Volunteer
T 1
fUSLIBHED EVERY THURSDAY MORNING
Jolin B- Brattoii.
nmas-sovm market square.
J v, a ._Two,dollars per year It paid strictly
Wo Dollars and Fifty Cents If
Within three months,-after which Three
P» ld „ ;“ nl be charged. These terms will be
B 0 adhered to In overs- Instance. Nosnb
r'B Slon discontinued until all arrearages are
paid, unless at the option of the Editor.
poetical
TEACHING! PUBLIC! SOHOOLS.
Forty little urchins
Coming through the door,
,I‘usblng, crowding, making
A tremendous roar.
Why don’t they kedp qulqt?
Can’t you mind the rule?
Bless me, this Is pleasant,
Teaching public school.
Forty little pilgrims
On thfi'road to fame!
If they fall to reach It,
Who will he to blame?
High and lowly stations—
Birds of every feather—
On a common level
Here are brought together.
‘Dirty little faces,
Loving little hearts,
Eyes brim full of mischief
Skilled Hi all its arts.
That’s a precious darling !•
What are you about ?
•May I pass the water?"
“Please, may I go out?"
Boots and shoos are scuflllug,
Slates and books are rattling,
And In the cot nor yonder
Two pugilists aro battling.
Others cutting didoes—
What a botheration 1
tfo wonder wo grow crusty
From such associations!
Anxious parent drops In
Merely to inquire
Why his olive branches
Do not shoot up higher;
Says ho want’s his children
To mind their p's and q’s, (
And hopes their brilliant talents
Will not bo abused.
Spelling, reading, writing,
Putting up the young ones,
Fuming, scolding, fighting,
' Spurring on the dumb ones.
Gymnasia, vocal music 1
How the heart rqj olces
When the singeb comes to
Cultivate the voices.
Institute attending,
Making out reports,
Giving Object Lessons,
Class drills of all sorts,
Heading dissertations,
Feeling like a fool—
Oh, the untold blessing
Of the Rxblic School.
Upstelbneoug.
AMOS DYKE’S BOETOTE.
The time of our little tele shall be
some sixty years ago, before express
trains tore' along at the rate of fifty
miles an hour, before chimney-pot hats
were in fashion, and when there were
many quaint old ways and customs in
dress and manners which have now fa
ded quite away. .uni.
And the hero of our tale shall be
Amos Dyke, the son of the Hollington
carrier. ■ ,
Old Peter Dyke, the Hollington car
rier, lived in a little side place off the
main street of the town, and commenced
life with only a few shillings in his
pocket. By honest industry he had ac
cumulated enough to establish n good
‘ business, imd at last’ he became the Hol
' lington carrier.
Old Peter died leaving a son about
ten years of age, and enough for him to
start well In life, and something more.
But as he was so young it was neces
sary that he. should have some one to
look after him and his property; and
who so fit as the miller, Crust, to un
dertake the task? Crust was nothing
loath; he promised to befriend the hoy,
and do the best he could for him; and
as Crust was an honest man, everything
promised fair for Amos.
Old Peter Dyke’s business was sold
at his death, according to his express
wish; and according to arrangement
made between the miller and the old
man, the proceeds were all invested in
the mill—a flourishing concern—and
one out of which all the neighbors said
a fortune must sooner or later be made.
The prospects of Amos Dyke, then,
were about as bright as those of any
young man in his rank of life all the
country round.
The miller did not neglect his young
charge’s education. He gave I “ m . tl ’ e
very best the neighborhood afforded,
and acted honorably by him in every
W, /hus grew up Amos Dyke t° man
. hood; and side with him grew Mary
Crust. And often, it the truth were
known, the worth miller looked with
satisfaction upon them, as they sat one
on each aide of his table, anrt THoixeHt
that perhaps some day, when ne was
eono Amos and Mary would be in
their places at the head and foot of the
table, and perhaps the mill will be
more flourishing than ever.
There was one drawback to this
agreeable prospect. Amos ke
rather of a dreamy nature—he was oft
en absent as though his thoughts were
far away; and he had to own that ma
. ny a time when he should have been
attending what he was at, he was
building castles in the air instead.
Time passed on, as it will always
keep doing, and Amos was now twenty
and Mary was eighteen-and m another
year, on New Year’s day, Amos would
be of age and wojfld come in for his
share of the mill. He hoped also to
come in for his shore of Mary.
But alas! there was a heavy cloud
looming over the Hollington mj' 1 '
The worthy miller entered into a large
-too large a contract to. supply flour at
a given price for several months; he
thought he knew whnt he was about;
and if others had been as true to him
as he was in his dealings, all would
have been well; but the contract prov
ed his ruin. One dreadful morning the
post brought him the f nou “ c «“ ent
that he was a bankrupt-he, and Amos,
and Mary-aud all of them were un
d Honest John Crust could have borne
his own losses well enough, If he had
m one elße to think of hut hlmself.-
Time was, when he had only bread and
Seland on bread and cheese he
could live again; but there were oth
ers to think of too. Ah 1 the “ others’
-these ate what makes life’s trials and
losses Often so hard to hear. To see
themwant-to see them pinched, this
soon doubles trials and lopes.
