and looking in tho air, forgot to watoh his feet. They struck suddenly against something, and somebody uttered a skriek and cried: ‘Ah! he has destroyed them,' Looking down, Monsieur Paul saw a . girl and an overturned basket of violets. Ha hud run against a flower girl and thrown down her merchandise unaware. An Englishman would have uttered naugh ty words and asked her why she couldn’t keep out of the wqy. You who read this can tell me bist what an American would have done. The Frenchman stooped down and commenced to pick up tho blossoms with a little • Pardon/ At that the head was lifted, and under a golden fleece of hair Paul Dupont saw tho face ho wanted. A.n innocent face—a beau tiful face—the face of a perfect blonde. Per haps she was seventeen, but certainly no ol der. Earliest girlhood lingered yet in her blue eyes. Paul forgot tho flowers. ‘ Will you set for me ?’ hesaid abruptly. Then remembering that she might not Understand him, ho went on :‘lam an artist. I desire to find a mod el for a figure I am painting. If you will oblige me, I will pay you well/ The girl shook her head slowly, hesitated and then said, in a low voice, in tho English language :‘I do not understand. I am an American/ Paul .collected hig thoughts. He had a smattering of English, and he said, 4 I shall speak to you in i’Anglaise. You compre hend V . * Yes/ said the girl simply, and she listen ed as he spoke, and explained in broken English, musical and'pretty enough, what ho meant and wanted. She understood and mused a moment, when she looked up into his eyes, and the glance said, 4 Can I trust you?' He answered the look, for there was no words, 4 1 shall be good to you. There is no need to fear.' And his kind young ©yes looked frankly into hers, and she arose and followed ‘him, with her violets on her arm, up those long' to the atelier, with its northlight and its heterogeneous belongings, where thronged on the dais, she looked lovelier than ever, as ho taught her how to turn her head and place herself, and painted her shadnvy outline on the canvas. That first sitting was not the last. She came again and again.— At length Monsieur Paul discovered why she was so glad to earn the coin ho gave her, Hermother slowly of consumption. She was an American. A year before site had come to Paris, led by the hope of recov ering some property which had belonged to her dead father, who was a native of France. That hope was futile ; and by the time they knew it to be so, the mother had fallen Ilf, and now their money, was all gone, and they could not return to their native land, as she was dying. 4 So what could Ido V said the girl; * I could not see her starve. Though my father was a Frenchman, I do not un- derstand the language. I need Jo nothing but offer these flowers, and I have earned bread and a little wine and eoup for my mother. When she is gone I shall care'no longer, but lie down and die.' ‘ It is sad for you,’ said the voung French man ; ‘ but tho young and beautiful should live, not die.’ ‘ Should live and love 1 he thought, al though he did not Bay so. Monsieur Paul Dupont was poor himself, but after this many dainty and many a bottle of wine found its way to the unknown woman dying in a for eign land. From that day she did not suffer from want. - • And that picture was long painting.- It seemed as though the golden hair and blue eyes_ would never be done. Paul Dupont was in no haste whatever; for, let tlie secret creep out, this friendless American girl, sel ling her flowers in the streets of'Paris, hap py to earn the. francs he gave her for tlio copying of that sweet face, had won the young, artist’s heart. He hardly know it himself, until one day she entered his. rpom trembling and weeping, and sobbed forth, ‘■My mother is dead.’ Then tho truth flash ed upon him, and he bent over her and took her hand, and said in French— * But thou hast a friend yet left, beloved.’ That day ha looked upon the dead face of tho flower girl’s mother and did what a son might have done. The foreign lady lays in a quiet grave, with a little cross above her head, and there were two mourners, her daughter and Paul Dupont. It was beside that grave he said to her tender words of comfort—here, also, he whispered— ‘ Thou oanst sell flowers no longer—Thou dost not hate me. Let iny heart shelter thee—be my wife.’ And in this brief time she had learned to understand his native tongue. Lonely; and loving him as he did her, there was but one answer to be given. • That night an old priest married them, and Paul took his wife home to his atelier. A sweet task, it seem- ed, to dry her tears, to comfort her; very sweet to toaoh her, his native tongue. Ilia English and her French were on a par; but lovers can understand each other without language of any kind. The prettiest pair I ever saw were deaf arid dumb, and held con-; verse with their eyes. For a few days that atelier was a paradise, and theri—sadness and misfortune poured in upon their bridal path. It was then in the dead hour of tho night. They started wide awake together, with a noise and glare, about them. The building was on fire. People were screaming, wood cracking, flames licking up door-posts and window frames with its rod tongue. Fifteen minutes more, would have tho end of them. As it was, Paul - had barely time to wFau his darling in a coverlid and fly down the blazing stairs with" her for life/ She was nrit hurt, but he was singed about the face arid hands, and badly burnt iri-bis arms. Ho Ift hardly kriow it until the next day, when the debris of the furniture was rescued from the ruins, and they had found another lodg ing. Then the pain became more severe.— That he didn’t mind, while she nitied and nursed him ; but ns days passed on, and he grew rather worse and better, the fear that he might not be able to paint, before their purse, which the wife had about her, was empty, grow stronger. The surgeon looked* £ravo over the burn, and would give no opin ion, Estelle—that was the name Paul had given her, and she accepted, because her En fjish name, Ruth, was a mysterious impossi ility to his French tongue—did all she could. She spent the sous frugally with an old man who'sold cheap articles of food on one side of his shop, while on the other wore stored cld books, waste paper and rags. Paul know him well. Many of those old books had been found amidst liisrefuse and bought for a few sous. He sympathized with and prescribed for. the artist.. All in.vain. The little money vanished until they were penniless. _ The first day of ab.ilute wont Paul kissed hie wife with many words of love, and went out to see the surgeon. He came book with a white face and sat down, saying nothing. Estelle trembled. She crept up to hfm and kissed his forehead. Then he burst into tears and sobbed in her bosom. The surgeon had told him his arm must come off or ho must die. A terrible fate for on artist and a young man of twenty-three. ‘ I must die,’ he said; ‘ there is no choice.’ . ‘ I will work for you/ she sobbed, ‘ only live for me.’ ‘ Thy little hands are both not so much as one of mine,’ said Paul. ‘We cannot live, but we can die together.’ She_ spoke her native language and he his, in their excitement. Then they were silent. She knew what he meant. Forgive him, reader-; he was French, and a Frenchman’s first idea in trouble is charcoal. That was it—charcoal and an air-tight room. She had ,no wish to die, but her husband was her world, and she could not exist without him. After a while, sittinjftogether sorrovful and hungry in that gloomy, room, she was quite of his way of thinking. She only said i— -4 Wait until to-night;’ he answered, 4 As you will, chare amis. So they waited, and at dusk began their preparations. They made their windows and their chimney air-tight, and sat a furnace in the middle of the room. Then Paul said : ‘ I will bring you the charcoal. My friend, tho shopkeeper, will wait some time for his money; but no matter, ho will not begrudge if f He took a basket, and went out through the darkness to the little shop. To the in quiries of its owner, he replied that 4 he was better—would soon be well/ As ho said this his eye rested on the charcoal and he smiled. The grocer was unconscious. He bent over the black fuel measuring it out.— * Your basket has a hole in it/ he said; 4 the coal will escape and soil madame’s neat floor, \Vait, I will repair it/ Searching among the rubbish he found a piece of crumpled parch ment and laid it in the basket. ‘ltis a por tion of the contents of the garret of Monsieur Noir, deceased/.ho said; 4 1 purchased it with a chaos of books and papers to wrap up my merchandize. See it suffices. Bon soir t monsieur/ And Paul Dupont departed. He went home intent on what seemed to him a very praiseworthy thing. He embrac ed Estelle, fastened the door and lit a candle, 4 that wo may look upon each other, chore amie* he sighed, and then loft to her.tho task of kindling those fatal coals. To this end a stretcher had been broken to pieces, matches lay ready, only paper was wanting, 4 There is some in the basket/ said Paul j and Estelle drew forth—not exactly papef, hut parchment; an old deed j something in French. As Estelle’s eyes rested on it she saw her own name thrice repeated. In a moment she cried to Paul, 4 Where did this come from/’ and Paul, instead of doing as one of our own countrymen would have done, and bidding her not to chatter of unimport ant matters at such a crisis, said as politely as though there was no charcoal on the ta pis, 4 1 have been told from the garret of Mons. Noir, deceased * ‘Paul Paul—Monsieur Noir was my grandfather. Do vou forgot that ia niy name ? Head this, dear Paul.’ And so he read it. It was a will bequeath ing - certain property well worth the having, to Monsieur Jean Noir—a native of’Amerioa and grand daughter ot the testator, &o„ &o. This was the property which had brought M'e. Noir to Paris—the will which had been supposed to bo in existence, but which had been vainly searched for, for the very good reason that sundry grasping servants had un wittingly sold it with the other papers, and books, and household refuse to dealers in such articles for a few sous. The grasping servants could not read. Neither could the polite shopkeeper of the Rue De , and but for that charcoal it is probable the document would have remained lost forever. Monsieur Paul Dupont and his wife did light the furnace until they had unstopped the windows. Then it was to make choco late. Mrs. Ruth bad proofs of her identity, and insisted on her unpronouncable name until they were esfhblished. After which sho ac cepted the name Estelle again with joy. They were rich now, and despite the sur geon’s verdict, I doubt if Paul lost his arm, for some time since Parisian periodicals were lauding q picture he had painted. Was it a portrait of Eugenio, or of her Napoleon?— And wo read a list of wondrous titled perso nages, who have visited the atelier of Mon sieur Paul Dupont. JSS“Wa heard a good retort in the oars tho other day, from a tipsy Scotch laborer, who had carried in his hand a bottle of ‘ fire wat er,’ with which to keep himself warm and mois . A fellow traveller wishing to poke a little fun at him, asked him what he had got in his bottle. ‘ Small beer,’ was tho reply. ‘Well,’ said the other ‘if it’s small beer. I’ll share it with yon.’ ‘ No,’ answered Sawney, ‘it’s too small for two 1’ ■ Tho laugh was on the man iu tho good clothes, who retired to his seat ‘ echorohed, but not killed.’ Scarce Articles. —A parson who practi ces all he professes; A beauty who never feels proud when elio dresses; • ' A lawyer whose honesty pleads for bis cli ent; A braggart whose courage is always defi ant; A sensible dandy, an actual friend ; Philosophy publishing ‘ money to-lend ;’ A skillful physician regardless of self; - A staunch politicise forgetful of pelf; A sour old bachelor neatly arrayed ;" And last,'though not rarest, a cheerful old maid. [ Xy* Forty suits agalrist detective Baker for releasing parties from arrest on. payment of large bribes, ate about to ha commenced'in' New Yor' " OUR COUNTRY-MAY IT ALWAYS BE RIGB'!—EDI RIGHT OR WRONG OUR COUNTRY.” CARLISLE, PA., THURSDAY, JULY 27, 1865. And they swept us off a hundred men or'tnoro. But boloro wo reached their linos. They wore beaten back dismayed, And wo board tho cry of vioj'ryo'or aud o’er. Chorus*—Tramp, tramp, £ramp, Ao. So within tho prison ce|. Wo aro waiting for tho[iny That shall oomo to open wide tho Iron door, And tho hollow oyo grows bright, And tho poor heart almost gay, As wo think of seeing home and friends once more. . Chorus— Tramp, tramp, ramp, Ac. * Very well, Mr. Jonkj, you know toy opin ion of secret societies/ * Perfectly, my dear, perfectly/ said our friend, thrusting his hands into his pockets with all the energy he could sustain. * And you will join V * Don't you think.it best?' ’* No sir, once for all, I do not/ ‘ Consider my dear, if you should be left a widow, wiih nothing to support —* * Now <vhat a ridiculous argument. Do you suppose; Mr. Jenks— * .. ‘ My dear/ * Mr. Jenks/ • # 1 Will you listen for a moment V ‘Certainly.’ * Well, then, much ns I respect your wish es, and you know I love you dearly ( it will be impossible for me to oblige you in.this in stance. I have sent in my document, and to-night am to be initiated.’ Mrs. Jonks opened her handsome eyes in amazement, and for a moment was lost in wonder. ‘ And you are actually going to bo initia ted V ‘ Yes my dear.’ ■ Well will you tell mo all about it when you come home ?’ 1 Perhaps no.’ Comforted by this assurance, the lady of fered no further opposition, and our boro took his departure. About the hour of elev en he returned a wiser if not a better man. ‘ Well, my dear,’ exclaimed Mrs. Jenks ‘ what did they do to you—what is it like— wore you much frightened 1 com eye 11 me all about it.’ » Don t ask me, gravely repl ‘ I beg you won’t ask me.’ ‘ Why not, I’m your wife, you know, and wife and husband are one. Why not?’ ‘ Hark I’ said. Jenka, ‘ did you hear any thing V ‘ No, nothing.' ‘ Silenoe, my dear, remember what Shaks pearo aaya about sermons in atones, books, in running brooks. If I should divulge it.' ‘ W ho my dear V 1 The patriarch of the lost tribes. liven now he may be at our window.’ ‘ Mercy on us,’ ejaculated Mrs. Jenks, * how you do terrify a body. I- -I—l—l— shiv —shiver all over.’ ‘ If you don’t want to be killed outrighl nek no more questions.’ • ‘ Sure you can tell mo something about it, an idea, or two, that wouldn’t bo divulging you know.’ * What if you should in an unguarded mo ment let the secret out.’ 1 Oh, trust me, it will be safe in my keep ... ‘ You will never tell ?’ ‘Never.’ , ‘ Not even to Tour mother?. You know bow gossiping some old ladies are.’’ ‘ I’ll never open my lips to her on the sub ject.’ ‘ Hark I’exclaimed Jenks, with a theatri cal start, ‘ hear you nothing.’ ‘ Nothing’, repeated his wife with unfeign ed alarm. ‘ ”fia only the wind,’ mused our friend, ‘I thought it might be the grand bashaw, arm ed with his circumventor, and covered with the curious devices of the order. Now listen if you love mo—(or the sacrifice I am about to make is great —and you must seal your lips forever or. the subject!' ‘Well my dear,’ said the lady with a long drawn sigh.’ ‘You have often heard of the oat being let out of the bag?’’ , . ‘ Yes.’ ‘ Well, I saw that cat to-night.' ‘ A real live cat ?’ ‘ Yos, and an immense cat at that, a mon strous oat. But you shall hear. You shall know all. Let me begin at the beginning.’ ‘ That’s right,’ exclaimed Mrs. Jenks, breathless with interest. ‘On arriving at the Hall, I was immedi- ately seized by four smart fellows, and, taken upon the roof of the building. Here I was tongue tied and compelled to answer about a hundred questions, all having a direct bear ing on the science of astronomy.’ ‘ What a queer proceeding,’ exolaimcd'Mrs. Jenks. ‘ How I answered those questions, must over remain, I suppose, a mystery to mjeulf —certain it is, however,' I did answer every one—although I did not know it till to-night, there’s a dipper, and a chair, and a four horse team, and I don’t know what else in the sky. Is it not a pity that this beautiful science is so sadly neglected.’ ‘ Wh.at, what then ?’ • Why, the next question is too absurd to be repeated.' • They wanted to know whether I took a newspaper, and if so, how much I owed the' printer. Fortunately, I had just then paid my subscription, otherwise I must have been rejected, as no man cop become an Odd Fel low who owes a cent to the printer'.’ • Well, I never,’ exclaimed Mrs. Jenks, ‘ what an influence those newspapers do ex ert to be sure.’ . ‘Exactly! But. scarcely had I answered these queries satisfactorily, when an immense flame,shot up, and,we as quickly shot down,’ ‘ What—through the roof?’ ‘ Oh, no 1 I suppose wo, took the stairs ; but I was securely bound and tongue tied. F hardly knewhow wo got down.' The apdrt mont into which ! was ushered was pitch dark, and a strong odor of brimstone perva ded the room. ‘Brimstone,- my dear ?’ TRAMP, TRAMP, TR4MP, In tbo prison call I sit, Thinking, motier dear, of you, And our bright and happy home so far array, And tho toars, tloyfill my oyes Spito of all that I can do, Though I try to ohooi my comrades and bo gay Chorus— Tramp,itrarap, tramp,tbo boys aro marching, 0, choorup, comndos, they will come ; And boneath tho starrj flag Wo shall broaiho tho ar again, Of tho in oar own bolorod home In tho battle front wo stood Whon their fiercest ctargo' they mado, [JOINING THE ODD FELLOWS. Yea, it must have been brimstone, for nothing else coqjd have produced such Asti fling sensation.’ ‘ Well of nil things.’ 4 Then began tho roar of-artillery with nn occasional volley of,small arms. In tho midst of the tumult I heard a low, sweet voice, chanting a hymn of pence. ’Man shall love his follow, sang this angel—‘cruel war shall bo waged no more—peace shall reign—industry shall meet its rfiward —char ity fills tho hearts of men.’ When this hap py singer bad ceased, a laud cry for cheap postage rent the air.’ 4 How very odd." 4 les, but just like these Odd Follows, they are real reformers/ replied our friend. 