sjje American • Volunteer.
FtJBUSHBD EVERY XHUBBOAY MORNING
bratt.on & kknjjedy •
OPfICE«SOtVO MABKET SQUARE.
lewifl’.—Two Dollars per year if paid, strlouy
a advance; Two Dollarsand FUly Cents If paid
within throe months; after which Three Dollars
will be charged. These terms will bo rigidly ad
ored to In every Instance. No subscription dis
continued unity all arrearages are AWd, nnless a.
(he mtlon of the Editors
poetical
; BDMABBL
ntndidofalaugning eye.
cold apd high.
And be was a threadbare whiskered beau.
And he lived in a cellar damp and loir.
But the rosy boy of the cherub .wing.
Bath manr * shaft for his slender string;.
And the yonlh below, and the mold above.
a Were touched by the flaming darts of love.
And she wenld wake from her troubled sleep.
O'er hfs tender billet-doux to weep;
Or stand like a statue, cold and fair,
4ud gaze on a lookof his bright red hair.
And he who was late so tall and proud; y
With his step ho firm and his laugh so loud,
His beard grew long, and his face grew thin,
As bo pined in solitude over his gin.
But ono'fioft night in the month of Jnne .
As she lay in the light of a cloudless moon,
A voice came floating soft and clear, ■
To the startled maiden's listening ear.
0 theti from her creaking coach she sprung,
Ami her tangled tresses, book she flung;
She looked from the window far below,
And be stood beneath—her whiskered man 1
She did not start iwith a foolish frown, -
Bat packed her trunk add SCatdpered down.
And there was. her lover tall and true,
In his threadbare opal pfits brightest blue.
The star that rose iji the evening shpde,
Looked sadly dowtt 'on a weeping miUd;
The sun that
Shed golden Ughton o laogUlog bride ?
PisttllmicMS.;
WAITER QQHDQX'S RESOIUTIOH.
Step by step, Walter Gordon bad sunk
from a position of respectability to that
of a confirmed Inebriate. When he first
commenced visiting the tavern at which
liquor was dealt out, be did so with a
feeling of shame, which led him to go at,
a time when be was likely to meet few
persona.
But as the habit grew upon him, he
became more and more reckless of public
opinion. Gradually his income from ids
business —he iwas a carpenter— diminish->
ed; people being afraid to trust him with:
commissions, for probably they would
have to wait a longer time than was con
venient.
Walter was a married man. At the age,
of twenty-five he had united himself to,
an estlmablegirl j who though she brought
him a illtie in the way of worldy goods,',
proved'an- excellent Wife.
They had not been; married ten years, ,
and bad one child, a hoy of six—the eoie<
fruit of the union. Charley Gordon was!
a bright, rosy-cheeked boy, with merry;
wsystbat might have gladdened a fath-;
er'n heart.
Of course their worldly circumstances,
bad been sensibly affected by Mr. Gor
don’s < onrse. Dollar by dollar the board ■
dn the savings,bank had dwindled away.'
Next commenced the diminution of (heir
domestic comforts. It cost Mrs. Gordon
a long fit of weeping, when one day the
landlord of the village tavern, a rough
man, with neither principle nor refine
ment. drove up to the door, and opened
it announced that be would take the
sofa.
‘Toe sofa I’ exclaimed Mrs. Gordon in
amazement - „ 1 ■ -
‘Certainly! Hasn’t your husband told
you about it?’
‘What should be tell me?’ Inquired the
wife, not suspecting the truth.
‘He’s sold it to me,’, said the landlord,
looking shame-faced, in spite of his bra
zen'effrontery.
‘And without saying a word to me
about it?'
. 'That’s his affair, not mine.’
‘What induced him to sell it? How i
much did you give bim for. it ?’
‘He was owing me a debt—a matter ofl
fifteen lots twenty dollars,’ muttered the
landlord.
•And Ibis debt ie for rum, I suppose,’
said Mrs. Gorton, bendlhghereyesasaroh
lugly upon the landlord, IJke an accus
ing spirit..
‘Well, and I suppose it was; I suppose
it’s a debt for all that.’
‘Yon can take the sofa,' said Mrs. Gor
don! fit is in that room;, but I warn you,
John Glover, that the riches which you
are fast accumulating .will bring you uo
happiness. Buining the souls and bodies
of your'fellow-men is a great price to pay
for,wealth.'
‘When I want to hear preaching, loan
go to church,’ muttered the landlord, a
little uneasy in his conscience at the
words of his victim’s wile, callous as he
had become.
A month.afterward the Gordons mov
ed from the comfortable house which they
had hitherto occupied, to a miserable old
building which had not been tenanted
for a long time and ought to have been
pulled dotvn. • But it bad fallen into the
bands of John Glover, the tavern-keeper
before referred to, and be bad persuaded
•bls’.ylctim to.hire It;-' I
Sadidays sucoeeded the removal. First;
■the-pbysloflb-dlscomfortiof-llvfngJn-iufllu
a mlodnlhle ahpll was'not stpajl.- . It,af
forded 1 Beatify protection ogaioat'.tbp -dis
comfort wag increased by the deficiency
of suitable furniture. Ailthatwaa ges-d
had gone the same as the sofa. Not a car
pet was left, and but one stove. So they
were obliged lo live,- during the cold sea
son, In one room—Walter Gordon, how
ever, was seldom at bbme. It bad.long
since-lost all Its attractions for him, and
he was generally lo be found-in the bar
room, where the landlord was gracious,
and hts drunken hilarity and jests were
applsuded.\>y the company- It was not
quitp time,for the landlord tobreak with
him, That he would defer till bis victim
tvas.completely ruined, and there was no
prospect of his squeezing any more money
nut of him.