And the weight of it proved too
much for honest John; the trouble
struck him with a deadly chill, and lie
djd pot survive it long.
fflu Amcrirau WunUcr
Amos tended the miller along with
Mary, during his short illness", and as
the time drew near when it was plain
that the good man could not last long,
he gave, them both his last directions*
“ Amos,” said the dying man, “ if
this trouble had not come you would
sooner or later have had all the Hol
lington mill—your own share and mine
too; for Mary is all I have in the
world, and she would have been yours,
and with her whatever I had; but now
it is all gone. But whatever has gone
our. good name has not; and, believe
me, a good namo is worth money. ’Tis
worth resnect and, honor and trust,
which are better than money; but
.these often bring money too. ’Tis an
awful thing when ■ parents leave their
children a bad namo ; my poor school
fellow Bence Porter used to say that it.
took him seven years to wipe off his
father’s name from him—ay—seven
years’ hard work, had bo, as an honest
man, before any one for miles round
would trust him with a shilling, though
he was as honest as the sun. -And,
now, Amos, give up day-dreaming,—
Perhaps you thought you could afford
i t when you knew you bad a tidy for
tune coming to you, and while you
had no responsibility or care, for I Whs
the head of everything. Well, you
were wrong there; no man can day
dream without coming to loss; but if
you could not afford it then, how much
less now. Believe me, Amos, folks do
not dream themselves into anything.—
Be up and d oing, and with God’s bles
sing all may yet be well. Keep from
wishing, wishing, and be doing, doing,
and with industry, honesty, and
thrift, and blessing of your God, you
'Phis was the last talk the miller had
with Amos about worldly things, tho’
he said much to him about the happier
and better Innd-for the good man had
that above which ho losses or bank
ruptcies could take a/way*'
Mary Crust had to do what she could,
for her own living, for now the mill
and all belonging to it was to be sold ;
but she had her brave father’s heart
and courage, and was quite prepared
for whatever duty pointed out as the
right course. Friends found her'a sit
uation as companion to a lady who
lived in London. It seemed to bo in
every way what was desirable; and
though Amos would have kept her in
Hollingtonif he could, Mary was de
termined. She reminded Amos of all
her father had said to him about day
dreaming—that honest work was what
lay before them ; and.tbat if they both
stuck to it, honest-work would sooner
or later bring them together as man
and wife. “ How soon that will be,”
said Mary Crust, “depends most likely,
Amos, upon yourself.”
So the miller’s daughter went off to
her situation, and Amos remained at
Hollington. ■ ,
Amhs Dyke was not quite without
resources. The creditors of the Hol
lington miller, when they met, had as
their chairman a worthy “ Friend,”
named Helps, who, at the end of the
me'eting, addressed his brother orodi
tors on behalf of Amos- 0
“ There is one matter,” said Mr,
Joshua Helps, “ which I wish to bring
before the meeting before we part; it is
tho case of tho young man Dyke. I
think we ought to show pity for that
young man ; ho is now beggared thro
no fault of his own ; and I would pro
pose a subscription on his behalf. If
there be any who will lollow me, I
will give £lO to begin with. ,
The proposition of tho wdrthy Qua!
er was successful. £lOO was raised for
Amos in the room.
“Look thee here, friend,” said the
Quaker; “here are the materials for an
ample fortune. Fortunes have been
made out of a penny piece; how much
more can there be made out of Xloo.
Now stir thyself, and this money
aright, and thou wilt do well.
Amos took the money with much
gratitude, and, in truth, intended to do
no end of things with it; but day alter
day slipped by, and while he was in
tending to do a great deal, ho really
did nothing. , .. , ...
And every day he found it harder
and harder to begin. He had no im
mediate necessity, for this money sup
D lied him with all he required; and,
always thinking that this thing and
that tiling were not, good enough, he
allowed month after month to pass.
One grand ,chance Amos lot slip.
The Hollington carrier, who had suc
ceeded his father, offered to give him a
share of the business if he would put
£5O in it, and undertake to drive one of
the teams himself; but Amos was
above taking to the road, and so that
chance passed by.
“ Now,” said Amos, as he sat dream
ily by the roadside one day, as tho
Guilford and London coach drove by
with a team of four splendid grays, if
I could get a share in a turn-out like
that I shouldn’t mifld driving it.’
On came the coach; and there is no
knowing how long Amos Dyke might
have sat there had not an elderly gen
tleman shouted to him as he passed,
and cried. “Ah, friend Amos Dyke, is
that thee? what art thou doing there?
Here coachman 1 Hallo coachman
wait one moment; we’ll take up this
young man for a mile or two, and X 11
pay for him. Now then, friend Amos,
squeeze in hero by me; now tell me
how thou art getting on, and what
kind of business thou hast put that £lOO
in which allows thee to bo sitting do
ing nothing by the roadside at .his
hour of the day., My oxpenencoofa
£lOO is, that it requires a deal of look
ing after ; but perhaps thou has found
some new way of making mourn- work
while fhou dost play.”
A few words, and indeed poor Amos
looks revealed to tho shrewd Quaker
exactly how the matter lay. « was no
part of tho worthy man’s intention to
shame Amos before other people, so he
said no more until they arrived at the
next stage. Then, while tho bosses
wore being changed, Mr. Joshua Helps
said “Thou hast nothing to do, so thou
shalt come on to London with mo; I
will take caro of thee, and bring thco
back all safe to-morrow.”
- tl'sr sSf2fp£J^f23
JTSSICS r'S SZ*m ..- -M- p...|«.i.. ■»«.
traction there; Indeed, in his simplicity,
he’even went so far as to confess that
he used frequently to go anil sit on that
seat, where he had found him, to look
at the conch that he had a dreamy kind
of pleasure in thinking that it was go
ing to the place where she was.