1 Well, my dear.’ . ‘Why then lights were prepared, and I signed the constitution.’ 4 Well, what of the cat of which you were speaking ?’ 4 Oh nothing, my dear, only they let her out, nnd for a minute or two she appeared quite bewildered. It was the first time I had ever seen that oat let out of the bag. But what struck mo with tho greatest awe, was the appearance of tho lost tribes, and the double jointed bnslinw, who, in a loud voioo, continually said—‘Life is short—prepare for that which is to come. Bet all men have charity, and love their neighbor ns them selves/ whereupon tho grand patriarch arm ed with the tail of tho groat grand father’s authority, nroso nnd impressively adjourned the meeting.’ ‘Well, I declare/ ejaculated Mrs. Jenks, 4 and this is joining the Odd Fellows 4 Yes, but remember to keep nil I have told yon, a profound secret/ said Jenks, with n|hnlf smothered chuckle ns he buried his head in the bed-olothes to keep from laugh ing out-right. AMENT ROMAN FARMS. In the early and more virtuous ages of the Itomon State, the cultivation of the fields, and a few rude trades connected with it, wore the only occupation. The best husbandmen wore the moat hon ored ; and many of the moat ancient families received their names from their success in the cultivation of plants or the rearing of cattle, , It is probable that nl this period the ground was broken up only by the spade. After ward,'when the farms were enlarged, more expeditious moans were discovered. Some of the Homan modes of plowingaro still in use. They always plowed with oxen, a single pair, or sometimes threoabroast,' yoked by the neck and horns. The farm-houses were at first little huts, but they were soon enlarged to suit the in creasing possessions of the owners. We read, at a later period, of largo store-houses and granerios, cellars for wine and oil, barns, together with separate buildings for the care and rearing of every species of domestic an imals. The kinds of grain in common cultivation wore the same as those known in Europe, with the exception of maize, or Indian corn, -w hioh-wns-first-fou nd-in-th is-countrv; —Til 0 incyent mode of converting grain into meal was by pounding it with an instrument some thing like the postal and mortar. Much care and attention was paid by the Romans to the roaring of cattle. Sheep were secured under cover during the winter, * notwithstanding the mildness of the Italian climate. Shearing time was a season of gen eral festivity. Goats ivore made as profitable to the farm-, or as sheep. Their hair was clipped every year and woven into a kind of course stuff, and their milk was the chief supply of the dairy. Friend The Homan farmers wore very supersti tious. They refrained from all labor on the filth day of the new moon;, on the seventh and tenth they planted vines, and harnessed young oxen to the yoke ; on the ninth, they commenced a journey, The skeleton of an ass’s head was hung-up rt the boundry of the farm to enrich the soil and drive away the effects of blight. The same figure carved in brass, and crowned with vines, was affixed as an ornament to their couches. In the remote ages, the gardens of tltef Ho mans contained only a- few of the most com mon pot herbs and orchard-trees. The mure delicious fruits and more beautiful flowers were inypduoed at a much later period, from Persia and other parts ol Asia. The style of ornamental gardening was heavy and formal, producing a gloomy shade, rather than displaying beautiful scenery. It was the fashion to fill the gardens with dark walks shaded with evergreens, loaded with statues, and bounded by high clipped hedges. It is supposed that the Homans obtain eda knowledge of ths&£ultivution of the grape, aud of the art of making wine from Greece. They took great care of their vineyards, and labored in cultivating the plants with much art and industry. The mode of gathering and pressing the grape was the some that is now practiced. The vintage was a time of festival, and the rustics made merry with the performance of a rude kind of comedy, and pouring out liba tions of new wine, to Jupiter and Venus. The wine appears to have differed frO’m that of modern times ; it was kept in jars formed like urns, same of which arc said to have been so large ah W have made, when filled, a load for a yoke of oxen. They were commonly ranged in cellars, but were some times buried in the earth, or even bedded in solid masonry. The wine was usually kept to a great ago,. It was held