. One night Walter Gordon hail remain
ed In the barroom longer than usual.—
He rernalijipd until all his companions
bad slipped off one by one, and bd was
He would have gone bad he not
fallen.lntoa drunken stupor, which left
{dm, half Insensible I say, for events
proved that he was not wholly so.
At this time a stranger entered the
room,"and wished to speak to the land
lord apart.
i, ‘1 have • no tire elsewhere,’ said the
landlord! Yen can apeak freely here.'
•But—,’ expostulated the stranger,
pointing’over, his shoulder to Walter
Gordon, who was. reclining on the self
tee,-
. .'jOh.that will make no diSerence. He’s
a poor drunken fellow, and la far enough'
Re American folnntcer
BY BRATTON & KENNEDY.
over tbe bay not to comprehend whai te
going on.’
‘Faugh I' said the other, ‘I shouldn't
think you would.bather auoh miserable,
fellows as he.’
‘I shan't, much longer/ said the land-;
lord, carelessly. ‘l've most cleaned him
out, and then I shall order him off.’
Wlth this they proceeded to business,
which was of a character not to require
our further attention.'
The landlord supposed Walter Gordon
was too far gone to bear what he said.—
Perhaps it would not have troubled him
much, If he had known that this was a
mistake.
-Walter Gordon did-hear the last words
that were spoken, being, as baa been
said, only half unconscious. Hebad still
manhood enough to feel them acutely.—
He bad never before felt tbe full measure
of his degradation. Now it was presented
to him a way that was humiliating
enough.
'So I’m a poor drunken fellowl' thought
"he to himself. ‘That’s what the landlord
says, and be ought to know, for he made
me what lam! And yet, no, I cannot
say that, for if I had not given my con
sent bis efforts would have been pow
erless.’
■ These thoughts ran through Waiter’s
mind. Meanwhile the conversation
went on, and he heard Glover express a
determination to have done with bim,
after be bad cleaned bim out.
This declaration filled him with secret
Indignation, and yet was only what he
might have known before. But the
landlord’s mauners had been so smooth
and polite that he never suspected the
opinion which he entertained of him.
His first, impulse wasi to. 'leave the
room, but something restrained him;—
Without appearing therefore, to have
heard what had been said, he continued,
to lie quiet for a few moments, then
yawning naturally, he staggered to iris
feet.
•Going?' inquired the landlord, In his
usual smooth toue, and with his hypo
critical smile.
‘Yes, it's getting late,'said Walter,.
•You won’t take another glass, for a
nightcap, you kuom ?’
‘No, I won’t take anything more to
night,’ and Walter slowly walked out of
tlie room. He did not bear the land
lord's sneer.
•The first time I ever knew Gordon to
decline drinking. He must'bave taken
an overdose to-night.’
Out in the fresh air a new spirit seemed
to possess Walter Got (Jon: Reflection
bad completely sobered him. He looked
back at the building from which be bad
Just emerged, and exclaimed, In a tow,,
but resolute voice:
•I. will never drink another drop of
liquor in that room ; nor m any other
place, so help me God f
It did him good to make that resolu
tion. He felt instantly, he know not
how, a conviction that God would help
him; and in spite of ragged clothes, bis
destitute family and miserable prospects,
he was cheered by a hope of better
things'.
His wife was awaiting him, not with
reproaches, for these she felt would only
make the matters worse; but wi>h an air
of depression which pained him to wit
ness. He wanted to tell her of bis new,
resolution, but decided not to do so, till
be could give her some decisive proof
that It would be carried out in practice.
She, for her part, did not perceive much
difference in his demeanor from that;
which he usually observed.
The next morning early, Walter Gor
don woke, and left the house for the tav
ern as bis wife supposed.
. She was mistaken. He bent bis steps to
tile house of Deacon Holmes..
The deacon was considerably surprised
to see bim at that early hour.
- ’Deacon Holmes,’ said Walter Gordon,
‘I have.beard that you are intendlug to
build a barn.’
‘Yes,’ the deacon replied. ‘X am think
ing of doing bo.’
‘Have you engaged any one to build
It?’
‘No,’ said the deacon, hesitatingly. He
anticipated what was coming next, and
It embarrassed him.
T am in want of work, and will do it
as cheap as any one.’ •
The deacon looked down. He was ev
idently trying to frame a refusal.
‘Yes. lam aware that you are a good
workman; but—’
‘But my intemperance is an objection,
I suppose you'would say.’
Frankly, now that you have mentioned
■t, that Is an objection—the only one I
have—but as you will admit, a weighty
one ?’.
Tt la, I freely acknowledge it. But,
Deacon Holmes, I made a resolution last
night, never to- touch Intoxicating liq
uors from henceforth.'
do you think you shall have
strength to abide by that resolution?’said
the deacon, eagerly. ‘Are you willing to
sign the temperance pledge-*
—Tam-dealroUß-todo-so,hsald,Walter,
Gordon.
,‘What, may I ask, led you to form this
resolution ?’
' In answer to this question, Waller
Gordon detailed do, the deacon the par
ticulars with which the reader is ahead
familial., ' ‘
•And how, do you think,’ he said in
conclusion, ’that you are willing to trust
me with this job V
‘I will trust you,’ he said, heartily, ex
tending , his band to Walter Gordon,
• i)od forbld thal I should discourage you
in your: resolution by a refusal. Per
haps, lipwev^tvit will be better forme
to employ you by the day, trusting lo
yon to make the job a short one, since
you might Ond it difficult to get trusted
P.r tbe tlmber, if you attempt to procure
It on your owe responsibility.'
‘Thapk yon, deacon, for your consid
eration, I have, lam aware, destroyed
myoredlt- T shall be glad to lake It on
ydur own terms- When shall I com -
mence ?’
‘I will order the timber to-day, uo tbat
it* may be on the ground to-morrow.
Meanwhile I hove a little job around the
bouse sufficient to employ you to-day.
