The American Volunteer PUBLISHED EVERY THURSDAY MORNING •l olir B. Bratton, OFFICE—SOUTH MARKET SQ UAJIB. Tkbms.—Twodollora per year, if paid strictly in advance. Two Dollars and.-Fifty Cents if' paid within after which Three Dollars wIU be .charged.,,These terms will be rigidly adhered to In every instance. No snb- Borlptlon discontinued until ’all arrearages are paid, unless at the option of the,Editor. Jpwtial. THE BLACKSMITH'S STOBY, Well, no! My wife ain't dead, sir, but I’ve lost . horallthoaamo; > She left me voluntarily, and neither was to blame. It’s rather a queer story, and 1 think you will agree— When you hear the circumstances—’twas rath er rough on mo. She was a soldier’s widow. Ho was killed, at Malvern Hill; And when I married her she seemed to sorrow for him still; ' . " But I brought her here to Kansas. I never want to see A better wife than Mary was, for flve bright years to me l The change of scene brought cheerfulness, and sopn a rosy glow Of happiness warmed Mary’s cheeks and mel - • ted all their snow. I. think she loved mo some—l’m bound to think that of her, sir, And as for me—l can’t begin to tell how I loved her. I. . Three years agb the baby came, our humble hortae to'bldsa • ' **' And then I reckon 1 was nigh to perfect happi ness Twos hor’s—’twas mlno—but I’ve no language . to explain to you 'How that little girl’s weak lingers our hearts together drew I Once we watched It through a fever, and with 'each-gasping breath, Dumb with an awful, worldless woe, we waited* tor Its death; And though I’m not a pious man, our souls to gether thoro J?or Heaven to spare our darling went up ip voiceless prayer.. And when the,doctor said ’twouldllve, our Joy what words could tell? Clasped in each other’s arms, our grateful tears together fell. Sometimes, you see, the shadow fell across our little nest,. Bat It only made- the sunshine seem a doubly welcomo guest.' ’ ' - work came to me a plenty, and 1 kept the an vil ringing, : Early and late you’d fliid mo there a hammer — - Ing and singing; • Love nerved my arm to labor, and tuned my toneue to sonar. And though, my singing wasn’t sweet, It was almighty strong. One day a one-armed soldier stopped to havo me nail a shoo, And while I was at work we passed a compli ment or two, 1 asked him how he lost-his-arm. He said’twas shot away - . , At Malvern Hill. “At Malvern Hill! Did you know Robert May 7” • ' "That’s mo!” said he. “You, you!” I gasped, choking with horrid doubt; . “If you’re a man, Just follow mo; wo’Jl try this . mystery out. ? . \ With dizzy steps I led him to Mary, Godl’twas true! ■ •Then the bltteres t pangs of misery unspeakable ■ I knew. , Frozen with deadly horror, she stared with eyes of stone, And from her quivering lips there broke one wild, despairing moan, ’Twas he ! the husband of her youth, now risen from the dead. Bat ail too late—and with that bitter cry her senses fled.. wTiatoouiu oo ui.u r ,.«« -, — • J-’., He-atrove in, vain’aome tidings -of his ’absent’ wife to learn. 'Twos well lie was innocent! Else Fd have killed him too, . v So dead ho never would, have ilfc till Gabriel’s * trumpet blew! . .. It was agreed that Mary then between ns should decide, , ’And eacli by her decision would most sacredly •abide... ;, <■ . -• No sinner at the Judgment seat, waiting eter naldoom,. Gould sutler what I did while waiting sentence in that room. Rigid and breathless there we stood, with nerves .'os tense as steel', While Mary’s eyes: sought each white face, in piteous appeal, . God I Could not woman’s duty be less, hardly reconciled Between her lawful husbmd and thoyfather of her child. Ah, bow my heart was chilled to Ice when she knelt down and said, * “ Forgive mo. John I He; Is ray husband I Here! /'• • Alive! not dead!” I raised her tenderly and tried to tell her she was right, But somehow In my aching breast tho prisoned words stuck tigh t l l , > “ But, John, I can’t leave baby”—" What I wife and child?” cried I; “Must I yield all? Ah, .cruel! Better that I ■ should die., Think of the long, sad; lonely hours waiting In gloom,for me- . No wife to,cheer me with her love—no babe to climb ray knee I And yet you are her mothos and the sacred mother love, Is still the purest, tend erest tie that heaven ever wove. Take her, bat promise,- Mary—for that will bring no shanie—' , - My little glrl.Bhall bear, and learn to lisp her father’s name!” , It may be. In tho life th come, I’ll meet my child and wife,; But yonder, by my cottage gate, wo parted lor this life, . Une long hand-clasp from Mary, and my dream of lovo i»as done! One long embraco.frora baby, and my happiness was gone ( glfeallamM. The Irishman Went.— Once upon a time a genuine son of the Emerald Isle accosted the captain of a steamer running between Portland and Boston, as fol lows : , ■ i i'Vi '. . ‘Good morntnV captain, could ye be after teliln’ me \yhat|a the fair to Bosh ton ?’ •Three dollars;’ answered the captain. ‘But suppose I wint outside ?’ •In that case,’ said the captain,.‘you can go for two dollars.’ This was undoubtedly beyond ,the. .ex tend of Pat’s worldly possession, so he scratched bis head ' for a few moments, when a brilliant thought seemed to strike him: " ,l ' ", ‘I say, captain, dear. What would ye be after takin' a hundred and sixty pounds of freight for?’ ' •Seventy-five" cents,* replied the cap tain. ‘Be jaberai thin, ye may put mo down, ■t captain, for I’m' Jlat the boy that weighs f that.’ /. The captain, turned to the. clerk, say ing, ‘Put on the freight list one hundred and sixty pounds of live Irishman, and stow him In tho hole.’' An epitaph on a gravestone In u Mil waukee cemetery reads: Here lies tho body of Peter Grace, Who died from eating sweltzer kase ; He finished'tlx platters, commenced on seven, He exploded, and such Is til? Kingdom of Heaven.’ • mt Metical ~ lalairteet BY JOHN B. BRATTON. THE , KID GLOVES. ! I never understood why I was born with elegant and refined tastes, when I could not indulge them. It was a daily perplexity to me that I should admire so much that I might not have, and not only admife, but aotually'feel the need of much that X never dreamed of possessing. Forms of beauty filled me with .ecstatic happiness ; a glimpse of a perfect line, whether in statue, vase or moving cloud, lasted me for whole days; and well it did, for since my father’s death my opportunities had been few, - even to watch those flitting forms of beauty hung out upon the blue heavens by an artist who paints for rich and poor alike. The days since dear father held my hand so tenderly, and looked his silent farewell into my terrified face, had all been spent in Aunt Maria’s elegant stone front, on the third floor, rear room, overlooking tier upon tier of brick and mortar, at the base of which were little boxes of'yards and harrow alleys be tween. I think X never but once tried to. see the ribbon-like bit of sky . far above; that attempt almost dislocated my neck, and I satisfied myself with the memory of what it used to be when father was alive. AH the days were passed In that room teaching the young er children, or sewing for my eldest cousin. I loved the children. I suppose eve rybody does; butit was strange I could not learn to love.sewing; all I had crowded upon me did not bring tb me the love of It. The nursery maid rang me up at six iu the morning, to finish odd bits of work left the night before; and when I secretly hoped to get a run. with the children In the park.after din ner, there was always a new job to be gin, so that 10 o’clock found me more ready for my pillow in the little upper room than star gazing, But despite the stern facts of life, X still worshipped TlCHuty UX A)nu uua\.vlu. pii.. I snatched of my -cousin Edith as she flashed into the sewing room to try on the tasteful garments I had helped to finish, were to me like.visions of an an gel,so perfect was she in motion, form and face,'and the scanty wofds of praise she gave were repeated again in my dreams, so little had'imy heart to feed on. I was. passing through the. hail one day by the door of her dressing,-room. She. stood within arrayed in the love liest new suit, all ready, for a ride with one whose name ! had heard whispered through the house as talented, wealthy, and every way desirable to cultivate. — His voice,' deep and rich, had come up through the rooms, mingling with hers in song, night after night, and the sounds rested me as 1 listened on the stairs. Nor would X look in her face thought' she must love hirii. Edithi heard my steps as I passed, and said,. “ Kitty, where are you going ?' Out for a. walk, child ? Well, just hunt up. my gloves for me first. Why, Kitty, when did you get yours ? and where did you find that color ?” ■“ I bought them cousin, with my own money, that father gave me.’' “ Well child,.don’t blush so; I didn’t think you stole them, hut they are a lovely match for my suit; just lend, them to me to day, please?” X hesitated. Was It selfish ? I did so love to see my hand look well. My father had called it beautiful, had been proud to see it in a wolWltting glove, and this was tho only luxury®! dared allow myself now; now that I was only able to pay for my board by the labor of head and hands. “ These’are all I have to wear, cous in.” ■ “ Well, Kitty, take ■ah old pair of .mine; just as'woli, you know, for a run with the children; these lisle thread •will do nicely ; and yburs are a lovely color for me to ride in. When lam married, dear, you shall have all the gloves you want. Don’t be so-slow.— Mr- Raymond hates to wait.” ‘. ' , I took them off lingeringly, the mod-, est, pretty gloves, my father’s favorite color, and wondering how she could speak his name so carelessly, I drew the loose, half-worn cotton ones on as I wont down stairs, while Edith hummed an opefn air before the mirror. I never bad thought X was selfish; I don’tknow why my eyes filled with tears, unless it was the thought that no one cared now to see me neatly clad. In the lower hall I saw a gentleman standing, hat in hand, waiting for my cousin. There sf/aa a queer expression in his eyes and round his mouth. He must havo heard us. I thought he saw. my tears and would judge meweak and childish; but he only bowed and open ed the door for me. I was hot accus tomed to receive attention from any in the house, and it embarrassed me; but I thanked him, and before I had walk ed !far they came out and drove away. X walked slowly along, the children running by my side, and tried to keep, the tears from starting; but for once I could