in less faVpr than the wine of Greece, and was much cheaper. Picture of the Red Sea. —Hpgarth was once applied to by a certain' noblom’an, to paint on his staircase, a representation of the destruction of Pharoah's host in the Red Sea. In.attemptingto fix upon the price, Hogarth became acquainted with tfi'e miserly conduct of his patron, who was unwilling to give more than half the real value’ of the picture. At last, out of 'patience, be agreed to his terms. In two or three days the picture was ready. The nobleman, surprised at such expedi tion, immediately called to examine it, and found the space painted.all oyer,red. ‘ Zounds 1’ said the purchaser, ‘what have, you hero? I ordered a scene of the Red Sea.’, ‘The Red Sea you have,’ said the painter. ‘ But where are the Israelites ?’ ‘ T.hey have all gone oyer.’ ‘And where are the Egyptians?’ ‘ They are all drowned.’ . The miser’s confusion could only be equal led'by the baste with which he paid the bill. The biter was bitten. O” “ What a fool I" said, Patty Prim, when she heard of the capture of Jeff, Davis; “ of course the men would all run after him if be was dressed as a woman, and he was sute to be caught." JEFFERSON DAVIS. Eis Health Greatly impaired— He is not Ex pectedjy Live Long—One Eye Almost To- tally Blind and the Other Much Impairet. —Full Details of his Babits in J’rison— Condition of Clay and Mitchell. [Correspondence of the N. Y. Ilorald.] Fortress Monroe, July 17.—From all the sources of information I am able to command, there is no doubt Jeff. Davis is slowly but surely declining in health from his protract ed imprisonment. lie will hot oven avail inmselt of the opportunities of exercise af forded him, and ho has a space of about 20 by 20 feet ho could walk about in it ho chose; butnU tho long hours of each weary day ho sits at tltp barred embrasure,of his casemate, sullen, silent, speechless. With his chin al ternately resting on one hand and then on both, he looks unintdrmittingly through this opening. Whore rest his eyes and what thoughts stir that brain no one can toll. Before l , * m i n re the bay and thepassing ships, and the Rip Raps growing each day into a won- ! drous work of impregnable strength ; and be yond, the blue sky and fleeting clouds and wild sea birds enjoying the boundless free dom of the outer air. And mingling'with' these sights comes that perpetual, mournful refrain, the sounds of tho waves dashing up on the beach. Here he is a prisoner, and' under what circumstances and under what terrible charges hanging over him l Not a moment is he loft .alone—not a moment pass es that ho is nut under tho vigilant eye of soldiers. There is no escape through those strong iron bars. There is no escape through this cordon of muskets. There can bo no at tempt at rescue from without. What won der is it that that form has grown mure ema ciated, those hheeks more sunken, those eyes more lustrous, that b'fovf more wrinkled—his hair whiter, his words fewer, his spirits sunk in perpetual gloom ? Health has loft him, hope is gone; that proud spirit is broken, and tho end. is not far. I am writing no' fancy .sketch. I have been told to-day that Jeff. Davis, if ho keeps up his present prison habits and despondency, will not live six weeks lodger : A CHAPLAIN ATTENDS HIM, Yesterday Mr. Davis requested permission' for a chaplain to e.eo him. This is the second request ot this kind he has made since his arrival. Chaplain Kerfoot was sent to his cell. lie greeted the chaplain with warmth. “ It is to you and this book (holding the Bi ble in his hand) X must look," he said, •' for consolation now." The chaplain talked to him of his spiritual condition, read to him passages from the Bible and prayed with him. After the chaplain loft Davis appeared to bo in much better spirits than ho has been for some time past. BEADING THE BIDLE. Ho reads the Bible morning and evening. Recently, I am told, he protracts these read ings much mure than at the commencement ot his imprisonment, lie coulcsses his belief in the Bible, and professes to have made it the ruling guide of his life. It is evident that bo-duos not:fnnoyboing“o in fined exclu sively to reading the Scriptures, for he some times clamors for a different style of litera ture i but his request in this regard thus far has not been complied with. This refusal to extend his rending privileges, and not per mitting him to write to his wife or see letters from her, have formed the burden of Jiia complaints. nis EYESIGHT GEOWING MORE DEFECTIVE. If permission was given