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£®S.. VOL. 52.
American _yolunteer.
PUBLISHED EVERY THURSDAY MORNIHO BY
JOUN U. BRATTOM.
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[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,
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