not control them. X bit my lips, lociked everywhere, tried 'to smile at tho little ones’ pretty pranks, but all in vain; that' dreadful- ‘ feeling in; my throat would not be choked back; so I pulled down my brown veil and let the troublesome tears have their way. I don’t think I : ever before got so hu miliating a vjew of my own selfishness. Gould all this unhappiness have come from a single pair of kid gloves ? What would the dear father say if It were true, as some thought, he could note my comings and goings, my spiritual deterioration, and all my petty weak nesses? It was a comfort to feel that bo would know I was ashamed already; so, as the clock warned me that my time was up—and Aunt Marla was very systematic in all her household ar rangements—l turned toward home. I had my dinner always with the children, and supper also. We took breakfast with the family, but Edith was seldom up then. After dinner they recited to mo until four, and then I amused them in the play-room until supper, unless tho sewing pressed, ns it Often did, How X longed sometimes to get down into the lofty drawing room and play a little on Edith’s grand pi ano. My fingers tingled to try some of the old pieces father used to love so much ; but I never dared. That after noon, as X.sat on the upper stair by the playroom dqqr, watching the children and listening to Edith as she practised something new, X heard the door-bell, and some one call my name. Looking over the banisters, - , the nursery girl said : • “ A package for you, Miss Kit ty.” , What could it mean ? X never had a package before. I flew down, and found it really and plainly marked to mo, “ Miss Kitty Gray.” Just.then iny Aunt Maria looked from her room and asked, “ What is it ? Who could send you anything ? Come in here, child,'and open it.” How I would have liked to be alone; but there was no help for it, and with, trembling fingers I pulled off the wrap pings and found a whole box of gloves —(the sweetest colors, and just’my size. I laughed out loud, I was so happy, and before I thought of Aunt Maria, I said: “ Oh. some one knows what I like best. Dear cousin Edith must have dohe it.” “ Nonsense! Edy would not do so foolish a thing. I think very likely they are misdirected. It’s Edith’s number, I believe.” My poor heart fell away below zero. I answered, “Yes, I believe it is. But Aunt Marla, perhaps there is no mis take—perhaps they are mine.” “ Not at all likely; and if they were sent to you, I-hope you would not be so selfish as to want them when Edith goes out so much more than you do.” I looked at them longingly, tenderly, and then answered, “ X could share them with her, Aunt Maria, if she wished me to.” “Weil, well, go see ‘the children; leave them hero till Ecly aeea til cm j Very likeLv it’s aU..a-minfaiko.’.’ . - x uropped the box pn the toilet-table and flew up stdira, but not so fast that Aunt Maria’s last words were lost; they sent a cXtlll all over me; . “ What a fear ful temper that child’s got,” Oh, why should she misunderstand me? Why, why did my father'leave me.? I dropped my head on the upper stair and cried - silently a long, long time, until sweet little Mary curled her arms around my neck, saying, “ Kitty, my Kitty cousin, wake up and be lov ed.” Yes, little Mary, love is better than gloves, after all; love me all you can. And thus I grew happy again. That evening uncle took them all to the opera, and after the children were asleep, as there was ho sewing to be done, I thought of the piano and slipp ed down stairs. At first I enjoyed looking .pictures, and books then ! just touched thhkeys a ; Uttle', hi first. I'could not resist the .impulse; my fingers would slip from key to key, and, at last; as no one seemed to notice, I forgot aunt Marla entirely, and play ed’and played all the sweet old piecesi used to love because father praised them. I almost thought I heard again the clear notes of his flute joining me; and ! closed my eyds and made believe we were together again in the cottage where we were so happy. Something made.my eyes open, and by the door stood the same gentleman I had seen in the morning, he said he was passing and heard th*e piano; thought perhaps Miss Edith was there. I think he no ticed my fear, for he smiled and asked me to play on. “ I don’t think I had better, sir.— Edith is away. I didn’t' know it was so late.” ...How the words seemed to stumble over each other; I felt so awkward, I thought he looked amused; and perhaps was laughing at me; and before I knew it, . I was making a baby of myself again,with great tears rolling over my blushing face. At that ho came close to me, and said in the tenderest voice, “ Don’t be troubled, Miss Kitty, I am not a stranger in the house; but little Majt has told me many a sweet story about you; I’m glad to see you now; but don’t play if you are tired; won’t you stay and talk with me a few min utes?” “ Yes, if you are not laughing ntme.” ‘ 1 Why, I never dreamed of it.’h I I knew In a moment he was honest with me; and when he.asked why played with my eyes shut, I told him all about father, and our pretty home, and how easy it was to see it whdn my eyes were shut, and how I longed to go to it sometimes; and that In my sleep I often heard the brook near it, as It used