“ And will the coach’s going bring
thee any nearer?” said Mr. Joshua;
“ What good will that do thee?” Mr.
Joshqa did not say this because hp did
not believe in love—not he. He had
loved Sarah Short himself, and never
censed until he had made her Sarah
Helps; but he did not believe in
dreamy love but in .working love. ■ He
■ used to say, -‘Orpah kissed Naomi, but
. Butli clave unto her.’
All tbat day Mr. Joshua Helps took
Amos Dyke about with him, continu
ally directing bis attention to one per
son, and one thing and another, in this ]
fashion—" Dost thou soe . that horse,
Amos—how it pulls? Dost thou see
what haste that man is making with
Unit parcel ? Dost thou, perceive how
everybody is going somewhere and do
ing something?” , And indeed the
young man need have had no, greater
example of energy than Mr. Joshua
himself, who pulling out his watch oft
ten fronr time -to time, was evidently
intent on. getting through no end of
word before evening
Whoa evening camp, Amos asked i
he could go out and try to get a sight of
Mary, as lie was so fortunate as to bo
near where she was.
“And how wilt thou go to her, and
with what sort of a talc?” said the
Quaker; “ how wilt thou answer her
questions when she asks thee what thou
art doing, and how much nearer mar
riage thou art ? I should be ashamed,”
said he, “ to have asked to see my Sar
ah under circumstances like these ; and
indeed I am doubtful if she on hor part,
would have seen me. Now take my
advice, young man” said Mr. .Tnshua ;
“remain here quietly with me this
evening, and let us talk over matters,
■and to-morrow thou Shalt return with
me; and I tell thee it will be worth a
ten pound note to thee, and more, if
thou ciost not go to see that young wo
man. lam not going to tell theo how
it will be worth so much money, but I
do tell thee that if is so, and if thou
takest ray. word thou wilt find it so
too.”
That evening the good Quaker kept
.Amos at his lodgings, and talked with
him over his affairs, and over his faults,
which were surely amongst the most
important of those affairs.
“Now, I will start thee,” said the
good man, “only on one condition, and
that is, that thou wilt promise never
to go to see thy Mary until thou canst
give her a good account of thyself and I
land thy concerns—or, at, any rate, of |
thy industry aud efforts—one such as
thy conscience can approve of.”
These seemed very hard lines for poor
Amos. Still he agreed to them, for his
£lOO was slipping fast away.
On the following day, good Joshua
Helps went to the Hollington carrier,
the successor of Amos 1 father, and then
and there made an agreement with him
that the young man should have the
place originally offered to him. Mr.
Joshua himself advanced what was
necessary, on the condition that it was
repaid to him in duo season.
Very many struggles had Amos with
himself as ho, for the first time, put on
his carrier’s clothes and prepared to
start with the team ; but ho overcame
them, all; honor, gratitude, the hope of
getting Mary Crust, and of shortening
the dreadful lime during which ho
could not see her, all spurred.him on to
do tiro thing which was rigid.
Two long years had passed away,
and now Amos had fairly and honestly
sot himself to work. The long road
journeys, the “all weathers,” which he
had to meet, tiro old carrier’s exactness
in everything —to a tarthing in money,
to a minute in time—all helped to
make him a business man.
At last the happy day came near.—
The old carrier sent lor Amos one
morning, and told him he was begin
ing to feel too old to go to the London
stage any more ; that ho was about to
give the journey up to him.
And now when Amos began to rellcct
seriously oh the past, and seo whore he
stood at the present, ho felt that ho had
earned the right to see Mary, and could
give her by word of mouth a good ac
count of himself; but first he lelt ho
ought to consult his friend Mr. Joshua
Helps. , r T ,
“ And now,” Stud Mr. Joshuu,
“ canst thou pay me back what I have
advanced for theo, for whilst thou art
in debt there is nothing thou canst call
thine own?”
a Ay, hero it is,” said Amos, pulling
out a great leathern purse, and count
ing the money out in guineas on the
table, “ I brought it, for I felt I could
not answer Mary, if shejasked me it I
owed anything.”
“ Then go and see thy Mary," said
the Quaker; “and when thou comest
back, come and tell me how shois, and
how much she has saved.”
Folks may wonder what the Quaker
wanted to know about Mary’s savings
for • but ho hud a reason of his own.
He'meant Amos now to marry Mary,
and ho meant to help them too; but
he would not put his money where it
would not be safe—into idle, dreamy,
spendthrift hands. ■.
So Mr. Joshua bought up the business
of the Hollington carrier, and also the
stage which dashed past dreamy Amos
with the four gallant grays; and he
made a fine business of them all.
Amos Dyke now changed the wagon
for the coach, and drove the grays
many a time himself. He never 1
drank, and never dreamed—at least by
dav Ho worked like an honest man ;
and at last, by God’s blessing com
menced a now year, himself the pro
prietor of the whole concern. _ One
thought often came into the mind of
Amos and his wife, and that was, how
delightful it would bo to .purchase the
old mill. As time wore on this also
LIN.OOLN.
Some Incidents of His Life, as Sketched
from the Biography of Lamon.
.Two weeks ago we gave the history of
Lincoln’s loves, as related by his inti
mate friend, Ward H. Lamon. The
truth of this history and of the incidents
we give in this, issue,, may be vouched
for by the fact that Lamon not only was
on very intimate relations with Lincoln,
having been for a number of years his
lav* partner, but that in the present vol
ume lie acts the part of an enthusiastic
eulogist. It is true he relates some in
cidents of Mr. Lincoln’s life which do
not seem in accordance with the highest
standard of morality and honesty, as ex
pounded by old-fashioned Christianity,
but even in these cases Lamon seems,
either on shch an exalted plane or so
blunted in conscience, that lie does not
recognize their disreputableness. Lamon
hardly appears to relate these incidents
through a sense of conscientious duty*
for in only one case does bo seem to dis
approve of them. Such "naivete would
appear very amusing to the render if it
did not so clearly indicate, such a low
standard of morality, both in Mr..Lamon
and in the subject of his biography.
Lincoln's father,Tom Lincoln, though
poor, was not respectable, but "was,”
says Mr. Lamon,. “ idle, thoughtless,
poor; a hunter and a rover. He came
from Virginia, and in 1808 we find him
in Harden county, Ky., trying to learn
the carpenter trade. He could neither
read nor write.”. In this year, at the
age of 2S, he married Nancy Hanks.
No certificate or record of the mar
riage of Thomas Lincoln and Nancy
Hanks Is in existence. Nobody who
saw them wedded-if there were any
witnesses present at their nuptials now
survive. It is certain that they lived to
gether as husband and wife, but although
Mr. Lamon does not say so directly, but
we get the impression from Ills book that
their life was one of the cat and dog
kind-. At p. 18 ho mentions casually and
drily that Lincoln's decision to change
his residence was hastened by troubles
which are suggestively entitled "certain
troubles which culminated in a terrible
conflict between him and one Abraham
Enlow. They fought like savages,” &c.
This is a strangely meagre notice of a
most important incident bearing direct
ly not only on Mr. Lincoln's history,
but upon his birth, and of which we cer
tainly expected to hear much in Mr. Le
mon’s book. Can the mafl who has
made Mr. Lincoln’s early life a study be
ignorant of the well established tradi
tions of Harden county, which years
ago had become a matter of common
talk and public rumor ?, Why is this
silence? We think we can explain it.
The truth la this, as we heard it as long
ago as ISGI. About three years after
their marriage Abraham Enlow made
himself offensively conspicuous by his
devotion■;to Nancy. Like Mr. Wirt’s
Aaron Burr, when he set foot on the is
land Biennerhassett, with Eniow’s ap
pearance in the Lincoln cabin " the de
stroyer came,” not precisely “ to turn
this paradise into a hell,” but to stir up_
the fires which were already burning
there, lively and sulphurous, to a hotter
glow. “ Tom Linkhorn,” as he was call
ed by his neighbors, was not lacking in
pluck, and "went for” the destroyer in
such an .earnest and practical fashion
that, after a heated interview, Mr. En
low retired to his residence, leaving his
nose in Mr. Liukhorn’s mouth, the lat
ter gentleman having amputated it with
lus teeth. No new beak ever grew out
to supply its place, and Enlow carried
ids incomplete profile to the grave as a
melancholy reminderof his rash love for
the fair Nancy. Shortly after Enlow had
parted with, ids nose, and bis sweetheart
.the lonely cabin of the “ Linkhorn's”
echoed with the cry of a new born child.
On the 12th of February, 1809, Abra
ham Lincoln first saw the light, or so
much of it as could find its way through
the chiuks of his father’s cabin. As the
child grew into shape ho manifested a
marvelous unlikeness to the “Linkhorn”
family. His reputed father, Tom, says
Mr. Lamon was not tall, and thin like
Abraham, but comparatively short and
stout, standing about five feet ten inches
in ids shoos. He was a tight built little
man with so much flesh that it was im
possible to count his riba through it. It
is likely though that Tom; whose affec
tion for his ofisprlng was not a weak or
sentimental emotion, conceived no un
common fondness for the young Abe
when his long bones, sprawling limbs,
guant body and lank face began to grow
into the image of the uoisless Enlow, so
that the neighbors pronounce the child
“the very spit” of that hapless gallant.
“ It is a wise child that knows its own
father ” and It is a point that never will
be settled whether the late President had
ever the honor of his veritable sire’s ac
quaintance. Abe was fed and clothed by
Linkhorn while he was a boy. and,
therefore, took that person’s name, and
recognized him as his parent.
The accounUof the early life of Mr.
Lincoln is very interesting. From it we
can understand the influences which
moulded his character, It is wonderful
that he grew up to be President of the
United States, and it is fully as wonder
ful that bo did not grow up a low ruffian
and common blackguard. His father
was as shiftless a dog as ever emigrated
to the West" with his fortune on his
back, and with no higher ambition than
to shoot and drink whiskey and his as
sociates were no better. He was what
is called a “shirt tail boy,” and ran
about wild and shiftless as any ragged
little blackguard who over swore, drank,
chewed or smoked, in all which accom
plishments Abe was an expfcrt. Mr.
Lincoln’s school education was of the
roughest kind, and extended over but a
few brief and irregular periods, making
In all not many months. Mr. Lamon's
description of him in his fifteenth year
is picturesque :
"He was growing at a tremendous
rate, and two years later attained his
full height of six feet four inches. He
was long, wiry and strong—while his
big feet and hands and the length of his
legs and arms were out of all proportion
to his small trunk and head. His com
plexion was very swarthy and Mrs.
Gentry says that his skin was shriveled
and yellow even then. Ho wore low
shoes, buckskin breaches,ilnsey wnnlsey
shift tnd a o»p made of the akin of an
opossum a coon, The breeches clung
close to bis tblgbs and legs, but failed
by a larje space to moot the tops of hie
shoes. Twelve inches remained uncov
ered, and exposed that much of bis shin
bone 1 sharp, blue and narrow.-” ‘‘He
wouli always come to HOhoel tJUJH, good
humondly and laughlng^'^aj'^hls old
friend, Nat was Tthgays
In goodhealthi never-'waa sick, bad an
excellent constitution and .took care, of
it.”
and
two
John -tornine, an old neighbor of Mr.
Lincoln, describes the late President an
he was it the age of twenty, In these
words
“He was awful lazy. He worked for
me—wasalways readlng.and thinking
I used toget mad at him. He worked
for me It 1829 pulling fodder. I say Abe
Was awfil lazy. He would laugh and
.crack jolea and tell stories all the time;
didn’t love work, hot did . dearly love
his pay- He worked for me frequently
a few days along at a time. Lincoln said
to me* one. day that" his father taught
him to work, but never taught him to
love.lt.”
From others of the early Woods of Mr.
Lincoln his biographer has gathered the
following particulars concerning the
habits of his youth.
“Abe loved to lie under a ebade tree or
up lii the loft of the cabin and read, cy
pher and scribble. At night he sat by
the chimney jamb and cyphered, by the
light of the fire, on the wooden fire
shovel. When the shovel was fairly
covered he would shave it oft' with Tom
Lincoln's drawing knife and begin
again. In the day-time ho used boards
for the same purpose out of doors, and
went through the shaving process ever
lastingly. His step-mother repeats often
that he " read every book he could lay
his hands on.” She says “Abe read dil
igently, and when he came across a pas
sage that struck him he would Write it
down on boards it he bad no paper, and
keep it there till ho did get paper. There
he would re-write it, look at it, repeat it.
He had a cojry-book,. a kind oi scrap
book, in which he put down all things
and thus, possessed them - ”
The books he had at this time were
iEsop’s Fables, Eoblnson Crusoe, Bun
yan’s Pilgrim Progress, a History of the
United States and Weem’s Life of Wash
ington, this last being the best booh to
make honest and patriotic boys that ever
was written.
At this period’of his life Mr; Lincoln
was fond of hearing other people sing,
although he was quite unable jo turn a
tune himself. His taste was not remark
ably refined or correct, as may be infer
red from the nature of his favorite dit
ties. One of these ran thus:
■' Hall Columbia I happy land;
If you ain’t drunk I'll bo d d.
From another entitled, “John Ander
son’s Lamentations,” and which Abe
was believed in the nelghborhood. where
the song was very popular, to have eked
out and embellished with lines of ins
own, we copy a single verse :
The young man who could be suspect
ed of writing such veres as these had
even less occasion than Sir William
Blackstoue to bid “Farewell to his
muse.” It is 'dear that that lady had
never called ou him*
From Ills copy book the following
frank if not musical lines are copied.
They are out of his own head ;
“ Abraham Lincoln, his hand and non,
Ho will ho good, bat God knows when.”
In 1823, Lincoln made a trading voy
age to New Orleans on a boat laden with
bacon and other produce. He was a bow
hand,-and got eight dollars a month for
his work. His commander and associ
ate 1 was Allen Gentry, whose father had
furnished and loaded the boat. Refer
ring to the expedition, Mr- Lamon (p.
171) makes the following 1 rather start
ling statement:
“The trip of Gentry and Lincoln was
a very profitable one, and Mr. Gentry,
Bt. was highly gratified by the result
Abe displayed his genius for mercantile,
affairs by handsomely putting off on the
innocent folks along the river some
counterfeit money which a shrewd fel
low had imposed upon Allen Gentry.
Allen thought his father would be an
gry with him for suffering himself to bo
cheated, but Abe consoled him with the
reflection that the “old man” would not
care how much bad money they took in
the course of busiuess, if they only
brought the proper amount of good mo
ney home."
There is nothing very surprising in the
fact that a young man of defective train
ing and loose morals should have pass
ed bad money, nor that his name should
have been Abe, but that a young Abe
who started into busiuess by imposing
counterfeit shlup lastera upon strangers,
should have lived to he called and
known over the land as “ honest old
Abo” altogether puts to shame the an
cient maxims that “ The child is father
of the man,” “Just as the twig is bent
the tree’s inclined,” and lots of other ob
solete wisdom.
Wo gave two weeks ago the account of
his madness on the death of Ann Rut
ledge. About two years after that we
find him pressing bis hand and heart on
Miss Mary B. Owens, who declined the
profered offer. Offended by this he
wrote in a letter to a lady friend of his,
in this scandalous manner concerning
Miss Owens:
“ I knew she was over size, but she
now appeared a fair match for Faistaff.
I know she was called “an old maid,”
and I felt no doubt of the truth of half
the appellation. But now, when I be
held her, I could not for my life help
thinking of my mother—and this was
not from her withered features, for her
skin was too full of fat to permit of its
contracting into wrinkles, but from her
want of teeth, weather beaten appear
ance in general, and from a kind of a
uotion that ran in my head that noth
ing could have commenced at the size
„r infancy and reached her present hulk
in less than thirty-five or forty years
nud, in short, I was not at all pleased
with her.’
V.-» it waa after the interview hero de
scribed, that ho pestered this lady to
marry him. This business partakes
strongly of the moral nature of hla fi
nancial operations years before on the
river in counterfeit money, and although
it la impossible to tell just when ho be
gan to be called “Honest Old Abe,” it is
clear that at the age of twenty-nine lie
still gave small promise of earning or
deserving any such title.
But Miss Owens was avenged, me
Nemesis sent to requite her, wrongs came
in the person of Miss Mary S. Todd, o
whom after a courtship of strange vacil
lation he was masried in 1842.
His letters on the subject of marriage
addressed to Joshua F.Bpeed, and wh oh
appears in these pages, are plainly the
production of n morbid and dis
eased soul, and the story of his court
ship of Mary Todd Is the story of a mad
man who did hot know his own mind.
As n lawyer, Mr. Lincoln- stood well,
blit not among the heads of the profes
sion. He .’was a man of clear mind
his opinion to any case to which he pa
tiently applied his powers was pretty
sure to be a sound one. But he was a
politioiatwiy instinct, and followed the
bar simply as a means of providing him
self with bread and meat, and when he
got these he cared as little about that
jealous mistress, the law, as ho did about
Miss Mary Owens, after she had given
him the mitten. He was once concerned
in a memo rable murder case in which
he won great reputation, clearing the
prisoner by the production of a false al
i mauao; The murder was sworn t£ have
i been committed by the light of a full
moon, but by tha aid of his fraudulent
calendar, Mr. Lincoln made it appear
that on the night of the crime there was
bo moon at all. The trick was not de
tected until after the client went free.
This professional triumph was achieved
in 1858, when he Was forty-nine years
old. He was now far past his youth
lie was getting to be old Abe—but ho had
clearly not yot reached the period when
“honest old Abe” was precisely the right
name for him.
One other case in which he was con
cernod is worthy of note, says Mr. La-.
man : . . ,
“ In the summer of 1859 Mr. Lincoln
went to Cincinnati to argue the celebra
ted M’Cormick reaping machine case,—
Mr. Edwin M- Stanton, whom he never
saw before, was one, of his colleagues and
the leading counsel in the ease, and, al
though the other gentleman engaged re
ceived him with proper respect, Mr.
Stanton treated him with each marked
and habitual discourtesy that he was
compelled to withdraw from the case.—
When he reached his home ho said he
had “ never been so brutally treated as
by that man Stanton,” and the facts jus
tified the statement.
Stanton was a coarse bully by nature
and an abject toady as well. If he cou,d
have seen into the future just one year
and could have beheld in his long and
ungainly associate the next President of
the United States', Mr. Lincoln’s boots at
Cincinnati would have needed no brush
ing. Stanton would have licked them as
clean as he did Buchanan’s.
Mr. Lamon’s present volume gives but
little of Mr. Lincoln’s political career,
but one revelation we feel impelled to
give.
It appears that the support of the Cam
eron men in the Chicago Convention in
1860 was secured for Lincoln by a pledge
that Cameron should have a seat in his
Cabinet, provided, he was recommended
by the Pennsylvania delegation. Cam
eron was firm and insolent after Mr.
Lincoln’s election in holding him to his
pledge. In vain did the unhappy Presi
dent resist the fastening of this millstone
about his neck just as he was.about to be
oast into the' depths of a stormy sea.—
Says Mr. Lamon :
“It required a hard struggle to over
come Mr. L incoln’s scruples. • All that
I am in the world ,’said he, “ I owe to
that opinion of me that the people ex
press when they call me “Honest Old
Abe.” Now what will they think of their
honest Abo when be appoints Simon
Cameron, to be his familiar adviser.”
But Cameron, destitute of delicacy and
greedy for power and plunder, refused to
be put off, and Mr. Lincoln yielded.
This latter bargain smacks much of the
nature of the transaction, Mr. Lincoln
was engaged in, in 1328, when ho shoved
counterfeit money during his flatboat
trip on the Mississippi.
Looking at this (lalboat transaction in
18°8 bis scandalous letter concerning
Mias Owens in 1837, his disreputable
cheat in acquitting a murderer m ISOB,
and his bargain with Cameron equally as
disgraceful in 1800. We feel impelled to
ask, how, in name, did Abe Lin
coln got to be " Honest Old Abo?'
Sure Ouro for Hydrophobia.
I From the Norristown, Pft., Preo Press.]
Hydrophobia can be prevcntetl , ami I
will give you what is known to he an in
fallible remedy, It properly administer
ed, for man and beast; a dose lor a horse
or cow should be-about four times as
great as for a person. It is not too late
to give the medicine any time before the
spasms come on. The first dose for a
person la 15- oz. of elecampane root,
bruised, put in a pint of new milk, re
duced to one half by boiling, thou taken
all at one dose in the morning, fasting
until afternoon, or at least a very light
diet after several hours have elapsed.—
The second dose the same as the first,
except take two 07.. of the root; third
dose same as the last, to be taken every
other day. Three doses are all that Is
needed, and there need be no fear.
This Iknow from my own experience,
and ! know of a number of other cases
whore It has been entirely successful.
This is no guess-work/ These persons
that I allude to were bitten by their own
rabid dogs, that had been bitten by rabid
dogs, and were penned up to see If they
would go mad, and did bite the persons.
This remedy has been used in and about
Philadelphia for forty years or longer,
with great success, and Is known ns a
Goodman remedy. I am acquainted
with a physician who told me that he
knows of its use for more than thirty
years, but never knew a case that failed
where it was properly administered.—
Among other cases he mentioned, was
one where a number of cows had been
bitten by a mad dog; to half the num
ber they administered the remedy, to
the other half, not; the latter died with
hydrophobia, while those that took the
elecampane and milk showed no signs
of the disease. It. C. Shoemaker,
Montgomery county. Pa.