That evening Walter Gordon came
home at elx o’clock, somevt.hat to his
wife’s surprise. ",t
How much greater was her surprise
when he took from bis vest pocket a two
'dollar bill, saying kindly :
’Clara, you must need some money for
household expenses.’
‘On, Walter,’ ehe sale, with a tremu
lous hope at this unwonted action, 'can
It be that you——'
■ ‘That I have reformed? With God's;
. help, I think I' have. Clara, I shall try'
.to make yen' a better husband In the;
future.’ '
There wan Joy in the hnmhie home - of
Waller Gordon that night—the Joy of a.
wife who bad found her husband, and of,
a man who had found himself.
When John Glover heard of Waiter
Gordon’s reformation, he laughed incred
ulously, and said : 'I shall have him here
again before the week Is out-’
He was not mistaken. .'Walter did call
on him before the week was out; but his,
errand wps to say that he was about to
vacate his present house and move Into
a better one, owned by Deacon Holmes..
Three years passed by. At tbe end of
that time Walter Gordon was well, hap
py and prosperous, while the landlord
had himself sunk Into tbe drunkard’s
grave, which he had prepared for so
many others.
ROT DDIITV.
'lathe spring of IS—I was called to
Jackson, Ala., to attend court, having
been engaged to defend a young man
who had been accused of robbing the
mall. The stolen bag bad been recover
ed, os well as the- letters from wbioh the!
mousy had been rifled. These letters
were given me for my examination, and
I returned them to the prosecuting attor
ney. Having got through my prelimi
naries about noon, and os the case would
uot come off before the next day, I went
iuto the court in the afternoon,, to see
what was going on. The first case that
came up was one of theft, and the priso
ner was a young girl not more than 17
vegrs of age, named Elizabeth Medwortb.
She was very pretty, and bore that mild,
Innocent look which is seldom found in
a culprit. She bad been weeping pro
fusely, but as she found an many eyes
upon berebe became too fiightened to
weep any more.
The complaint against her set forth
that she had stolen $lOO from a Mrs
Nasby, and as *he ease went on X found
that this Mrs. N-isby, a wealthy widow •
living in the town, was the girl’s mla
.tiess. The poor girl declared her Inno
cence in the wildest terms, but circum
stances were barn against her. A $lOO
in hank notes had been stolen from her
mistres’s room, and she was the only
one tbat’bad access there.
‘ At this Juncture, when the mistress
was upon the witness stand, a young
man came and caught me by the arm.
‘They tell me you are a very fine law
yor, 1 he whispered.
‘I am a lawyer,’ I said.
•Then save berj Yon certainly can do
it, for she is innocent.’
‘Has she no coynsel ?’T asked.
‘None that is good for anything—no
body that will do anything forber. ‘Oh,
save her, and I will give you all that I
have got. I can’t give .much—but I can
raise something.’
I reflected a moment. I cast my eyes
toward the prisoner., and she wae at that
moment looking at me. She caiight my
eye, and the volume of entreaty I read in
her glance resolved me lu a moment.
I arose and went to the girl, and asked
if she wished me to defend her. She said
yes. I then Informed theednrt that I was
ready to enter the case, and was ad
mitted at once. The loud murmurs of
satisfaction that ran through the crowd
told me where the sympathies of the
people were. I asked for a moment’s
cessation, that I might speak to my
client. 1 went and sat down by her side,
and asked her to state candidly the whole
case- She told me she had lived with
Mrs. Nasby nearly two years, and had
never hud'any trouble before. About
two weeks ago, she said, her mistress
bad ml&sed a bundihd dollars.
‘She missed it from her drawer,’ the
girl said tome, ’and asked me about It.—
That evening I know Nancy Luther told
Mrs. Nasby that she saw me take the
money from the drawer—that she watch
ed me through the key-hole. Then
they went to my trunk and found twen
ty-five dollars of the missing money
there. But, elr, I never took it; some
body must.have put it there.’
. 1 then asked her if she suspected any
one.
‘I don’t know,’ she said, ‘who eould
have done it but Nancy, She baa never
liked me, because she thought I was bel
ter treated than she. She is the cook, I
was the chambermaid.
She pointed Nancy Luther out to me.
She was a stout, bold-faced girl, some
where about five and twenty years old,
with a low fore-head, small eyes, a pug
nose and thick lips. I caught her-glance
at once, as it rested on -the fair young
prisoner, aud the moment I delected the
look it hatred which I read there, 1 was
convinced that she was a rogue.
‘Nancy Luther, did you say the girl’s
name was?’ I asked, for a new light had
broken in upou me.
■Yea, air.’
Xleft the court room ana wehtt(rtbo~
prosecuting attorney, and asked him for
the letters I bad bunded him—the ones
that had been stolen from the mall-bag
H give them to me, and having selected
one, I returned the rest, and told him I
would see be bad the one I kept-before
uigbt. I then returned to the court room
and the ease went on.
Mrs. Nasby resumed her testimony—
She aaid she Intrusted the room to the
prisoner’s care, and no one else bad ac
cess there save herself. Then she do
soribed about the missing money, and
closed by telling bow she found twenty
live dollars in the prisoner’s trunk. She
could swear It was the identical money
she had lost, In . two..tons and one five
dollar bans note.
•Mrs. Nasby,' said!, ‘when you first
missed the money, had you any reason
to believe that the prisoner bad taken
It?’
‘No, sir,' she answered.
‘Had you ever detected her In any dis
honesty?’
‘No, sir.’
'Should you hove though of searching
her trunk, had not Nancy Luther ad
vised ond Informed yon ?’.
‘No, sir.’
Mrs. Nasby left the stand, and Nancy
Luther took her place. She came up
with a bold front, and cast a defiant look
upon mo, os if to say: 'Trap me It yon
.mm’ She then gave her evidence as fol-
uws;
She said that op the night- the money
CARLISLE. PA., TfiERSDAY, FEBRUARY I, 1872;
was taken she saw the prisoner go up{
stairs, and from the shy manner in which ;
she .went up, she suspected that all was,
not right and she followed her up. ‘KHz- i
abeth went to Mra. Naaby's room and
shut the door after her. . I"stopped, down .'
and looked through the ttey-hole, and
saw her take the money and put it in
her pocket. Then she stopped down and
picked up tbe lamp, and as I saw she
was coming out I hurried away.’ :
Then she went on, and told bow she
informed her .mistress ol this, and how
she proposed to search the girl’s trunk.
I called Mrs. Nosby back.
'Yon said that no one save yourself has
access to tbe room,’ I said. ‘Now,
couldn’t Nancy Luther have entered the
room if she wished ?’
■Certainly sir; I moan that no one else
had any right there.’
I saw that Mrs. Nosby, though natur
ally a hard woman, was somewhat moved
by poor Elizabeth's misery.
‘Could your cook have known, by any
means in your knowledge,' where , your
money was ?’
‘Yes, air ; for she has often come to my
room when 1 was there, and I have often
given her money to buy provisions (f
market men who happened to come
along with their wagons-’
‘.One more question : have yon known
of the prisoner having used money since
this was stolen ?’
‘No, sir.’
I now called Nancy Luther back ; and
she began to tremble a little, though her
look was bold and defiant as ever.
•MUs Luther,’ said I, ‘why did you not
Inform your mistress at once of what you
had seen, without waiting for her to ask
about her money ?’
‘Because I could not at once make up
my mind to expose the poor girl, 1 she an
swered promptly.
‘You say you looked through the key
hole and saw her take the money ?’
■ ‘Yes, sir.’ •
‘Where did she place the lamp when
she did so ?’
‘On the bureau.’
‘ln your testimony youeald she stooped
down when she picked it up. What do
you mean by that ?’
The girl hesitated, and finally she said
she did not mean any thing, only that
she picked up the laipp.
‘Very well,’ said I; ‘how long have
you been with Mrs. Nasby ?’
‘Not quite a year, sir.’
‘How much does she give you a week?’
‘A dollar and three quarters.’
‘Have you taken up an y of your pay
since you have been there?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘How much ?’
‘I don’t know, sir.’
•Why don’t you know ?’ -
‘How should I ? I have taken it at dif
ferent times, Just as I wanted it, and
kept no account.’
‘Then you have not laid up any money
since you have been there?’
‘No, sir, only what Mrs. Nasby may
owe me.’
‘Will you tell me if you belong to this
Slate?’
‘I do, sir.’
‘ln what town?’
She hesitated, and for a moment the
bold look forsook her. I next turned to
Mrs. Nasby.
‘Do you ever take a receipt from your
girls when you pay them ?’
‘Always.’
‘Can you send and get one ot them for
me ?’
‘She bus told you the truth, sir, about
the payments,’ said Mrs. Noaby.
‘.Oh, I don’t doubt It,' I replied,'but
particular proof Is thethlng for theoourt
room. So, if you can, I wish you would
procure the receipt.’
She said she .would willingly go, if the
court said so. The court did say so, and
she went. Her dwelling was not far oft,
and she soon returned and handed me
four receipts, which I took and exam
ined. They were signed in a strong,
staggering band, by the witness.
’ ’Now, Nancy Luther,’ I said, turning
to the witness, and speaking in a quick,
startling tone, at the same time looking
her sternly in the eye, ‘please tell the
court and jury where you got the seven*
ty-five dollars you sent in your letter to
your sister in Somers ?’
At this she started as though a volcano
had bursted at her feet. She turned pale
as death and every limb shook violently.
T waited until the people could have an
opportunity to see her emotion, and then
I repeated the question.
*X—never—sent—any,’ she gasped.
‘You didl’ I thundered, for I was ex*
. cited.
‘I—I didn’t,’ she faintly murmured—
grasping the railing by her side for sup*
port.
‘May it please your honor and gentle
men of thk jury,’ I said, ‘I came here to
defend a man who was arrested for rob
bing the mall, and In the course of my
preliminary examination I had access to
the letters which bad been torn open and
robbed of money, " When I entered upon
the case, and heard the name of the wit
nesspronouncedrlwentoutand-gotthlfl-
■ letter, which I now bold, fori remem
bered having seen one bearlng'the signa
ture of Nancy Luther.
This letter was taken from o the mail
bag, and ! lt contained sevcpty-flve" Vj'ql*,!
lars ; and by looking at the post mark:
you will observe that it wap mailed the
day after the hundred dollarswefe taken
from Nrs. Nusby’s drawer, is.and,direct;
ed to Dorcas Luther Somers, Montgom
ery county. And you will observe that
one baud wrote the letter and signed the
receipt, and the Jury will aiso ro obaerve.
And now I will only add it is . plain to
see how the hundred dollars .were dis
posed of. Beventy-tyve dollars were sent
off for safe keeping, while the remaining
twenty-five dollars were placed in the
prisoner’s trunk, for the purpose of cov
ering the real criminal. I now leave ray
client’s case In your hands.’
The case was given to the Jury imme
diately following their examination of
the letter. They had heard from the
witnessed own mouth that she bad an
money of her own, and without leaving
their seats they returned a verdict of
‘Not Guilty.’
I will not describe the scene that fol
lowed, but if Nancy Luther bad not
been Immediately arrested for .theft she
would have been obliged to seek protec
tion of the officers, or the excited people
would have maimed her at least, if they
had not dope more. The next morning I
received a note, handsomely written, In
whiAh T was told that the within was
hat a slight token of the gratitude due
cme for my efforts in behalf < f the poor,!
defenceless maiden. It was signed *UOv->
eral citizens,’ and contained one hundred;
dollars. Shortly afterward, the youth
. who first begged .me to take uptho caae,
.called upon me tvlth all' the money he
could raise; but i refused his bard earn
ings, showing him that I had already;
been paid-Before I left town I. was ai
guest at bis wedding—my fair client be-1
Ing tbe happy bride.
ATIBI TAMM HIUD BT LIONS.
PBABFtJIi JOBNB IN & MENAGERIE.
[Frbm the Manchester Qaordlan. ]
. A dreadful scene happened In Man-j
ders’ Menagerie, Market square, Bolton,
Thomas Maccarte being attacked and:
killed by lions as he was performing. In j
their midst. It was the last evening of
the exhibition, .and'Macoarte undertook i
to give an extra performance. In thei
cage which he entered there were five
lions. The animals had been pat through
their leaping exercises, when Maccarte
noticed that one, a full grown Asiatic—,
was restive,, and showed bis teeth. Hej
drew bis sword and pointed It • threaten-1
Ingly at the lion’s mouth. His attentlop
thus beingdlverted.from' the o,tpp|,pnl
malß, a .young African lion l> orept,ate)i,l ;
tbily out from the group and sprang to-,
ward Maccarte, slezlng him byihis right i
hip and throwing him down.- Atthei
same time the Asiatic lion fastened itself j
upon his bead, tearing off a portion of.
bis scalp. A scene of the wildest confu-,
sion ensued—women screaming, and men j
running about in all direotlans.ln search j
of weapons. It Is usual in Manders’ Me-.
nagerie to keep> number of, irons con-.
Usually heated fqr emergencies, but on j
this occasion- they .bad been removed, j
and fresh irons bad to be placed in the ■
fire.
Maccarte fought desperately with: bis j
sword, inflicting some fearful :gas.hesion ;
the faces of both lions. One. of the other
lions nbw slezed the unfortunate man by
his only arm fracturing the bones, while j
another tore a piece of flesh out,of lila,
thigh, Miccarte retained bis presence,
of mind, and called out to the men to fire
among the animals. Revolver and rifles .
were accordingly procured, and whilst
some fired blank cartridges full in the
faces of the infuriated beasts, others pro-.
bed them with , heated,. irons, stabbed :
them with forks, and beat .them, with a,
ladder and iron scrapers. Eventually a
slide waf introduced between the bars of
the cago, behind which Mr, Blrohall.Jtbo
agent, and John Ryan, one of the keep
ers, drove four of the lions. At the fifth
lion more shots were fir«d, but it was
nut until the heated bars were applied to
the nose of the animal that it relinquish
ed its bold and ran behind the partition.
Maccarte then staggered to bis feet, but
ere he could reach the door and before
the slide could be • closed,- the African
lion again rushed out, seized : the poor
feljow again by the foot, and dragged
him back into the corner among the
other animals. Again the frightful
struggle went on; Maccarte. was dragged
him up and down the cage by the bead
and legs three or four times, the floor
being completely saturated with his
blood. Rome rifles loaded with shot were
now discharged , among the savage
brutes, and f wlth several Irons, now hea
ted to a red glow; they were beaten Ihto
a corner and the-partition closed against
them- Maccarte was then released, still
conscious. As be was borne to the in
firmary, be exclaimed to a fellow work
man : Harry, lam done for.” In ad.
dltlon to the back part of the scalp, all
the flesh had been torn from the thighs,
the right arm was fractured in two places,
as wallas badly lacerated from the shoul
dsr to the band; the chest had been-lac
erated, gad the bones of the pelvis bad
pieces bitten out of them. He died In 10
minutes after his admission to the infir
mary- Deceased was 33 years of age, was
a native of Cork, and was married.
Critical Periods op Homan Life.—
From the age of forty to that of sixty a
man who properly regulates himself
may be considered in the prime of life.—
His matured strength of constitution
renders him almost impervious to the at
tacks of disease, and all the tu actions are
in the highest order. Having gone a
year or two past sixty, however he nr
' rives at a critical period of existence; the
river of death .flows before him, and be
remains at a stand-still. But athwart
this river is a viaduct called Tlje Turn
of Life,’’ which. If crossed in safety, leads
to the valley “ Old Age,” round wifloh
the river winds, and then flows beyond
without a boat or causeway to effect its
passage. The bridge is, however, con
structed of fragile materials, and it de
pends upon bow It is trodden whether it
bend, or break; Gout, apoplexy and
other bad characters are also In the vi
cinity to waylay the travler and thrust
him from the pass ; but let him gird up
hie loine, and provide hlmaelf with per
fect .composure. To quote a metaphor,
‘the turn of life’ has a turn either Into a
prolonged walk or into the grave. The
-syatenraDd-power r havlng_teaoUfld_thslr_
Utmost expansion, now begin either to
close, or break down at once. One Inju
dicious stimulant, a single fatal excite
ment, may force It beyond Its strength ;
I whilst a careful supply of props, arid the
withdrawal ol all that tends to force a
plant, will sustain It in beauty and vigor
until night has nearly set in.
JEFFERSON'S IiIKIMO FOB INDIANS—
That liking lor Indiana which we ob
serve in the writings of Jefferson, result
ed from bis early acquaintance with some
of the best of the unobrrupted chiefs who
used to visit and stay with his father on
their Journeys to and from the capital of
Virginia. The Indians held his father
in that entire respect which they were
apt to feel for men who never feared and
never deceived them. One of the most
vivid recollections of bis boyhood was of
a famous chief of the Cherokees named
Ontaseete, who went to England on be
half of ids people. The boy was in the
camp of this chief the evening before bis
departure to England, and heard him
deliver his farewell oration to hia tribe—
a scene that be used to deeoilhe with ani
mation seventy years after its occurrence.
The moon was in full splendor that even
ing, and it seemed as If it was to that lus
trous orb Die Impassioned orator address
ed prayers for his own safety, and the
protection of Ms people during his ab
sence. The powerful v. .100 of the speaker,
bis distinct articulation, his animated
gestures, and the silence of the listening
Indians sitting motionless In groups by
several fires, tilled him with awe and
veneration, although he did not under
stand a word that was spoken.
COURAGE TO DO RIGHT.
W o may have courage, all of us,
To start at honor's call,
To meet a foe, protect a friend,
Or iaoe a cannon ball ? •
To show the ‘world one hero lives
Tbe foremost in tbe fight— ,
But do we always manifest
The courage to do right ?
. To answer No I with steady breath.
And quick, unfaltering tongue.
When fierce temptation, ever near, ■
system song has sung t
, To care not for the bantering tone.
The jest, or studied slight;
Content if we can only have
The oonrage to do righ t ?
To step aside, from fashion's course,
Or castotn'S favored plan;
To pluck an batcast firom the street,
. Or help * reliow man ?
If not*then let us nobly try,'
. Honcofoith, with all our might,
In every case to muster up
The oonrage to do right t
THEBTOLER ROTE.
BY A RETIRED ATTORNEY.
Except that he indulged to freely in
the use of the intoxicating cup, John
Wallace was an honest, high-minded
and.extraordinary man. His own great
fault hung like a dark shadow over his
many virtues. He ment well, and when
be was sober he did.well. .
He was a batter by trade, and by in
dustry and thrift he bad secured money
enough to' buy the house in which be
lived. He had purchased it several years
before for.tfaree thousand dollars, paying
one thousand down and securing the bal
anco by mortgage to the seller.
The mortgage was almost due at the
time circumstances made me acquainted
with the affairs of the family. But Wal
lace was ready for the day; he had
saved up the money ; there seemed no
possibility of an accident- I was well
acquainted witlr Wallace, having done
some little collection, and drawing up
legal documents for him. One day his
daughter Annie came to my office In
great distress, declaring that her father
was ruined, and that they should be
turned out of the' bouse in which they
lived. ”
- ‘Perhaps not. Miss Wallace.’ said I,
trying to console her, and give the aflair
whatever it was, a bright aspect. 'What
has happened ?'
'My father,’ she replied, ‘bad the
money to pay the mortgage on the house
in which we live, but it is all gone how.’
‘Has he lost it ?’
'I don’t know ; I suppose so. Last,
week he drew two thousand dollars from
the bank, and lent it to Mr. Bryce for
ten days.' '
. ‘He is a broker. My father got ac
quainted with him through George
Chandler, who boards with us, and who
is Mr. Bryce’s clerk ’
‘Does Mr. Bryce refuse to pay it ?’
‘He says he has paid it.’
‘Weil, what Is the trouble, then ?’’
‘Father says he has not paid it.’
‘lndeed I But the not will prove that
be has paid it. Of course you have the
note ?’
‘No. Mr. Bryce, has It.’
‘Then ot course he hap paid it.’
‘I suppose be,has, or he could nothave
the note.’
‘What does your father say ?’
‘He is positive that he never received
the money. The mortgage, he says
must be paid to-morrow’
‘Very singular ? Was your father—•’
I hesitated to use the unpleasant word
which must have grated harshly oh the
ear of the devoted girl.
‘Mr. Bryce says father, was not quite
right when lie paid him, but not very
bad.’ , .
‘I will see your father.’
‘He is coming up here in a few mo-'
moots. I thought I would see you first
and tell you, the facts before he came.’
T do not see how Brice could have ob
tained.the. note unless be paid tbe
money; Where did your father keep it?'
‘He gave it to me and I put it in the
secretary,’
'Who,was in the room when you put
It In the secretary ?’
‘Mr.'jjfloe, George Chandler, my fa
ther, and myself.’
. The conversation was here interrupted
by.iheentrariceof Wallace. He looked
pale, haggard, as much from tbe debauoh
from which be was recovering,.
'She has told you about it, I suppose,’
satd.be, in a very low tone.
'She has.’
I pitied him; for two thousand dollars
was a large sum for him to him to accu
mulate in his little business. The loss of
It would make tbe future look like a des
ert to him. It would be a misfortune
which one must undergo to appreciate
it.
‘What passed between yon on that
day ?’
‘Well, I merely stepped into his office
—it was only the day before yesterday—
to tell him not to forget to have tbe
money for me to-morrow. He took me
into his back office, and as I sat there be
said he would get the money ready the
-next-dayHo-theoJeftjne.amLwantin=_
to the front office, where I beard him
send George ont to the bank to draw a
check for (wo thousand dollars; so I sup
posed be was going to pay me then.'
‘What does the clerk eay abou f it 7’
•He says Mr. Bryce remarked, when
he sent him, that he was going to pay
me the money.’
'Just so.’
'And when George came In be went in
to tbe front office again and took the
money. Then be came to me again and
did not offer to pay me tbe money,’
‘Had you the note with you ?'
’No ; now I remember, be said he sup
posed I hadn’t the note with me or he
would pay It. I told him to come in the
next day, and I would have it ready—
that was yesterday. When I came to look
for tbe note It could not be found, Annie
and 1 have hunted the house all over.’
‘You told Mr. Bryce ao 7’
‘I did,, He laughed aud showed me bis
note, with bla signature crossed over
with ink, and a bole punched through
it.’
'lt Is plain, Mr- Wallace, that he paid
you the money, as alleged,or has obtain
ed fraudulent possession of tbe note, and
Intends to cheat you out of the amount,’.
’He never paid me, be replied firmly.'
‘Then be has fraudulently obtained
possession of tbe note I What sort of a
person is that Chandler that boards with
you,?'
'A fine young man. Bless you he would
not do anything of that kind,'
VOL. 58.-- -NO. 34,
■I am aura he would not,’ repeated An
nie earnestly. „
'How else could Bryce obtain the note
but through him 7 When does he come
home at night 7’
'Always at te& time. He never goes but
In the evening.’ (
■But, father, he did not come home till
ten o’clock the night before you went to
Bryce’s. Be bad to stay In the office 1 to
post boohs, or something of the bind.’
•How did he get in 7 ’
‘He has a night boy ?’,
‘I must see Chandler,’ said I.
'Ha barm in a seeing him,’ added Mr.
Wallace, ‘I will go for him.’
In a few momenta be returned with
the young Chandler, who, In the conver
sation I bad with him, manifested a very
lively interest In the solution of the mys
tery! and professed himself ready to do
anything to forward my views.
'Wlien did yon teturn to the house on
Thursday night 7’
‘About twelve,’,
‘Twelve! 1 said Annin, 'it was not more
than ten when I heard you>'
'The dock struck twelve as I turned
the corner of the street,' replied Chand
ler positively.
'I certainly heard some one in the
front room at ten,' said Annie, lobbing
with astonishment at those around her.
• We’re getting at something,’ said I
•How did you get in 7’
The young man smiled as he glanced
at Auule, and said :
‘On arriving at the door I found I had
lust my night hey. At that moment a
watchman happened along, and X told
him my situation. He know me, and
taking a Udder from an unfinished .
house opposite, placed it against one of
the second story windows, and I entered
in that way.’
Good. Now who was it that was head |
In the parlor at ten, unless it was Bryce,
or one of hisaccompllces 7 He must have j
taken they key from your pocket, Mr.
Chandler, and stolen, the note from the
secretary. At any rate, I will charge him (
with the crime, let what may happen.— ;
Perhaps be will confess when hard push
ed.’
Acting upon this thought, I wrote,a,
lawyer’s letter—‘demand' against you,
etc.’—which was immediately sent to,'
Mr, Bryce. Cautioning the parties not to,
speag of the affair, I dismissed them?
Bryce came.
‘Weil sir, what have you to sayagainst.
me V he said etlflly.
‘A claim on the part o f John Wallace
for two thousand dollars,’ I replied, look
ing over my papers, and appearing su
premely indifierent.
‘Paid it,’, he said, short as pie crust.
‘Have you ?’ said I, looking him sharp
ly in the eye.
The rascal.quailed. X saw that he was '
a villain.
Nevertheless, if within an hour you do,
not pay me two thousand dollars, and j
one hundred dollars for the trouble and (
anxiety you have oausd my.client, at ihe,
end of the next hour you will be lodged .
in Jail to answer a criminal charge.
‘What do you mean, sit ?’
‘I mean what X say. Pay, or take the;
consequences.’
It was a bold charge, and if be looked
like an honest man I would not have
dared to make it.'
‘I have paid the money, I tell you,'—
said be, *1 have the note in my possess- ■
ion.’ . '
‘Where did you get it ?’
‘I got it when I paid the ’
‘When you felonously entered the.
bouse of John Wallace, on Thursday i
night at ten o’clock, and took the said:
note from the secretary.’
‘You have no proof,’ said he; grasping,
a chair for support. f
‘That is my lookout. I have no time to'
-waste. Will you pay orgn to Jail ?'
He saw. that the evidence I bad wasj
too strong.for his denial, and be drewthej
check on the spot for twenty-one bun-:
fired dollars, and after begging me not to ;
mention the affair, be sneaked off.
1 cashed the check and hastened to;
Wallace’s bouse. The reader may Judgej
with what satisfaction be received it,
and how rejoiced was Annie and her!
lover. Wallace insisted tbatl should take ■
one hundred dollars for my trouble ; but:
I was magnanimous enough to keep only;
twenty. Wallace signed the pledge, andj
was ever after a temperate man. He died
a few years ago, leaving a handsome.
property to Chandler and bla wife. The j
marriage between him sod Annie took (
place shortly after the above narrated ;
circumstances occurred.
A PARADISE 11 THE PAGIFIO,
In the .waters of the Southern Pacific,
ocean, two-thirds ot the. way from Cali
fornia to Australia, and directly on the ,
tract of commerce between the two Eng-:
llsh speaking countries, on the shores of
the‘quiet’sea,-are situated the Fiji or
Viti Islands. Of service hitherto, main
ly as a, wayside inn for travelers on the ,
great highway, and comparatively un
known except to sailors and wayfarers—
tills group of two hundred and twenty
five islands bids fair to become of coni-
Tilderable—importance-on-acoount-of—its
wonderfui fertility of soil and genial cli
mate.
The soil of the eighty inhabited la
lands is deoribed a ‘deep yellow loam,’
and the tropical climate and abundance
of water cover the mountains up to their
v6ry summits with a luxuriant vegeta
tion. In this region plants grow with
a marvellous rapidity, and If Jack ever
planted that traditional bean stalk, he
must have chosen one of toe FIJI islands
as the place of Its nativity. Turnips,
radishes and mustard, we are told, after
being sown twenty-four hours are above
the surface, and in four weeks are fit for
use. Its productions are as varied In
their nature as they are excellent in
quality. There are no less tbau nipe na
tive varieties of the bread-fruit, six of the
banana, three of plantain, and three of
cocoa nut, while oranges, plums, the Chi
nese tea-plant, caraway, nutmeg,spgprj
cane, arrowroot, capsicum, sarsaparilla,
(not bottled) cape gooseberry, and pine
apples, flourish amid all the changes of
the seasou. But it is chiefly on account
of the advantages possessed by these is
lands for the production of cotton and
the comparatively recent (1853-1880) dis
covery of the fact, that their commercial
. value la so highly rated,
. Experiments with the beat quality, of
sea-island cotton have placed the coun
try in the front rank for the growth of
this staple, and so valuable is the grade
raised that it brings readily a dollar a
UaUe for QUtoettieing.
ADVKBnazKKRTB wui be inserted at Ten Cents
er lino for the first insertion, nod fire cen*a
per lino for each subsequent Insertion. Quor.
terly; half-yearly, and yearly advertisements In
erted at n liberal reduction on the above rates.
Advertisements should be accompanied by tbe
Gum. When sent without any length oi Urn*
specified for publication, they will be continued
untllordered out and pnargedaooordlngly
JOB FBQiTmo.
CABXm.Hakdbuils. oiKcnmAßs, find every oth
er dosorlntlon of Jon and funn Minting.
pound In the European market. This
cotton, by the way, is . not an annual
plant, as In the sea-islands-of Carolina,
but perennial, and needs to be planted
but once in Fiji.' Once planted, it has
but to be tended and the crop gathered
year after, year. The natives of other Is
lands In . the Polynealon'erSirp afo'bb-'
talned for laborersVbn the cotton planta
tions at $l5 a year and art ’ reported to
work well.
Such being tbe productiveness of the
soil, tbe vaine of the crop, the cheapness
of tbe labor, and the cost of feeding tbs
workers so small, no wonder that these
Islands are regarded with special favor
by fortune-seekers. It is interesting and
encouraging to learn that the King of
these formerly ‘oanibal islands'Ts a llbe
raliand sagacious ruler. He has con
qUred bis propensity lor missionary food
and ‘.wbltemeat,’' has embraced Christi
anity,, encouraged, immigration, adopted
civilised ideas, established a constitu
tional government,- and Invited into bis
Cabinet intelligent Americans and Euro
peans.
©tSsaiVOtffiiUjs.
What is it you ban take without
bands? A hint.
It .is sajd that, 'pantaloons obtained
on credit are breeches of trust
Why Is a yoting lady before marriage
never right ?. Because she is all the time
a-miss. .
A BOY’s-paper lo Boston advises the
Humane Society to arrest all persona
In the city who bottle catsup. 1
An Indiana editor announces: ‘We
leave to-morrow for the' county hog
show, and hope to take the prize.’
Why is a man riding fast up bill
like another taking a. little dog ito a
young lady 7 Because .be is 1 taking a
gal a pup,
A hardy seaman, who had escaped
one of the recent shipwrecks upon bur
coast, was asked by a good lady how he
felt when the waves broke over him.—
He replied, ‘Wet, ma’am ; very wet.’
A country; girl, coming , from a
morning Walk, was-told.she looked as
fresh as a daisy kissed by the dew; to
which she innocently replied, ‘You’ve
got my name right—Daisy; bnt hit
name tßja’t.dew.’
Perseverance.— ‘l remember,! says
John Wesley, ‘hearing. 1 my father say
to my mother, ‘How could yon have
patience to 'tell that. blockhead the
something twenty .times,Over?’ ‘Why,’
said she, Jif I had told him butbineteen
times, I should have lost all my labor.’
A Greenhorn was offered, at a
public table, a plate of maccaroni soap,
but declined It, declaring that they
couldn’t ‘play any biled pipe-stems on
him.’
, A gentleman was introduced to a
young indy recently, and addressed
her as follows: ‘Where do yon live
when you are at home?’ to which she
promptly replied, ‘when 1 am at home
I live there.’
A young lady In a California abating
rlnb was astonishing a crowd of people
with her excellent skating, when she
stumbled and fell, knocking out ail her
teeth. It is consoling to know that they
were false ones.
Enraged parent: ‘Did you throw the
half brick at random V Weeping, boy :
‘No; I threw It at Johnny Williams.’
'And did you strike him on purpose?’
'No; I struck him on the nose,’
U’a, didn’t you whip me for .biting
Tommy ?’
‘■ies, my child, yon hurt him very
much indeed.’
Well then pa, you ..oughtto whip
mamma’s music teacher, too—for he
bit mamma right In her mouth, and I
knew it hurt her,'because she put her
arms around his neck,bind tried to choke
him!’ i
‘Bub, Is your sister at home?’
‘Yes, but she won’t'sea you to-night.’
‘Why?’
‘Because she said she was . going to
have one more mess of onion's If she
never got another bean.’
iA young man, not a hundred miles
from this was . accosted by a ftlend, the
other day with the remark:
‘I heard the other day that .you were
about to get married.’
‘Wa’il, yes,’.he replied, -‘lthought
awhile that I would marry, but I found
out that the girl end all her people were
against it and 1 concluded to drop It.'
On the road between Meriden and
Hertford there is a saloon where decoc
tions of benzine are passed over a rick
ety bar, at the small price of five cents.
Directly opposite is a country grave
yard where the country for a few miles
around bury their dead.. The hostess
of the saloon has an.unfeeling sign on
the door as follows: ‘Key to the ceme
tery gatowlthln;’"
At Bellevue Hospital, New Yoric, in
cases of fractured limbs, moulds of
plaster of Paris are now used in place
of ,‘splints.’ The patient’s broken leg
or arm is bandaged, and over the band
age is moulded a thin layer of plastic
piaster. This soon dries, and the pa
tient, instead ol being compelled to lie
in bed, can get up in twenty minutes
and go around on crutches. The brok
en member is held perfectly secure in
the light piaster-clad battery. This is
is a wonderful and simple invention.
Some one of an inquiring mind
wishes to know if the emancipation Of
women was complete, and if comptete,
equality was established between man
and wife by the law, as it Is already, by
the best and moral instincts, would it
effect the interesting subject of popping
the question, or would the initiative
remain as heretofore, with the males ?
Once upon a time says history, a
Scotch pedestrian was attacked bythtee
thieves. He defended, himself, well,
ut was overcome, whenVthe thieves,
much to their astonishment, found
that he owned only the small sum of
sixpence. *
•The devil’s to the fellow,' said one,
to fight thuS; for six;pence, Why.if
he’d a shilling, held ha’ JciUed every
one of os.’