to gurgle over the stones and thro’ the rushes; and although this was very grand and beautiful, it seemed like *a strange life to me. I often wished I might go back instead of forward, for all my other life was so lovely and bright ond cozy, and this was cold. I tried to be happy, but one.can’t help missing fathers, I said. “I should think pot,” he answered, and seemed so interested and kind I could have told him anything. I was.so' glad to think he would be my cousin. Aunt .Maria said next morning the' gloves were doubtless misdirected, bnt Edith wanted me to accept a pair of them. When I thanked her at night she blushed. I remembered having heard that very generous people dis liked to receive thanks. It was a long time before I saw Mr. Raymond again, only as I went to the sitting-room sometimes to get May to put her to bed; once he asked me to slay long enough to plky something, but aunt Marla answered for me that I was no musician, and I felt mortified that he had ever heard me. Little May used often to bring, papers of bonbons and nice candles, saying that Mr. Ray mond bade her share them with me and once she brought a bunch of Eng lish violets and said Mr. Raymond sent them to me. How happy I was after wards for days I After that we often saw him In the park. One day he said he must help me take care of the chil dren, they were so frolicsome; ho filled their pockets with sweets and we had a right merry time, That day ho asked CARLISLE, PA., THDRSDAY, JUNE 27, 1872. me if I had used up the gloves yet, and,' when 1 wondered at his meaning be said. "Dldspu notgetthe box of gloves I sent you, Kitty ?” “ No, yes—they were for me, then ?” How happy I, felt. . “Of course they were; you failed to get them ?”, ,“ Aunt Maria thought they were for Edy, but no matter, I’m glad they were mine.” I laughed with real pleas ure. • . “ And you had them taken from you ?’ ’ He spoke so sternly It terrified me. “ Edith gave me one pair, Mr. Raymond ; this pair, see.” ■ Then he took my hand and held it just as father used to, and his voice sounded like father’s a.little, and he said—but I could never tell‘what he said. X seemed to walk home on air.— The children floated around me os though they were home along with wings. Mr. Raymond went to the door with us, and said he should see my un cle that day, then he lifted his hat,, and his eyes took in my whole soul and bore it away from me. When Edith met me In the hall look ing so pale, and asked me what all this meant, I could only say, “ I did. not know, but it seemed like heaven.” I •think it was in part heaven, for Edith’s or aunt Maria’s anger failed to disturb it; Little May and I nestled in the glory of it all the afternoon, and' when late my uncle sent for me to'go td him, the library, I almost flew. I heard him. say as he drew me to him, “ I trust you Raymond to make her happy; she is the orphan of my only brother.” Then I knew' that "my undemonstrative un cle loved me, for his brother’s suite. . ‘Arid now, I have no cause to regret the lost gloves, for I am very happy, and have as many as I want. EDITORIAL "NERVE," A nOV’R DEPRNRR. The scene was in Sacramento street, in front of a well-known hotel. ■ It was 22 years ago, and San Francisco-was In her infancy. Quite a crowd had gathered on the street, and the centre of attraction was a big fellow, who stood with a newspaper in bis hand, raving and cursing... „ , “ What’s the matter, Wolf ?” asked a new comer, who was evidently familiar with the irate man.. ; .“ Matter?” returned Wolf,, for that was his name, “ matter enough, an’ rough enough it’ll be. for some folks. Them young whelps that prints this paper has gone an T published somethin’ ’bout me. O, I'll fix ’em! They’d better never ha’ been born! They'd bettor go an’ kill themselves after ten minutes ; it’ll be an easier death fur ’em." Wolf was a noted., desperado, who it was said, bad killed more than twenty jfekf him'- ntTwsß.lU lulit Lunt d gang of loafers and; gamblers that, were' 1 nearly always to be found lounging in the vicinity alluded to, and disturbing the peace of thfe whole neighborhood daily with riotous conduct. If there'was any law in those days it was seldom ex ecuted against such characters, and in the full consciousness that : they were feared, they did pretty much as they pleased. The newspaper which had given dead ly offense to Wolf was a little weekly journal, and its' office was in the second story of. a building on the same street with the hotel T’bave mentioned, and only a few rods distant. It was published by two young men—or, I , might say, boys, for they were only eighteen and twenty years old, respectively—named Darrell and Kaynes. The paper and its youthful proprietors were already well known in the city of San Francisco. “ The article which had excited the wrath of the ruffian Wolf was a bold de nunciation of himself and his crowd for their lawless conduct, and it particularly*: mentioned him by name, characterizing him as a “ blustering bully.” It, was tire work of young Darrell, a fearless boy bailing from Ohio. Before leaving his home he had acquired a fair education,so that be could at least edit a newspaper in those early days; anid he possessed, be sides, that courage and daring which may be natural in the first place, and which are more thoroughly developed by expo sure to dangers and hardships. ■ Young Kaynes was quite a different kind of person in point of courage, being of an uiinsually timorous nature. To return to the scene, on Sacramento street. Working himself up into his very worst mood—and hisbest was bad enough, heaven knows—Wolf tore the paper to atoms and started for the publication of fice. Hb waa followed by a curious rab ble, most of whom were elevated with the prospect of a murder, though there Were some present who would have re monstrated with the evil hearted man, had they dared. "Jest you watch," said Wolf, ns he reached the door', “If ye want to see the’r bloody carcasses tumble out o’ the win der! It won’t be long. I don’t spend much time on sloh fellers.” It was the Intention of the cruel hearted man actually to cut the thpats of thb two boyish Journalists and throw their bodies out of the window, for the gratification of the crowd and jhe further exaltation of hla already fearful name. So, the mob on the street awaited the issue with feverish expectation, as Wolf, flourishing his knife and revolver, entered the rude frame.buildlng and rushed up stairs. All unconscious of their danger, the two. young editors were busily pursuing tbeig usual work in their primitive office.. If they had beard the noise without they had paid no attention to it, supposing it was merely a street row such as they were accustomed to bearing every day.' Darrell was sitting at a rude table writing, aud Kaynes was at the counter arranging spmo papers for the mail. They heard the clatter of heavy boots’ on the stairs, but supposed it was some rough miner coming up to subscribe for the paper, or, perhaps, to see a lawyer who occupied a couple of roams on tbe same floor; for the building was only a two-story one, and the second floor was occupied exclusively by them and an at torney—their room being separated from his by a narrow hallway that was reach ed by the flight of stairs alluded to. “ Ah-ba I I’ve got ye, my young Impsl” exclaimed the desperado, burst ing in, kaynea recognized him and, turned pale. Being at the counter, which faced the door and extended across the room, ho was naturally the'flrst mark for Wolf’s vengeance. “Ye young devils !” he hissed, scowl ing like a madman, 1 ‘ Ye’ll never write nor print nothin’ more ’bout mo!” Here he flourished his knife and revolver above hla head. " I’Ve got a sure thing on both of ye!” Baying this he looked about him with a careful scrutiny, to see that there was no means of escape for the quiet youth at the table, who, of course, would not dare'to jump over the oonnter and try to pass him, but would cower down in a corner and take his. turn at beingkilled ; then he reached across the Counter and seized Kuynes by the hair, which was unfortunately very long. Coiling the terrified young man’s looks around the great coarse fingers of tho left hand, Wolf laid his revolver on the counter without the slightest apprehen sion that his youthful adversary would snatch it up .and, UB9 it on him; as be might have done had', be possessed the nerve; then.flourishing bis big gleaming knife, deliberately, with pure/deviliah ness prolonging Kayne’s terror and pain. “ Now say yor prayers, d d yer,” he hissed, '“you’ve got a couple o’ seconds or so left—jest while I’m ollppin'yerears oil. I’ll take ’em first, clean and smooth ; then I’ll out yer throat an’ throw yer out the winder. D’ye hear that? 1 ' Such was Wolf’s reliance upon the ter ror bis name everywhere inspired, that he never dreamed of resistance. fie sim ply intended to butcher the two young men, and such a thing as an obstacle to his will was not to be thought of. Had Darrell possessed ho more nerve than Kaynes there can be no doubt they would have been murdered then and there, in exact accordance with Wolf’s programme. “ Tlmel” he said, grinding his teeth in an ecptacy of rage, and drawing Kayne’s white face closer to his own repulsive ■ oounteuaueu. ■ —-rney’re a waitin’ fosse your carcass drap down niu> u» ai'ieoi.” Here he flourished his knife and selected bis mark. " The right ear first. Watch how clean and smooth I’ll take it off. I won’t even touch a hair.” Kaynes bawled for mercy. .“O—O don’t 1” the poor fellow shrieked, trem bling with terror. “Oh don’t Mr. Wolf,. I didn’t write that, upon my soul!" and be whined like a schoolboy. “ None o’ yer lyln 1” said Wolf, fero ciously. - Ye both wrote it, d dye ; and ye’ll both pay for it." Here he exe cuted decided circles with his flashing knife, having apparently prolonged the torture as much he desired. • “Here goes;'look out when I count three!” The knife was ready to' descend. “ One 1 —two—” He stopped and; stared. He had not observed the movements of Darrell du ring the last few seoobds, and Just as he was on the point of clipping off Kayno’s pollshcd manner he.bad des tine w-sinon v e , fduhd ’thV mUzZIe of a It was a loaded nne~wnionv-racKtryra friend of Darrell’s had left in bis keep ing that very morning, while lie went out to make some purchases. It bad stood in a corner of the room near bis ta ble, and Darrell bad seized It, cocked it and ievelld it with such dexterity that he had .Wolf covered before he had oh-- served his movements; and'he stood motionless as a statue—his cool eye glan cing over the sights, and a steady finger on the trigger- ’ , ‘ “ You great bully,”he said, "dropthat knife instantly. Mind, I come from a country where they shoot.squirrels only in the eye. I can hit any hair of your big head that you can mention at a hundred yards. Drop that knife I” The ruffian was fairly paralyzed. He released his grip on poor Kaynes, who sank fainting upon the floor, and his murderous knife fell on the counter. So unexpected was this bold attitude of Darrell that Wolf was more startled than .he would have been If a dozen of the roughest men in California had assailed him. ' There stood the boyish editor, motion less as the wail, and the muzzle of the rifle did not move the breadth of a hair. Darrell, held the desperado's life in his bands. “You cowardly bully!" he repeated contemptuously. “ Don't you dare move; I can send a bullet through your eye-ball without touching , the white. Don’t move an eighth of, an inch or I’ll do.lt, and throw your filthy carcass out of the window.” . Wolf glanced at his revolver, lying upon the counter'within two feet of his eyes, but he did not venture to reach for “Dare to: touch, that revolver, or so much os look at it again,”, said Darrell, "and I’ll make a red picture on the .wall there behind you. ' You blustering, brag ging knave I You are a coward at heart —a despicable our 1 You came up hero ■to murder two boys, because you thought it an easy task, and now you are pale and trembling with fear. I would kill you in your tracks, but that I don’t want your dirty blood on my hands. Go now. Turn instantly. Leave your knife and revolver where they are. I’ll keepthem. Go down to your friends on the street and toll them that a boy whipped you— disarmed you, and then kicked you down stairs. Do as I toll you. If you hesitate you will never see the sun set.” Wolf, trembling from head to foot, glanced once more at bis revolver, but did not dare raise his hand- His face was pale and hla Ups were dry. “Do you hear me?” demanded Darrell, sternly. •i Yes, yea, don’t shoot,” said Wolf, turning about, as commanded. He was thoroughly cowed. “Do not turn your ugly face this way again," said Darrell, “or you will pay 'for'lt with your life. Move I” Tamer than a whipped cur, the ruffian walked toward the door, and Darrell, springing .over the counter, was at his liuelu in pn instant, “ Don’t look back, or I’ll kill you.” .Meekly obeying the Imperative orders of the youth, Wolf moved slowly out of the room Into the corridor. “Bo careful; don’t—don’tletthatgun go dll,” Wolf stammered, os he reached the head- of the stairs: At. this moment the clamors of the im patient crowd below arose with terrible distinctness, and one shrill voice was hoard to say, “Harry up Wolf, why don’t you throw thorn fellers out?” Exasperated beyond measure, be was on the point of turning book, at the risk of his life; for after all his braggadocio how could he face those below, disarmed and chased out of the building by one of the puny boys ho had Intended so terribly to chastise 7 But Darrell was after him, and with one vigorous kick sent him bounding down the wooden stairs; with a thundering clatter, and rolling over the doorsill, the defeated bully actually tum bled out upon the street before be could recover his equilibrium. "Hello! how’s this? What’s up 7” asked a dozen voices at once, as the dreaded man re-appeared in this undig nified shape, without having sent any oorpses-down from the window. " Why, I simply kicked him down stairs—that’s what’s the* matter," . re sponded the boyish voice of Darrell at the top; “ and if he comes up here again I won’t let him off so easy. Do not be afraid of him; I took all his weapons from him.” Wolf struggled to his feet, rubbing his bead, and presenting such a ludicrous appearance that he wasgreeted with loud jeers and bursts of laughter. So complete ly had he tumbled from his lofty eminence in the eyes of those who either admired or feared a bald murderer, that th&r who an hourago would have dreaded to offend him by word or; look, now regarded him only with contempt—laughed at and de rided him. Never before had the rough crowd seen a man with an established reputation like Mr. Wolf thus suddenly fall to such a depth of degredatibn. AH his name, fame, prestige, melted away like mist, and he was no longer feared—no longer respected by the low thieves and cut throats arounfl him—only despise?. Yes. despised by the meanest of creatures, whom he had oftentimes bill lied as tho’ they were hounds. . The'dread which had' surrounded his iiifie seamen' [Q IIKO o-'mior.— *' “iLiobcd by u boy “ Kiolsiid down stairs!" “ Got bis barons took ■ from himl” were the murmurs of the crowd. At length a voice boldly taunted him with ’ 1 Where’s your knife?” and anoth er proposed “ Three cheers for the boy! lljat licked him.” ’ rin 'Looking very little and pusillanimous, he slunk away toward Montgomery street. jSuch was Wolfs mortification when he came fully to realize what a pitiable figure he bad cut, that he left San Fran cisco and was seen in her streets no more. The fatillty which had' apparently thus far shielded aud assisted him in his mur derous deeds suddenly deserted him. He was destined never to commit an other murder, but was himself shot dead in Idaoramento within three weeks after tlje events narrated. 1 do not know what becamoof Kaynes, oi| whether he is still alive; but I know that Darrell, the brave boy whose cool ness and courage saved them bath, is to iranMeman.df position, residing in THE BROKEN) GOBLET, '"Clara, we are short of goblets,” (Harry Thurber asked the question of bjs wife at the breakfast table. He was .book-keeper in a down-town store, in re ceipt of a fair salary, and had been mar rlbd five years. “ Goblets?” repeated his wife with a start, and her delicate, handsome fea tures were wrought upon by something which resembled fear.. “ Yes,” added the husband with em phasis; "lasted if wo were short of goblSta.” “ you remember, Harry, 1 told you several days ago that we needed a few more.” “How many goblets, in mercy’s name, am I to buy In a year?” " Not many, Harry. You have bought only two dozen since we were married;” “And what has become of them?” They got broken.” :“ Broken I I should say so.” Mr. Thurber had split a muffin on his plate, and now looked for the syrup. J - He was very ■ fond of maple syrup on hot muffins—for his wife’s folks in the country sent him the purest and' most delicate syrup to be found anywhere; and his wife could not be excelled in the art-of cooking. ' “Ah! how.ls this?” be exclaimed as bis wife, banded him thesyrupin a small glass pitcher. " Where is our syrup ppt ?” “ I am sorry, Harry—” “ How i is that broken too ?’’ i’Yes. Eva hit it with her elbow while helping me to clear off the table last evening. Poor little thing I She has been sadly—" “ Great help you expected from a child like that I" ejaculated the husband,sneer- Ingly. Upon this little Eva, a bright eyed child of almost four summers, cried that “ she could help mamma lots.” , But Mr. Thurber was not to be turned from hla bent. “ Goodness, gracious I ” he exclaimed ; “ if a man wore made of money he could not run such an establishment. You must remember, that times are not like they were three years ago; things are almost double what they used to be.— That syrup pot I paid one dollar for I My soul I I dig, and dig, and dig, and I’ll never get a dollar ahead if we go on this way. ' Yesterday it was a now plat ter for meat—” " Harry,” plead the wife beseechingly, “ the platter was not to replace a broken one.” “ But I bought It, didn’t I ?” “Yes." And next goblets are wanted. Are those to make broken ones good ?” % “Of .course. But—remember that for five years—’’ “O, yes—l remember very well that during the five years it has been nothing but break, break, break, something all the time. And now It’s a new syrup pot I Thunder 1 I’ll buy an iron one, and see it that will stand the racket.” “ Harry,” plead the wife, “ you mag nify the evil. I think there are very few families that break less crockery than we do. I am as careful as I Can be, and am sure that Eva Is not at all destructive.” “And yet,” reported Harry, with un necessary vehemence, 11 1 find myself called upon alarmingly often to make VOL. 59,—N0- 3* good your breakage?. I tell you I can not stand it.” - Like all men who assume untenable positions; endeavoring to hold the same against reason and good sense. Harry Tburber became more and more Indig nant and harsh as his wife interposed the gentle remonstrance of truth and ne cessity, until at length he arose from the table with the exclamation npon -his lips that “a man now a days needs to have an Independent fortune if be thinks to marry and keep bouse.” , "Oh Harry!" "It's so, Clara. Zounds, you don’t have to earn money. If you did, you'd be a little more careful," “ Careful of what 7", "Careful of what “—My—of every' thing—of goblets, and syrup pots, and —O, bah ! Smash away—break ’em up— tip over pots and kettle—rattle the glass and china—it’s all right; I can pay for it! O, yes ! ” ' , Clara could make no answer to this speech, and gave way to the emotion which for a long time bad been pulling at her heart-string; ebe covered her face with her hands and burst into tears. “Oh, yes I” dried Harry, “that’s the way. That’s a woman’s argument! O, bother!” And with this he seized his hat and hurried from the house. Let it not be thought that Harry Thur ber was willingly unjust, or inclined to fault finding. On the contrary, he was naturally frank and honorable, and en tirely free-hearted; but like thousands of other free-hearted men, bet waa swayed greatly by bis- emotions, and bis emo tions very often ran into wrong chan nels. He wended bis way towards bis place under a cloud. He loved bis wife dearly and was never happy when be left his home with the shadow of Ill feeling upon the parting. “ Plague take it,’’ he muttered to him self, ‘ “ a ffelibw can’t stand this kind of a thing all the time. It costs tod much to buy crockery ware Just to break up.’’ -' 4O 00 75 00 7500 100 00 t w *lOO *2 00 «3 00 $4 00 f 7 00 fl« 160 600 900, 3« 200 400 600 600 UCO 4“ 360 475 675 0751960 5« 800,5 60 , 6.60 760 14 00 §•* 360 660 760 860 1660 2m 400 760 860 060 17 60 3“ 500 860 960 10 60 20 00 6‘* 760 1000 1960 1600 28 00 ly 10 00 1700 29 00 2500J4000 Tweivd linoa constitute a square, _ For Jsxecntora’ and Admire', .Notices, $4 00 For Auditor's Notices; [ 2W - For 1 Assignees* and similar Notices, '8 00 For Yearly Car da, not exceeding six lines, 7 00 For Announcements five cents per lino, nnleas contracted for by the year. ' For Business and Special Notices: 10 con taper lino, ; Double column advertisements extra . They agreed to this also. The result was a.most favorable one.