An Atlanta man wants the thief who
stole his well bucket and and rope, to
come back and get the well, as it is of no
present use to him.
ONSIIMMER COMPLAINTS,
Diarrhoea, dyspepsia and cholera -
fantum are the pestilences of our ufan
tile population during the moijth of
July August and September, and the
ratlo of deaths increases or greases as
the thermometer rises or falls, during t
warm season. The fact would seem to
Indicate that these affections are caused
hy heat. This Is true in relation to the
exalting cause. But back of to aro the
remote and essential causes. thout a
predisposition to.bowel complaints the
heat would bo harmless so far as they are
concerned.' ...
In the temperate zones there ought to
ho nothing in mere temperature danger
dus to children, duel thereto not. In the
warmest season life is, everywhere most
exhuberaut. r lhe sun is never and no
where too hot for vigorous vegetation,
provided tpo conditions of soil and mois
ture are favorable ; nor would any degree
of heat known in temperate climates, and
probably not in the torrid, lie produc-.
live of disease or destructive to life, if the
i habits of the people were normal. Wo
1 must therefore, look for the causes of the
>• murder i f the innocents” in something
besides a burning sun or a “ mysterious
Providence.,”
The essential cadses of these ailments
are foul air from unwashed gutters and
ill-ventilated apartments, adulterated or
swill milk, constipating food, and unripe
or decayed fruits and vegetables. In the
crowded tenement houses wholesale air
to breath is out of the question. The
children who are permitted or compelled
to reside in them must grow up sickly
and imbecile : live at a dying rate or die
■at once. There is no hope for them until
society or the constituted authorities be
come wise enough to understand that it
is cheaper to provide normal conditions
for its poor and degraded than to support
paupers and punish criminals. The
"slop nuisance,” which in winter is
comparatively harmless, is in summer a
cause of much disease and many deaths.
And the garbage, which renders the gut
ters of nearly all the narrow streets and
poor neighborhoods offensive to the sen
ses;'sends streams of infection into all
the houses round about.
Cholera infantum is more prevalent in
America than In European cities, be
cause American children are worse fed
than ‘any other children on the earth ;
and it is more prevalent in Now York
than in Philadelphia, because of the
greater proportion of tenement bouses.-
The swill milk business, which la more
extensively carried on in New York and
. vicinity, adds some hundreds annually
to the infantile necrology of that city.
Because unripe and half-rotten fruits
are sold at many fruit-stands In the cit
ies, in consequence of which many chil
dren sicken and die, a prejudice has been
created against all fruit in hot weather.
Nothing could bo more unreasonable. If
there is anything which, more thau ail
other things, combines the elements of
both food and medicine for children, it
is good, fresh, ripe fruit. But it must be
well-grown, ripo and sound. And it
should be eaten as food, and without am
gar or other seasoning. Fruit that is not
palatable of itself is not properly food at
all. Children are naturally fond of near
ly all kinds of fruit, and will never re
fuse to.eat enough of it without artiticial
;emptations.
And it ia next to impossible fur a child
sick or well, to eat too much fruit, provi
ded its quality is good, and it is taken
only ap a part of tire regular meals, and
they are allowed to be their own judges
as to quantity. But if candies, sweet
meats, hot rolls, greasy cakes, sailed
meats, or fresh fermented bread are used
at tire same time the whole may produce,
disease aud death. _The innocent fruit ia
usually blamed, aud the real causes of
the trouble aro generally unsuspected.
The reason.thu I bowel complaints are
so much more prevalent in warm weath
er than in cold, is the greater relaxation
of the whole system, and consequently
state of the digestive organs. Cold
weather, unless extreme, contracts the
muscular tissue, invigorates the circula
tion, aud determines thp actions more to
the surface of tire body. , Hot weather
reverses this condition and renders the
body lilt ble to internal congestions.—
Hence indigestible ailments, irritating
condiments, or injurious ingesta of any
kind, which would be but slightly harm
ful in winter, may produce death in the
summer. «
But, when any of these diseases occur,
there is a better way of treating them
than with calomel and,opium, blisters,
plasters, or medicines of any kind. The
leverishness can always be regulated by
means of the warm bath, or tepid ablu
tion ; the pain, griping, or inflammation
of the abdomen needs only tire constant
application of a coo', wet cloth, covered
with a dry one, and renewed as often as
it becomes dry, and the nausea, vomiting,
and purging require only frequent sips of
cool but not very cold water. Pure milk,
ripe fruit, or its juices, and thin gruels,
aro the only food that should be given.—
Managed in this simple manner these
diseases, though violent and distressing,
are seldom dangerous.
Second* hand Love Letters,—A la
dy, recently married to a widower was
found one day walking about in a state
of violent excitement. Sbe was asked
what was the matter. Her only reply
was that “ her husband was a villain.”—
After some time she added with some
hesitation, “Why, X have discovered
that all the love letters that ho sent to
me were the very same as those ho sent
to his first wife.”
Can you tell me Billy, how it is
the rooster always keeps his feathers so
smooth ?”
“ No!”
j/'He always carries a “comb” with
him.”
Evi: was the only woman who never
threatened to go and live with mamma.
And Adam waa the only man Who uov
or tantalized hla wife about “ the wo;
mother used to cook.”
Fashionable young ladles now carry
two umbrellas—one for protection aednst
the elements, the other to repel any sud
den attack from bulls and bears.
Whisky is your greatest enemy. ‘But’
said Mr. Jones,' ‘ don’t tire Bible say, Mr;
Preacher, that wo are to love our ene
mies?"
Rates of Advertising.
|S Bi|.|4m|. 11l 11 I '■
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ino 400 500 000 11 00
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i“ ", 00 560 060 760 14 00
ft *• ngo G5O 7GO 8,60 15 GO
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Kssrsto, »«»j
Kr Notlcg on
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For Business and Special Notices. 10 ccntf'
P Double column advertisements extra.
Hiatoslo Phrases.
Samuel Adams, known for many
things, seldom had his name associated
with the phrase llrst applied hy him to
England : Nation of Shopkeepers.”
Franklin has said many things
which have passed Into maxims, but
nothing that is better known and re
membered than “ he has paid ton dear
for ids whistle’.’
Washington made but few eplgra
matic speeches. Here is ono: “To lie
prepared for war is the most effectual
means of preserving peace.” ■ ■
Old John Dickinson wrote, in 1778, of
Americans: “By uniting',,we stand ;
by dividing, we fall.”
Patrick Henry, as over y school hoy
knows, gave us: “Give mo liberty or
give mo death,” and, “ If this ho trea
son, make the most of it.”
Thomas Paine had many quotable
epigramatic sentences : “ Rose like a
rocket, fell like a stick;” “Times that
try men’s souls“ Ono step from the
sublime to the ridiculous,” etc.
Josiah Quincy, Sr., said : “Wherever
or however wo shall ho called on to
make our exit, wo will die freemen.”
Henry Lee gave Washington his im
mortal title: “First in war, first dn
the hearts of his countrymen.”
Charles Cotes?:orth pickney declared
in favor of “ millions for defense, hut
not one cofit for tribute.”
“Peaceably if we can forcibly if we
must,” is from Josiah Quincy, 1811.
Andrew Jackson gave us.; “The
Union—it must be preserved.”
Had Boys;— Two boys aged respect
ively 13 and 11 years, were detained by
the police in Detroit, a few weeks since,
and after some questioning, the follow
ing tale was elicited : The father of the
elder boy keeps a restaurant in Chica
go, and about a week previously the
boy stole $3,000 from the Safe, and alter
spending a day or two with his young
er companionin'Chicago, buying can
dies, nuts, watches, and whatever else
took their fancy, they took the steamer
for Oswego, intending to go to New
York, and from thence-to Paris.—
When they went on the boat thoyiiad
five watches, three gold and two silver
ones, and as bearly as they can remem
ber had squandered about $9OO. The
officers of the boat suspected the' lads of
being thieves nr runaways, and as they
both declare the captain took away
the watches and some of their money ,
thelling them he would turn them over
to the police on reaching Detroit. -
When the boat reached Sarnia the boys
made their escape, and, after wander
ing about that town and Port Huron
for several days, came along to Detroit.
During the three or four following days
they got rid of $OOO one way or another,
lending some to boys who they got ac
quainted with, and sometimes being
robbed of from $lO to. $5O. They came
herd for the purpbae of buying clothing
and were then to go to Niagra Falla. -
They had purchased a lot of shirts, two
suits of clothing, and other .articles, but
very nearly all the money spent by them
here was recovered the goods being re
turned to each merchant. The boys
were held.until their friends could be
communicated with.
The Sea at Three Mii.es Depth.”—
The submarine investigations carried on
at government expense, under the direc
tion of the British Association of Science,
have disclosed some interesting facts in
relation to the character of the bottom of
the sea.
These researches have been carried on
by means of a small dredge a rectangu
lar frame, forming the mouth of a bag of
netting, which 1s protected from wear by
a leather or canvass flap. The whole ap
paratus, attached to a rope of suitable
length, is dropped to the bottom of the
sea and dragged along a certain, distance,
scraping on the superilclal layer of mud
or sand in the bag, the meshes of which
permit the dirt to be washed through
while the larger substances are retained
and brought up.
The depth at which the bottom of the
sea lias been thus explored is really
enormous, amounting In one instance to
mere than three miles, far exceeding that
of any previous experiment with the
dredge, though small quantities of sea
bottom have been brought from equally
great distances to the surface by means
of the sounding line.
At this great depth, many species of
marine animals have 1 been found, some
entirely now aud others rare, aud the
temperature of the bottom indicated
about six degrees. The surface water is
shown to be affected by the heat of the
sun only to a depth of about twenty
fathoms, but the gulf stream influences
the degree of heat to a further depth of
five to seven hundred fathoms.
‘Sonny, where’s your father ?'
‘Father’s dead’, sir.'
‘Have you any mother ?’
‘Yis, X had one, but she’s got married
to Joe Ducklin, and doesn’t be my moth
er any longer, ’cause she’s got enough to
do to’tend to his young ’uns.’.
‘Smart boy, hero’s a dime for you.'
‘That’s you sir, that’s the way I gits
my livin ’!'
‘How ?’
‘Why, by telling yarns to greeneys
like you be, at a dime a pop 1”
The latest case of absence of mind is
that of a young lady who, on returning
from a walk with her lover the other
evening, rapped him on the face and
kissed the door.
A western editor, who doesn’t know
much about farming anyway, suggests
that for garden making, a east-iron
hack with a hinge in it would he an
improvement on the spinal column now
iy ia U5O-
“Bovs, I’ll tell you what let’s do
let’s go down to our house and play
carry iu coal. Wo got half a ton this
morning.” That’s the way the Boston
hoy of tho period entices his playmates
into difficulties,
You have a very striking countenance,
as the donkey sold to the elephant, when
ho hit him over the back with his trunk.
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