litm to have all le books he wished he could not read much' imself, and fiom the comfort derived from them would have to rely mainly on others reading to him- One oyo is now almost to tally blind, and the other gives indication of rapidly becoming so. He has complained lately of seeing objects double. He still wears his goggles during the day time. HIS DAILY ROUTINE. Life in prison is necessarily monotonous. With few it has over been more so than with Davis. He rises pretty early, usually at five o’clock in the morning. He takes a bath the first thing, using salt water at first, and winding up with fresh water. His bathing facilities are limited, oonsistingof a common washtub half filled with salt water, a wash basin of fresh water, coarse towels and soap. An army blanket he converts into a tempo rary screen, and bathos behind this. Ho is not very particular about his toilet, the fash ion of combing his hair and all that, but is exact upon the subject of cleanliness of his underclothing, sheets, towels, &e. Bath and toilet completed, he reads his Bible, and at half-past eight has his breakfast. This is served him from Dr. Craven’s table. The statement in some of the papers that a daugh ter of Dr. Craven brings him his food is in correct. A soldier brings his meals to him. Ton, toast, and an egg or two, or broiled steak usually make up his breakfast. His appe tite is very variable. General Milos may call in to see him and pass a few words, or the officer 1 of the guard may have something to say ; for only those two, except his physi 'oian, and the chaplain, of course, when he calls, are allowed to speak to him. In con .rorsation he has .betrayed nn anxiety and even determination to discuss the subject of the impossibility of ever convicting him of treason. Ho throws himself back upon the question of State rights as his main point of defense. For some time, finding that all the discussion was on his own side, he has kept silent on the subject. Except these interrup tions in the way of Conversation, which, it will •be understood, are not daily by any moans, he passes most of his time till half past three P. M., his dinner hour, in looking at the window; He smokes his pine ooca -1 sionqlly, but is no great smoker. Ho says much’ smoking makes him too nervous. After dinner he passes the.tirae as before.— He has supper at half-past eight o’clock, and then directly goes to bod. ,lle sleeps pretty soundly, but more so formerly than latterly. At first the light kept burning in the room nil night troubled him, buf he hits become used to it and makes no complaint on the subject now, as perbaps hb knows it would do no goad if he did. COMPLAINTS ABOUT THE OtTAED'. In previous letters I have described Mr. Davis' quarters and the guard placed over him. Both continue the same as at first.— He has been urgent to have.the guard in his own room, the roar room of the casemate— two are kept constantly in both front and back room and an officer with them—remov ed and kept in the front room. But his en treaty was of no avail. IJext ho desired that the guard in his own room might be allowed to stand instead of being kept walking,- but here, too, his request has not been complied with.- THE LATE EXECUTION 07 THE ASSASSINATION CONSPIRATORS. Thoro-is every reason to bolieva. that th* excution of the assassination conspirators in Washington has been communicated to Davis within the past three or four days. It is certain that a great and marked change has come over him, and to his undoubted knowl edge of this execution the change is attribu ted' a His food is of , tlle best quality, he has' abundance of pure air, and there is no spe cial reason otherwise accounting for present' gloominess and decreasing health. CONDITION OP UR. CLAT, Every day Mr. Clay is improving in health; lie still takes his morning hour's walk, and' is in greatly improved physical condition on' account of it, Dr. Bancroft feeds him'on ho?- pilal diet yet, in fact his. constitution is id no condition to stand stronger food. He id very lively and oholty if ho can get any oho to talk with him; and hopeful as to the fu ture. HR. JOHN HITCHED. ® eeni3 uffeot the physique of Mr. Mitohel. Ho is apparently as good in health as on the day ho was brought here.— lie goes barefooted most of the timb. afad takes things coolly and quietly. His man ners are not yery v oonoilmtory, nor calculated to attach'friends tghim, lam told that he has not lately expressed any fears as to the President pressing a pardon upon him! Soldier Bor Waggery.