rz ' , , ■ | The American Volunteer , fi \i Mi I ’~gz: m p ii# hi mmrflit Mui . ■ ■■■J\ UK * wlllJl W JPJI UliilKi * doll am per, year if paid strictly I ‘ .. . v v v v \7 ji adrance. > Tsto pollaiwand Fifty Cent* If , . . v '** „ia within tbred ■ jabnthu, alterwbloh Throe noiiut will he: charged.. Those terms will be rigidly adhered ,t(>'ln every Instance. NosnW urlptlon dlscontlauedunlU all arrearages are f sldi unless at the option ot the Editor.' Ipottical. OITY VIOLETS. Fairest of Spring's fair children, Babes of the flowery year, Violets with dew*spront eyes * Dcop'buod os midnight sklotH* Whatla It ye do here? • Here.ln thepent-np city, For from.your native dell, Where the flinch her nest entwines, And through the -budding pines Fitful UarCh breezes swell? Iu place of streaming sunshine, And free, bud-blowing air, • Upon your beauty falls The shade of prisoning Walls, And gaslight’s yellow glare. Through street and crowded alley Your fresh-plucked buds are borne, Laden with pleasant tales, Of woods an d ancient vales, Thick with the white sloe-thorn. Ever omld the tumtilt of traffic's ceaseless hum, Sweet as a babbling rill., or a wild linnet’s trill. Your gusts of perfume come. Hcom they Uko fairy voices, . . Those odor-lrelghted sighs, Telling: of vernal hours, And rain-drops in the flowers, Hew-chaliced from the skies, And that falflt floating fragrance, Like a low loving word. Stirs many a U cart of care, As by. the p'assin g air JEollan chords are stirred. The worn face of the weave,r As he hurries to his loom, Grows brighter while he stays His weary glance to gaze Upon your purple bloom. The pale-browod seamstress pauses A moment, as sbo feels Within her room your scent. That fropi the roadway pent, Through her dull casement steals. To thousand, thousand' workers in labor s serried ranks, Bright breezy thoughts yo bring Of meadows white with spring, Green crofts and sunny banks ! Ana therefore, Bprlng ? s fair children, Babes of the flowery year, - .. Violets .with dew-sprenfc eyes . Deep-hued os midnight skies— Thrlce-welcome ore ye here. H&feUawtß. KATE'S AOOOMPUBHMEWT. A SKETCH FOR MOTHER AND DAUGHTER, “Really Kate, you have succeeded ve ry well. Where toy daughters are so truly accomplished I dare not draw com* parlsons; but I say to you that I consider your education ‘perfect.'" And . thus Speaking, Mrs. LeUark, a woman of five and forty, and a mother of three grown up daughters, lay back in her easy chair, and gently waved her fun. Kate, theyoungest of the three daugh ters, had just arisen from the piano-forte, where she bad Improved upon her lust course. She was nineteen years of age, and her form was of the pure female type—not robust, nor yet falry-ilke, bht after tbe fashion of those .models which the old Greeks used to adopt when they wished to sculpture an Adriano or a Tu- phroryne, Touching her face—it was certainly a good-looking face. To call such a face pretty would sound tame and flat. Mrs. Lenayk thought Isabel and Bertha were both prettier than Kate, while Mr. Lanark was of a opinion* However, upon one point there was no dispute.- The. Judge would often say—“ Well, my little Kate looks very good anyhow." But nobody had ever disputed him. Isabel and Bertha were the other two, both older than Kate, being age& respec tively twenty-one and twenty-three.— They had graduated at a very fashiona ble school, and were deemed very, very highly accomplished; and.moreover, they were called beautiful. Judge Lenark was the father of these girls. He was a man of means, though not of large wealth. Ho had been a suc cessful lawyer, and was now upon the bench; and his social position was of the very highest. Governors had been among his clients, and Senators looked to b|m for counsel and assistance. The Judge had reared two sons and sept them forth into active useful life; but bis daughters he had left to bis wife. “Of course," Mrs. Leuark continued after she bad taken her seal near her father, “you do not play as well as your slaters, butit willcome toyou by practice. I think I 'may myself say that your list of necessary accomplishments is full. “Not quite," said Kate, with a nod and a smile. There is one more accomplish ment to add,to my list. I longed for it many a time when I was at school and 1 am led to long for it at many places I am forced’to visit. I must learn to cook." “ To what ?". oriod.Mrs. Lenark. “ To cook ?" queried Isabel and Bertha in concert. “Aye," added Kate, VI will not con sider my woman’s accomplishments com plete until'l can, with my'own hands, make a loaf of whfeaten bread fit to set before my father." . ( “The Judge caught his Kate, by the hand and cried, l l Good, good for Kate 1" Isabel and. Bertha smiled derisively.— Their look's plainly showed that they considered the thing ridiculous. Mrs. Lonark looked up in surprise and deprecation. It seemed a reflection upon her educational care of her daughters.— Kate saw the look, and answered "Ido not.mean'a loaf of such soggy stuff as some of our friends make with cream of tartar and caleratus, nor yet a loaf of the putty stuff that comes to’us from the baker's, but.l mean,a loaf, of each bread os my own mother used to bake when I Was a wee child.” Hire. Lanark was > mollified, but not converted.... " Ah, Kate, times have changed since I Was young. . " For the worse!" muttered the judge, flat his wife did not notice him.. She went on. 1 "You had better leave'the making of bread to the help In. the kitchen. If ev er you have a home of your own X trust you will have enough else to o'oOupy your time without doing the work of your ser vants." " If over I have a home of, my own,” said Kate, with mild decision, " I am determined that I will be able to superin tend every part of it. The servants em ployed In my household shall bo able to BY JOHN B. BRATTON. look down upon me. ' I’will not be the slave nor victim of my cook.” “Good," again orjed-the Judge. ' “ Go it, Kate, and I will furnish the material. Waste a dozen barrels of flour, If neces sary—only bring me a grand good loaf of bread;of ybur own making and baking In the end!”. Mrs, Lenark thought, it foolish and Isabel and Bertha obaraoterized.it as ve ry childish and whimsical. They fancied that It smacked of the nursery and play>- room. / ■ .But Kate was in earnest; and ae'hor father.backed her up, she carried tbo day, and gained the freedom of the kttohen, where the. servants soon came to lave her. The following Winter Isabel and Ber tha spent in the city. Kate remained at home, because her mother could not spare them all. During their visit to the me tropolis, the elder sister there made friends and formed a few pleasant'associ ations. Among others, they met with Boland Arcbwortb, a young banker whose father had been .Judge Lonark’a classmate and chum at college. In their , letters home they had informed their father of this fact, and the Judge, remem bering the elder Arohworth with treas ured love and esteem, and knowing him to he the occupant of an exalted position in society, bad invited the young man to visit him at his country bouse. And thus it happened that whoa cum mer came Boland Archworth.came up to Lenark’s pleasant home. He was a young man of five and twenty years, and to use the expression of one who knew him well, (‘every iuoh a man.” He bad inherited a fortune from bis I father, and' was now a. partner in tbe house which his father had founded,— There was no speculation in business which .he followed. With a banking capital folly equal to the greatest possi ble emergency, the.house pursued a legit- imate course and its wealth was con stantly and surely increasing. Is it a wonder that Mrs. Leuurk's heart fluttered when the prospect dawn eduponber that thoyoung hanker might possibly seek one of her daughters for d. wife? She cared not whether he chose Isabel or Bertha. They were both ac complished, and either would make a worthy mate for him. And we do not do the Judge injustice when we say that even he allowed him self to hope that the son of his classmate might And it iu his heart to love one of the girls. He had studied'the young man’s character well, aud.be believed it to be one of the purest and best. And Isabel and Bertba. Of course there was rivalry between them, but .they agreed they would abide the issue. If Isabel were selected to preside over the home of the millionaire, Bertha would not complain ; and should Bertha prove the fortunate one, Isabel was prepared to yield. One thing happened very unfortunate ly, On the very day of AroUworth’a arr rival, the cook bad been taken sick. — What was to be done ? “Never mind/ 1 said Kate, with a smile, “I will take the reigns until tbe cook gets well." ~ . ' But for mercy's sake,” implored Isa bel, “don't let Mr. Arohworth know it f He belongs to a sphere which would be shocked by sucb«a gross impropriety.— He wopld look upon us as belonging to ic canaille . But there was no present help for it, and Kate went into the kitchen and took command of the' forces in that quarter. “ Will you have some of this.cake, Mr. Archworth?" asked Mrs.*Lenark, lifting ie silver basket of frosted niceties, “ No," replied the visitor, with a smile. If you will letme exercisemy own whim you will please .me. This plain bread is a luxury which 1 do not often meet. It takes me back to my boyhood’s days. ■ I have not eaten such since I cat bread which my own mother made. If ever I keep house for myself I. think £ shall ask you to send me your cook. For the llle of them they couldnot help the betrayal of emotion. Poor Kate, who sat exactly opposite the speaker, blushed until it seemed as though all the blood in her body were running into her face—while Isabel and Bertha trembled as they would tremble had they found themselves unexpectedly upon the verge of a frightful precipice. The Judge laughed outright. %t You get our cook into yourhbuse and you’d find you’d caught a tartar, my boy.,’ said the Judge. And then to change the abject ho added quickly : “ I remember your mother very well Roland, and I have eaten her bread. And thus the conversation , softened down into the.memdry cf other days. Touching Roland’s associatipns with' Lenark’sdaughters, he seemed to enjoy the society of them all. If he seemed more eager to . talk with one than the other, It was with Kate—not, perhaps, because he had found her more, attrac- five, but because she kept herself hidden away from him so much.. Luring the brief interviews which bad been permit ted him, he had found her not only ac- complished, but he thought he detected an undercurrent of plain, common sense which bad not.appeared in the others.— And, again, when he had been speaking of bis mother, be had noticed Kate’s eyes grow' moist with' sympathetic light, while her. sisters bad only smiled in their sweet pleasant way. He' fancied, that through the gathering moisture oLthose deep blue eyes he bad loosed down into a' warm and tender heart that was true and reliable One bright morning Boland Arch worth rose with the sun and walked out Into the garden. By and by he came round by the porch, and entered the kitchen to ask for a drink of milk for he had Just seen the gardner bringing In a brimming pall from the stable. He went in, and saw Kate Lanark at the moulding board, her white arms .bare to the shoulders, kneading a snowy pile of dough. She did not see him at first, and be.had a moment for thought—and in that moment the truth'fldsbed upon him- Here was the cook wham he de- dared bo would have in have in bis own house if he could get her? And be could now understand the blushing of the maiden and the laughing rejoinder of the Judge, And he remembered now of having overheard Mrs. Lenark speaking to a member of the family of the sickness of the copk, and how unfortunate it was, and so on. With a clear sense and quick comprehension, aided by keen powers of analysis and reason, Boland rend the whole story. He had gone too far to re treat, so he pushed boldly on into the kltobeu. “ Ah,good morning, Miss Lenark- Pardon my Intrusion, but I saw the milk pail oome in, and I could not resist the temptation. 01 the old, old days! I never shall forget them, and I trust I may nev er outlive, them. It was my boyhood’s delight to take from my mother’s hand the cup warm from the milking. This Is the first opportunity that has present ed itself for many long years,arid.l could not teslst the temptat lon. you will par don me I know, 'At first Kate had been startled terribly, but she met the suppliant's warm and radiant look, and the music of the old .home love fell upon her ear', and when she saw, os by instinct, that the whole scene was pleasant to him, she felt her heart bound with gleeful assur ance ; and brushing the flake of dough from her arms,, she went and; filled a bowl with the new milk and brought it to him. “ I trust,’* she said with a beaming smile, " that the dust of toll upon my hands will not reader the gift less ac ceptable.” Ho matter what Boland replied, he said something and theu drank the milk. He evidently longed to linger In the kitchen, but propriety forbade, and with more of bis reifl feelings iu his looks than in his speech, he retired. A few days thereafter the young bank* er sought tbe. Judge in bis study, and said as be took bis. seat, he had some thing important to say. “I come,’* he said, “to ask of you that I may seek tbe hand of your daughter.',’ The Judge was agreeably surprised.— He had fancied that of late the youth had been growing cold towards his daughters. “ My dear boy,” said he, “between you and'me there need be no-beating about the bush. I should be both proud and happy to welcome you us my son. — Which of the two is it?” ” Of tlie two ?” repeated Roland. -“Ah; is it Isabel or Bertha ?” " Neither, sir, it is Kate I want.” . “ Kate.l” cried the old man in blank astonishment. But quickly a glad light danced iu his eyes. “ Yes, Judge, your Kate is the woman I want, if I can win her.” “ But, my dear boy, how in the world did you manage to find my pearl,-my ruby, among the household jewels? Where and when have’you discovered the priceless worth of that sweet child?" “ I discovered it first in the kitchen, Judge; I Hrst fell irrevocably and truly in love yvitb her when I found ber with her white arms bare making bread. I have known her better since. It is your Kate I want.” “ God bless you, my boy. Go and win her if you can. And be sure you gain a treasure.” ° Roland went away, and half an hour afterward, the supernatural light that danced in bis eyes told his story of suc cess. ... And Kate when closely, questioned, confessed that the first flame of real love .which burned in her bosom for Roland Arch worth, was kindled by the deep and ture element of manhood which he bad displayed on that early morning In the kitchen. Of course Mrs* Lanark was willing, though she was surprised at the young man’s choice. Isabel and Bertha .were dissapointed ; but since, at best, only one of them could have won the prize, they concluded on the whole, that it was'well as it was,— They loved their sister, and' were thus enabled.to claim the wealthy bunker for a brother-in-law. As for Roland and Kate, their hap piness was complete. Of all the'accom plishments which hia wife possesses, the husband is chiefly proud of that which enables her to be indeed as well as in name, “ the mistress of her home.". Tin-: Reason.-In Indiana, a husband, after a spree, was led home by one of his* friends, who after posting him sefely on the Uoor-step, rang the bell and retreated somewhat deviously to the other side of the street, to see if it would be an swered. Promptly the ‘ port” was “out verted," and the fond spouse, who had waited up for her truant husband, be held him in all his faddiness. ; “ Why, Walter is this you ?" “ Yes, my dear." “ What in the World has kept you 80?'" ' “ Been out a little turn with ’er boys my d-d-arling.l’ “ Why* Walter, you are intoxicated !" . “ Yes; my dear; I estimate that's so." “ What on* earth made you get so drunk V And wby-roh why do you come to me in this dreadful state ?’’ “ Because* 'my darling, all th* other places are'shut up ! . Mrs; Shaw appeared before the Re corder to prosecute l her husband for in sult andiabase. - " What have you to complain of ?” In quired the magistrate. “My husband neglects me, sir,” was the answer of the spiteful lady, thrown out with a sort of a jerk. “ Indeed,! how ls that ?” V He leaves mo at home, and when I complain.of it, insults: and abuses mo.” “ Can you give me an instance of it?” “Yes; He went to'the cock-fight On Sunday, and wouldn’t let mo go with him, and said that if they fought bens he’d send for me?” , Punning Anecdote.— A well-known grocer named Berry, sent bis bill to an actor with whom he dealt on credit. Of course we.needn’t say that be wasagreen grocer. ; The outraged actor returned the followlngreply •• “ You are a Goose Berry,. and have madeaiMull Berry, In sending me your Bill Berry, before it was Due Berry, but j cl-rn't oaro a Straw Berry—only, If you Jo so again, -Berry, I will kick your Hasp Berry, until It is Black Barry.” ■ A GALLANT youngcnan was out walk-' ingwith bis girl one day last week, In Fort Dodge, lowa, and a mud-puddle of unusual size happening to lay in their path, be asked bis company would It not be proper to carry her across; she thought it would bo In pr'eforonde to wading. Tlfe next'scene was the gallant young man and bis 155 pounds burden floundering in the mud. CARLISLE, PA., THURSDAY, JUNE 6, 1872. ' A WORD IN AN GEE SPOKEN. A word In anger spoken— How often does it prove t . The cause of oold Indifference In hearts whose rule is love 7 How oft tbo sweetest pleasures Hurhanlty can know. Are by a harsh expression Turned into bitter woo? A word in anger,spoken— How many sighs and tears. And sleepless nights land cheerless days. And weary, weary years, , Have been its mournful product, Though Charity essayed ‘ t To heal tbo deadly, festering wound • 1 With thoughtless anger made? A word in anger spoken— A blot upon life's page— ' Which oft will loavo its impress From youth to later age, Man may forgive au Insult But still it bears Its fruit— For memory Is a tyrant Whoso rule is absolute. A word in anger spoken— Has often engendered strife Between a loving husband .And a doting, wife; 1 Has caused a barrier to rise Between the child and mother, And led foul enmity to part The sister and the brother. A word In anger spoken— If you have folt its blith, Resolve henceforth to ‘know thyself.’ And train thy spirit right, Keep watch upon thy every thought Thy every look and word. And thou shalt live from sorrow free, As Joyous as a bird. A word in anger spoken—. Oh, weigh the sentence well; For it cpntalns a lesson That words arefaiii to tall, The human heart is faulty, And the wisest of us all May drop a careless word in wratli, That wo would vain recall. MY WIDOW. IITBOOHESI'Er. Jones advised mo not to marry her— ho spid she was too young and pretty. Earnum advised rao tb be an old bachelor—told me a man past forty sim ply made a fool of himself by matri mony. Tewksbery—a man who is notorious for never minding his own business told me she had made a love affair with Harry Birmingham, before he went South. Allen shook his head, and said Clara Myers might be very pretty, but he liked somebody maturer and settled.— (N.; B.—He married his housekeeper, the next week, and she is mature enough for Methuselah himself.)/ Everybody thought I was .trying a dangerous experiment; but I didn’t pretend to suit everybody—so 1 simply suited myself. I went quietly to church with Clara Myers, and married her one glorious Janhary morning, when the old St. fringed, with glitter ing icicles and the brisk wind was freighted with 1 particles of flying snow, .like a batallion of diamonds on a dou ble.qulck. She was nineteen and I was nine and thirty. . She was as beautiful as a rose bud ; I was a rough old codger, sound enough at heart, but like a winter ap ple, unpromising on the exterior. . In short, we were as unlike as May and November, an d the good-natured world shook its head, and said “no good could come of such an unequal match.” But she said she loved me, and I believed her. Nobody could look into Clara’s blue eyes and. not believe her, you see. • • The next day X made a will and be queathed all my property uncondition ally to my wife. “ Are you sure you are doing a wise thing, Mr. Folliot ?” said Mr, Mardyn', the lawyer, pushing his blue spectacles upon his forehead, until he looked like ah old bald gnome, with a double pair of eyes. “ You see she is very much younger than yourself, and—” “ Please to be so kind as to mind your own business,” said I brusquely.— “ Don’t be offended, Mardyn, but really people seem to suppose I am not able to attend to my own affairs.” “Just as you please,’’"said Mardyn, In a rage. “lam a mere tool in your hands.”: . , “That’s it, exactly,” said I. So X signed the will and went home to Clara. " Oh, Paul, you must not die !” said Clara,'with a scared look, when I told her what I had done. “ Nobody ever loved,me ns truly and generously as you have done, and I don’t know what I should do if you were taken away!’’ , “ There was a young Birmingham, if all reports are true—,” I mischievously, began, hut the curl on Clara’s lip stopp ed me. , A mere butterfly,” she said haugh- ty, ‘‘ without either brains or princi- ple, Paul. Paul, I have found a shelter in youftrue, loving heart, and I mean to nestle there always 1” ■And then she cried—this foolish, soft hearted little wife of mine, Jones land Tewksbery might have called this policy. Farnum would have said it was acting.-- But it was very pleasant, and I felt more than ever like a man who has found some preoions l jewel, and wears it like an amulet on, his breast. ‘ So the thing went on until the firm pf which I was managing partner need ed to send some one. to Calcutta to see after a turbaned scoundrel of an agent, who had absconded with more money than we could well afford to 16se. Mor rison .was old and feeble—Hewitt’s •wife layl very 111, so X was the one to go. ’ X; kissed Clara good-by as cheerful ly as I could, fully expecting to be back In three, months • or so. I had ito follow the agent up Into the mountains of India. I fell ill of one of those burning climate fevers in the bungalow of an old native priest, and the months flew by, until it> was : more than a year before I found myself' on tho “ Blue-eyed Mary,” steaming into ■Now York harbor. And all this time Clara had not heard a word from me. 1 • I had (written to her to prepare her for what seemed almost like my rising from the dead, but I had afterwards found- my letters In the pocket of tho neglectful native servant who had un dertaken to deliver the mail to the Cal cutta office. , . " But It don't matter so much now 1” I thought, she will bo the more delight ed, poor, little girl! And then a cold chill sdemed to creep through all my veins, like November’s wind suddenly breathing across a bod of flowers. Clara had heard nothing of me for 1 nearly fifteen months—what might have happened in that time ? All thgt Tewksbery, and Jones, and Alien, and all. other -prophetic , ravens of my ac-. quamtauco had said, recurred to my mind like a burden of an uneasy dream ! I had been counting the hours and the very minutes; -until we should touch port—but now that my feet rang once more upon the pavement of my native city. I actually dared not go home. I turned into a down town rant, where I had been want to go, in the days jof my , bachelorhood, and Slunk into a darjc corner—the twilight was just felling, and I wab sheltered by the,partition. Hush H-that was Tewksbery’s voice, 'harsh and Jarring, ns of old. - “ Just what might have been expect ed,” said Tewksbery. “ Pretty and young, widows don’t go begging in this market.” ! “Foiiiot might have, known it,” growled old Farnum. “ Poor Foiiiot, there was some good points about him, too! sad thing that, very sad thing!” “ We must all die,” said Tewksbqry, grav. ly. , . “ Yes, but a fellow would naturally prefer dying in his bed to being carried off by an East India fever and buried in the Jungles.’!-. « I shuddered. Had I come home to my own funeral as Jt were. “ And She is going to marry young Birmingham-after all?” added Far nnm. The paper dropped, from my hand. “ I could have.told Foiiiot so when T found out the confounded idiotic will he had made,” said' Tewksbery.' So gold has fallen again, just my luckl; •I sold out to-day.” I stayed to hear no more, but-stag gering out in the darkness with* one, idea whirling through my dizzy brain —my Clara.was.mine.no longer. - It was questionable, what Tewksbery had said.; I might have anticipated some such end.. She was too young, too lovely for such a:rough fellow as I was. i My widow I what a curious sensation the gave as I mentally pro nounced them,' ‘ , ' Under my own windows; with the ruby-red’light shining through the wine-colored damask curtains,’ I stood there feeling as Hip Van Winkle might have felt in.tbe play—like a dead man walking on the earth once more. Voi- ces and jighfs were within. I opened the door Softly and crept into the hall., The drawing room door was ajar.—> Clara herself stood before the'flre; with a frill of white crape on her auburn gold tresses—the awful sign qf her wid owhood. 'Directly opposite atood.Harry Birmingham, looking diabolically young and handsome in the soft light, “ Clara; Clara,’? ho erled, “ you surely are not in earnest. You will recon sider?” “ My answer is final,” she replied, “ The time might once have been when I fancied I had tc childish liking for .you, Harry Birmingham. But that time has long since passed away. I gave my heart to the best and noblest maj that ever breathed—Paul Foiiiot —and in his grave it is forever buried. I loved him once, I shall Jove him on into eternity! I never was half worthy of him, but—” And Clara s voice was choked with sobs., “My love—my darling—my, own pre cious wife!" How I ever got into the room—how I managed to make Clara comprehend that I was my own living self, and not a ghost risen, from the shadow of thq, sepulchre, I cannot tell to this day— neither can she—but I know that young Birmingham,; somehow, disappeared, and I was standing with Clara clasped to my breast, the happiest man that ever breathed God’s blessed air, , For Jones, Tewksbery, Farnum & Co., were all wrong—and to use the words of the -orthodox fairy stories, slightly pharaphrased, I and my widow “ lived happily ever afterwards.” Jinks is a clerk in a store for the sale of luces and things. One day a youngi and pretty-customer tendered to him in exchange for some lace a much worn and patched- fifty cent stamp, jinks looked at it dubiously. It was against the rule to take such. His face was so grave and..his manner so hesitating that the pretty face said, in the sweet est tones: Wodld you like a better half?” “ Well,” stammered Jinks, his heart ‘in. his -mouth, bis face crimson, “.I Wouldn’t object, provided, Miss, the— the—right person would accept me,” The-’pretty face blushed, .too; but' three months later the twain became one.flesh. A new lady In town was attracted Sunday eve by a little boy on the street. He was' a bright'little fellow, but was rather shabbily dressed, and bad an ap pearance of being better acquainted , with the shades than the lights of this world. “ Where ie your home, my Hftle eon ?” she asked. " I have got no home,” be answered. " Got no home?” she repeat ed, the tears startling in her eyes. “ No. marm,”, said ho> equally effected, “ I board." Bob.—” Jim, do men don’t, make such foots ob domsalves about women as de women do about do men. If dey look at de moon, dey see a man in it; if dey hour a mouse nibbling, its a man; land dey all look under de bed do last thing at night to find a man. Why I hebber looks under my bed to find a woman, does you ?” ,v youthful novice in , smoking, turned deadly pale and threw his cigar away. “Oh, depr,” he said, “there’s some’ln in that cigar that’s a’makln’ mo sick.” “ I know what It is,” said bis companion, puffing away. What ? Tohacksr. FRIENDSHIP. Who’hath a Iriend that never chills His wdrmOi of earnest zeal ? „ Who bath a friend that never wills His, smallest need to feel ? Morofindly cherish him than gold Made trebly pure by lire; And td this worthiness be hold Thy’ lodging soul aspire. Who. liath a iriend that never falls With dbansol Just and wise ? Who in dlsaatatnever quails, Though heavy dangers rise ? More precious fhr than rubles be. Or tare and priceless gems; Will more of comfort bring to thoe, Than ftpbrkling diadems. Who hhth addend that never doubts, Though slanders cloud hla Ulo ? Who hht-U a friend that over routs Hia. fedsin fiercest strife ? Regard him' dearer to thy heart, Than aught 1 on earth beside; .Until by dying forced to part, Maystthon Withhim abide. Who.riath a triend'that ne’er forsakes Though fortune frown severe, Who hath a'friend that ever makes His heart to banish tear. Rejoice! for-thou art doubly blest In friendship such os this; And pray for his otqrnal rest-*- Hla everlasting bliss. ADAM POE’S GREAT FIGHT. BV RALPH RINGWOOD. The celebrated light between Adam Foe and- the Shawnee chief, Black Feather, has been: spoken Of in the his tory of early Kentucky, but X believe the particulars of that combat have never been given correctly to the pub lic. The fight was' remarkable not only on account of the well known prowess of the parties engaged, but for the ex ceeding stubbornness with which it was conducted, and the many different phases itiasaumed before being brought to ah end*' They literally fought on the earth, in“ the air, and under the water. 1 Adam (Poe, one of the first settlers of Kentucky, had often expressed a de sire to meet' the chief of the Sbawnees in a hand-to-hand combat, and this boasting i having reached the ears of Black. Feather, he declared his intern? tion ofi seeking out the daring white .man, i This, for two reasons, he actually did, but circumstance combined, to keep them apart for that time. Finally however) the opportunity game. Adam IPoe and his brother had been oat hunting, and were returning to wards sondewn, bearing a buck upon a pole between them. When passing a thicket a shot was fired at them, the ball, lodging in the bead of the deer, which was next to Adam Poe. To drop their burden and rush for the ambush was but the work of a second, Adam .taking the right and his brother the left band side. The thicket proved much larger than either thought,’ they became :more widely separated than was' Intended, and Adam was on the point of return ing to where the deer had. been left, when at a distance he discovered the gigantic l form of the Shawnee chief, who was Just in the act of firing upon him. Adam hod time to reach cover before the shot l was made, and then , began a series of tactics, such as were rarely witnessed in these wilds, for two of the most noted warriors-of the day were each striving to gain, an advantage over the 1 other. Foot by foot they drew nearer to each other, leaping from tree to tree, from stump to stump, or rock, as the Case might be. Imperceptibly to each other, perhaps, they gradually “worked” round until both stood upon the verge of a high bluff bank overlooking the river facing each other, but some twenty paces apart. Herd, from behind separate trees, the wily foeman strove to obtain a shot; -and at'last, Adam, thinking ,he saw his chance, fired at the exposed-. Hip of the chief., - He inissed bis aim and like an un caged lion, the gigantic Indian rushed from his cover and bore down upon the in no wise undaunted white man.' Half !way they met, the Indian wielding his tomahawk, having cast aside his rifle, while Adam laid his hopes and prospects, upon the keen blade of his hunting knife. Within shook they meet midway, and then began a struggle such ns Is rarely witnessed between the two of the human kind. Poe was not quite so tall as the Shawnee but he was fully as strong and mneh more active; and so the fight was about upon an equal foot ing. For many minutes they struggled back and forth upon the grassy level, now closing in the attempt to throw eqch other, and falling in this, again resorting to blows dealt with tomahawk or knife, ■ By this time both were wounded In several /places, the chief probably the more severely of the two. At length, in making a savage stroke with his weapon. the grasp of the red- skin slipped, and the light axe went whirling far out Into the river;,, In an instant they grappled, and a struggle, fiercer than any that had yet taken place,' ensued—each, putting, forth every effort, until, approaching too near, the precipice, they missed, their footing and went tumbling into the stream locked in a deadly embrace. At the point where they fell' the stream was very deep, and the current swift, and strong. The.advantage now laid with Adam, He was a practiced swimmer, while ho quickly! discovered that his opponent could not swim at all. The Indian, aware of this, in tarn strove .to regain the shore, but was thwarted at every point by Poe, who lerked him back into, the water, and then both would go nnder together. Finally, 'falling further out than, heretofore, tho combatants were caught by the current, and quickly borne some distance from land. VOL. 58.—NO* 52- The fight won now all in the white man’s favor, ond . would have : been quickly ended, but for an unlocked for and unfortunate circumstance. Adam’s brother suddenly appeared upon the scene, and taking in his brother’s peril, as he'thought,'at a glance, .ventured upon the hazardous experiment of finishing the chief by a shot. The bail sped, but not truly, for it struck Adam in the shoulder, almost paralyzing the left arm. His situation, now became desperate indeed. - He ' could' force the Indian beneath the current, but could not hold-him there, and seeing that his qwn strength was rapidly departing, he determined to putwind his enemy^ With this object he suddenly threw his arm about the savage’s, neck, and together they dissapeared beneath the surface. r Adam’s brother standing upon the bankuncdnscious of, the harm he had done, witnessed this sudden disappear ance in dismay. Long he waited for the re-appearance of one or the other, until, at length be coming thoroughly alarmed he leaped into the stream and swam for the spot. | He reached it not a moment too soon. Adam had out-winded tho In dian, and in doing so, had nearly drowned himself. ■ He came feebly to the surface, and would have sunk again, but for bis brother’s aid. They both' reached the shore ■ in safe ty, but Adam Poe never fully recovered from tho terrible exertion of that fight. BACK DOOES, A man staggered.. into our sanctum last Monday morning who bore the ap pearance of haying. been badly used,— His bat Was gone, bis clothes were Boil ed, ap'd his face dirty and disflgured by . wounds. ! Dropping >promisconsiy into a chair, he hoatsely murmured : . “.Backdoors!” ■, • , “ What is the matter with you, old fellow?’’we Inquired. “Backi doors,,l tell ye, (hie) tha’s Wha’s er ma’er.” Explain, yourself.” “ Beadi Mayor’s or’es closing fron’ door s’loons Sun’y, dldn’t ye?” “ Yes.”, “ So’m XI Took gran’ tour ’vestiga-. , tlon yesterday t’see.if lawa ’boyed.”. . “ Well, what was tho result ?” “This Is’er result. Hat ha! (hie) ho 1 drnok’rn a blind owl.” “ Yes, anybody can see' that; ■ but did youfind the.front.doors closed?” “ Oh, yes, the froil doors were closed; but lordy I how many back doors I found open, Didn’t know there were so many hack doors in the city. They, mus’ have sent away and got some back doors .somewhere. S’loons closed in front,. but they, were s’open be (hie) hind as a. fanning mill. I tried ’em all. Some had . one back door, others had two’r thraebxtra ones out in ’specially, and one s’loon up town had (hie) ’hole back end taken out to ’cominodato the crowd. I; ought to be on the Board of Health,” he continued, after o. pause, “ know more ’bout condition of ’er al leys and: back yards than any man in the city,; There’s one thing’bout it, if this thing of closing fron’ doors on Sun day keeps on, they’ll have to widen their alleys. Alleys wasn’t half big enough yes’day to com’date tho crowd. “ Was; the rush for drinks as bad as ;hat ?” “ Waal S’loon full all,’er time, and alley full of thirsty men waitin’ their time to go in. Had to take turns, same as a barber shop Sun'day mornin.” “Didn’t any saloons have their front doors open?” " A few, but they didn’t have any customers to mention. Fact is, folks rather like sneakin’ through alleys and into back doors for a drink. Ualn’t been drunk ’fore in a dog’s age in’self. I can walk bully hy s’loon with ’er front door wide open, but shut it and hint about a back entrance; and find it.sure, ■ It’s human natur, sure’s ye liye.” , “ Thelnew regulations seem to have effected!you rather disasterously.” | V You’re mighty right. lam sufferin’ from 1 too many ' back doors. The ahr sehceof fron’ blinds has ’feoted my (hie) contution. ’Sider myself a martyr to ’er Mayjrs d—d old'procermatidn ’bol- Isbing f job’ doors, and I want to ’mon strata ’gainst it through ’er press. ?Nu ther Sund’y with them cussed back doors aij’ your uncle’s gone. Alleys is too many for me. Back doors is my ruin 1” And .with this he departed. - ■ CONDEMN HO MAN HASTILY. Therejis a growing • tendency among ns to cotademn every man whose views and opinions do not coincide with out own preconceived notions. In order to strengthen our position and secute pub lic sympathy in our favor, we do not scruple fo assert that those who differ from ua,arc influenced by improper and mercenary motives. All this is wrong, No.mao .has a legal right, and much less a moral right, to assert that tbosS I who doinqt,tbmk as ho does are corrupt and venal. Many of the petty quarrels and bickerings that disturb society and mar the peace of communities, have their origin in this reprehensible prac tice. It is always,safe and fair to pre sume that eveijy.piaa .is doing what he believes to be right until he demon strates iby his conduct that he is no longer deserving of that confidence. Wbeqa.man performs an action or expresses an opinion that does not meet, our approval, we immediately cast about us for some sinister motive that controlled him and compelled him to do as he has done. Blinded by prejudice and maddened by Vexation, we seize hold of i circumstances, drag them upon the witness stand, and torture them un til they tell just what we want them to tell Instead of permitting them to reveal - the truth.' Many a ■ fair, stainless char acter has been blasted and ruined in this, way. Is a ‘matter of astonishment, I too, that'people will devour with so ranch, greediness stories prejudicial to the probability and morality of others." If the moat debased ond degraded prostitute, that nightly tmveiaes the streets put tells a tale of an.“immoral act.b. .committed by one whose whole li& imslboen a life of purity and hones ty, it la passed In hurried' whispers from month month till scores accept it as the troth, and none have the manliness to openly, denounce it; or if some drunken sot narrates in stuttering words a falsehood that tells badly on the character of some good man, .wo accept , this .word and ask tor proof of innocence ‘before there is proof ot guilt. Condemn no man hastily. Adjudge every man 1 pure and good and true until he is J proven l to be otherwise. Rates of AdySrtislnsi I aq. |asq.|B | o I CO 0 0 , c 1 ■ 5 0 I 1W tITO i 2 00 $3 U 0 HUO II 00 |U (M gil uD 2 u 160 100 400 DUO 900 HOO 2800 3•• 200 100 500 QOO; 11 . - t ; ' Odds and !Ends. Things Found in a Kitchen Drawer, Throe aprons, two dusters, Tho UU of a pig, f\ i ' i > A ’dirty Jock 1 towel, -• ■ ■, ; A dish cloth and a wig, A loot of a stocking. ThrCe oaps and a friiij 1 Ahoak and six buttons, • .A mouao trap and quill, A comb ami, a thimble, ' . Wlth’inmlonna bands, : A-box of specific < for chaps on the hands; Some mace and some cloves, Tied np in a rag, ' An empty thread paper, - . And, blue In 'a bag,' .. Short pieces of ribbon, Both greasy andblock, 1 . Oho grater and natmeg,. The key of the Jack ; ' An inch of wax candle, A steel and a flint,; A bundle of matches, A parcel of mini," A lamp of old sne% A crimp for the paste, • A pair of red garters, 1 Abell for the waist; •A rusty. boqtßkewer, 'A broken' brass clock, • Some onions and tinder, The kitchen door lock, A bag for the pudding, A whotatoae and string, • A penny cross ban,- - Anew curtain ring, ' A print for tho butter, ' A dirty chemise, Two pieces of soap, Alargdploco of cheese,' Five teaspoons of tin. ■ A large lamp of rosin, . The feet ef a hare, And cords by the dozen, .A card toAoll fortunes, ■' ' ’ Asponge and a .can, - • A pen. without ink, ■ A small pattypan, A'roUing pin pasted.- .< ' A common prayer book,/ ; Are tho things which I In the dmvror of. the' cook. * end—the last half inch of a penny cigar. ■ : _ "*>• ■ '. • Ovku-wabji friendships, like hot, coats, are,qnlokly dropped; . j There; Is only one lov6,'but there ore a, hundred imitations, • , A Poohesteb girl declares she never,' will vote* 11 Go to the nasty polls and ruin my clothes ? The Idea I?’ -' ' A OOQTTBTtB is a rosebush from which eachyopng bean plucks a leaf, and the thorhs nro lqft for the husband. - One of the best toasts ever given; “ Woman—the last word on our Ups, because It comes from the bottom of our hearts.” “Are you the mate?” said a man to, the Irish cook of a vessel- “No," said he, “ but I’m the man. that bolls the mate.” - W e ehould be careful to deserve a good reputation,, by doing well; and when that care Is taken :not to be over-anxious about the success. , ; >=-* A'student, who has been Inflicted wltha sermon one hour and a half long, grutnblingly says, “that these profes sors study so much, /about eternity that they have no conception or time.” ,* A Dutchman observed a dandy .with a plate of brass- upon his boots to keep him upright. “ Weil balanced, by jin go I” said the Dutchman, “brass,at both ends.” The youth who stole a watch and re turned It to the owner, who promised “no quesllons.'.aaked,” is In Jail. The owner was as good as tils word; he ar rested the youth without asking any questions. > A neoro preacher once observed to his hearers, at the close of ibe sermon, as follows: ‘.‘My obatlnaolous bredern, I find It no more use to preach to you dan it is for a grass-hopper to wear knee buokles." ■ A little boy having broken his rock* Ing horse the day it was bought, his mother began to rebuke him, and to threaten to box bis .ears. He silenced her by inquiring, “ What Is the good of .p boss till it fa broke?” "You have been sorely tried,” said a sympathizing friend to Joe Crowden,- weeping oyer the coffin of his third wife: . “Yes,” responded the bereaved one, “I , have always had the dreadfullest luck, 1 with women.” KiND|Words are tbe bright flowers of earth’s existence; use. them and especi ally around the fire-side circle. They are Jewels beyond price, and powerful to heal the wounded heart, arid make the welgh-down splrlt’gldd. - A Boston girl, being asked If .she hud not once been engaged to a party by the name'of Jackson, who was at tbe time a Harvard Student, languidly replied: “ I renietnber the otronmstance' perfectly ; but J am not certain about tbe name.” Just before starting I ’up to Cincinnati,” the great philosopher and agriculturist of the hfeW', York Tribune repaired to bis farm and sowed two acres of ground in oberoota in order to raise a crop of ci gars for electioneering purposes during the coming fall. An old Dutch acquaintance, some years ago, who was elected a member.of the Legislature,' said in bis broken English stylo: “ Ven I went to the Legislature, I taught I would find dem all Solomons derej but r found ddr was some as big fools dote as I vas.” A beautiful young lady who bad al lowed the tendrils of her heart to twine .fondly around a strapping, great oonduo-. toronaj horse-car, had her affectionate nature crushed by the discovery that be. was. taking, fare from her, and dead., beading another girl who lived on the same street. A CHICKEN thief on Long Island tried : to enter tbe ben bouse of a former,' not knowing; that a big dog was -Chained' near by.' His bill at the neareatapothe- Cary's for liniment and sticking piaster baa been thirty 1 dollars' and' be can udw ‘ put on bis' pantaloons comfortably. A winow advertised in Chicago,.oakr ing “every Christian ip the town’’ to send hec.teu cents, os the amount would not oppress ..them, .and the , collection would benefit her greatly. For a won der the class called upon did ail contrl •bnto ns -requested, am}, realized twenty com*. J " =2BI