— Theta were no' thfeo happier families In the city from that time. There were three homes into which the spirit ol dis cord seldom entered. And furthermore when the wives discovered that their husbands were really and manfully try ing to lift their heads above the pressure of unnecessary expenses,'they cheerful ly seconded their efforts. The; did It of their own accord, and they, did It right willingly. And thus, Imperceptibly, the very shoal and quicksand on 'which so much of domestic peace had been wreck ed; became the grounds on which the hearts of husband and wife were united in a common cause—a cause which had in view a safer home, and better and happier life. A Slight Mistake.—The following anecdote, which first appeared in the., newspapers many years , ago is said to have been founded upon an actual oc currence. Although it may not illus trate the simplicity of the people of Vermont to-day, it Is nevertheless a good story and good also for many .years longer life in the newspaper; “Hallo, you man with a pail and frock, can you inform me whether His Honor the Governor of Vermont re sides here?’’ said a British officer, os ho brought his fiery horse to a stand in front of Governor Chittenden’s dwelling. “ He does,” was the response of the man still wending his way to the pig sty. ‘‘ is His Honor ?” continued the man of spurs. “ Most certainly,” replied frock.. “ Take my horse by the bit, then,’’ said the officer, “I have business to transact with your master.” Without a second bidding, the man did as reunootod, offloerailghb od and'made his way to the door, and gave the panel several hearty zaps With the butt of. his whip—for be, it known that in those days ol republican simplicity knockers and bells like, ser vants were but little used. The good dame answered the summons in person, and having seated the officer and ascer tained his desire to see the Governor, departed to inform liter husband of the guest’s arrival ; but on ascertaining that the officer had made a hitching post of her husband, she immediately returned and Informed him that the Governor was engaged in the yard, and could not very well wait upon him and bis horse at the same time 1 The predicament of the officer can better be imagined than described. . , Wedding Celebrations. Three days—Sugar. Sixty days—Vinegar. ' Ist anniversary—lron. sth anniversary—Wooden. 20th anniversary—China. 25th anniversary—Silver. 80th anniversary—Cotton. 35th anniversary—Linen. 40th anniversary—Woolen. 45th anniversary—Silk. 50th anniversary—Golden. 75th anniversary—Diamond. A DUTCHMAN died lately In Hqllaud, who had thoroughly tested the destruc tive powers of tobacco and beer. Ho had In bis time smoked about 10,000 pounds of the soothing weed and drank 500,000 quarts of the composing liquor, ■aud yet by reason of strength or some other cause he reached the age of four score years. Of course the experiment is not altogether satisfactory, because If be had not indulged In tobacco or beer, he might Jmve lived to be 100, and on the other hand he might never have passed 00. Thu Jewish .'Messenger bad a good story of a group of three people, “a lady and two gentlemen, dressed in fault-less style and of Intelligent bearing, who were looking at Church’s picture of the "Parthenon,” the other day.' After a si lent gaze for a few minutes, the spell was broken with the Impressive ques tion,“And Is this all that remains'of Chicago?” A jury in North Carolina, after being "charged” in the usual way by his honor, retired, when a white Jqror ventured to ask his colored associate if he understood the charge of the judge. “ Golly,” asked the astonished juror, “ hedosen’t charge us uuflln for dat, does he? Why, I thought we were gwlne to git pay ?” Mb. James McHinnook, of San Die go, CaJ., recently experimented with nl tro-glyoerine. It was remarked at bis funeral that “as an experimentalist be was not a success.” •We see a patent • sparker 1 noticed. A man -who can’t do tibia own sparklifg Without the help of machinery ought to be gobbled:up by a widow withnlne small children. A man in Michigan swapped his horse for a wife. An old bachelor acquaintance said he’d bet there was something wrong vwlth the .horse, or its owner would never have foaled it away in that reckless manner, A mah who gives bis children habits of Industry, provides for them better than by giving them a fortune. k "My Dablinq’s Shoes” Is the last soul-stirring ditty. The old man’s boots will doubtless be next worked Into rhyme and music. A popular doctor In Oswego gives prescriptions with directions to “take one teaspoonful every three years.” Ticket collector to’ child—'' What age are you, Mademoiselle? Seven years when in the train, and ten when at home.” Removals rre so frequent In Chicago since the fire that it has been found nec essary to Issue monthly directories. Why Is a pig tfith a twisted tall like the ghost in “Hamlet”? Because It could a tale unfold,