— The Columhus (Ohio) Journal says': ‘Among the sharp boys in Sherman’s army on the grand march was a graduate of the common schools of North ern Ohio—the only son of a widowed moth er. The fond mother had no word from'her son from the time the army loft Chattanooga till it reached Atlanta. She waited for ti dings with much anxiety—watching' daily the newspaper reports. At length, several dayi after the taking of Atlanta had been announced, a letter was brought her which read as follows: i . ■ ‘ Atlanta. Dear Another: —Bully boy all right. . Bod.' , ‘ In duo time Sherman marched from At lanta to Savannah. There was a fight be hind Savannah. The widowed mother read in the newspaper that the company to which her boy belonged was in that fight. tVitii almost sleepless anxiety she waited for news from him.- One day she received a note whieh read thus: * Savannah. Dear Mother:—Bully boy got a hole in lys hide —not bad. Bob.’ ‘ln the inarch of events Sherman’s men reached Wrt-hington, wore mmtored out, and the company to which Bib’ be'ongOl canid to the capital of Ohio. Here ‘Bob’ had'his final, honorable discharge, and when ho had made it ‘ail fight’ wth the paymaster, and was again a citizen, he sent the following tel egram ; ‘ C ILUMBUB, . B ar Mother:—Bully hoy horn's to-mor row. Bib.’ * When nskol by a friend, to.whom the an* frequency and brevity of his epistles home had been mentioned, why he did not Write oftener and at grocer length, he answered: ‘Bully boy’s got his haver flok full. Kept' it all to tell by word of mouth. Won't he have a good time talking up the old lady V ‘ Those who know the buy aOeopt this an swer as a token of'filial affection. If serious ly wounded he know his companions would promptly notily his friends, and with eyes open and a retentive memory, ho treasured his experience, trusting that by his mother’s side at home he could some day toll llor all. ’ The meeting was, no doubt, a joyous one.’ Sticking to one’s Rights Old stories very often have a ’ forcible application, to present times. The following anecdote wo met with lately in an exchange: ‘ How is it, John, that you bring the wag on home in such a condition ?’ * I broke it driving over a‘ sfdrhp.’ ‘Where?’ ‘ Back in the woods, half a mile or there bouts.’ ‘■But why did you run against the stump? Couldn’t yon see how to drive straight ?’ ‘ I did drive straight, sir, and that is tile very reason that I drove over it, The stump was directly in the middle of the road.’ ‘ Why, then, did you not go round it ?’ ‘ Because, sir, the stump had no right in the middle of the road, and I bad a right iu it.’ ‘ True, John, the stump ou’ght not to be in tho road, but I wonder that you were'aofool ish ns not to consider thirl it Was there', and that it was stronger than your wagon,’ ‘ Why, father, do you think that I am al ways going to yield my rights ? Not I—l anf determined to stick up' to' them come what will.’ ... “ But what is tho use, John, of standing up to rights, when you'get greater wrong by so doing?' ‘I shall stand up for .them, at all hazards.’ ‘ Well, John, all I have to sny is this— hereafter you must furnish your own wag-' oh.’ Pat and Ilfs Pig.— A rollicking Hibernian of the light division' in tho Peninsula, was trudging along the road wi h a pig tied to a string behind him', when, ns bad luck would have, ho was overtaken by Gen Otanford.— The salutation, as may be supposed, was not tho nfost cordial. * Where did you steal that pig, you' plun dering rascal ?’ gonerel ?’ exclaimed Paddy, mrning'around with the most innocent sur- pnso., , *, Why,'that pig you have behind you, you villain.’ ‘ Well.'then, I protest, general,’ rejoined Paddy, nothing abashed', and turning round to his four-footed companion, ns if he had never seen him before,‘it is scandalous' to think what n wicked world we live in, and how ready folks are to take away an honest boy’s character. Some blackguard wanting to got rao iqto trouble has tied that baste to niy cartouch box.’ The general smiled and rode on'. ONLY A CRIER. EPIGRAM —nr QUILPi A famous Judge came late to Court" One day in busy season ; ; Whereat hie clerk, in great surprise,- Enquired of him the reason. ‘ A child was born/ His Honor said. And Era - the happy sire,’ A‘n infant Judge, Sir ?’ ‘ No,’ said he, ‘As yet he's but a cbiek!’ —Boston Post, SSS“ Telegrams are, reooiqed by tbe War Department from- New Orleans in’ twenty-' four hours. ' W3P Always give a narrow-minded man a ' wide birth, NO . «
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers