American volunteer. (Carlisle [Pa.]) 1814-1909, January 23, 1873, Image 1
The American Volunteer" PITBMSHBD EVERY THURSDAY MopNINO «ToXiu B. Brattou. OFFICE SOUTH MARKET SQUARE. Tebma—Two dollars per year If paid strictly la advance. Two Dollars and Fifty Cents if paid within three months, alter which Throe Dollars will bo charged. Thfiso terms will be rigidly adhered to in every instance. No sub scription discontinued until nil arrearages are pnld. unless at the option of the Editor. IPcetical. [Written for the American Volunteer. THE AMERICAN YOLTJNTEE& Many long years has thy standard been lifted. Many the storms, thou hast calmly, sailed through, While midst the wrechs which around thee have drifted, Thou hast stood firmly, and thou bast been true. True to thy colors, when many deserted, .Proudly they waved, in defiance of wrong, What thou deemed’st right, was bravely assert* And scattered abroad, to enlighten the.throng. Events sad and Joyous, thy columns have noted: The weather, iho crops, and tbe lost sad affray; How goes the election, and this township voted; In short, all that happens, called news of the 'lay- Tims may’st thou live, over onward still mov ing. Striving for troth, with no shadow of fear; Bnt amongst all the change, in this age ol im proving, May thy name always bo—American Volun teer, IpatcUaneflira. THE FAITHFUL GUEST. There was something—l forget what — to take grandfather and grandmother away from home one day In October of the year I lived with them In flume's Hollow. It may have been a funeral or some religion' meeting, for they both drove off dressed in their best, In the gig, with old Ajax harnessed to it, and after I had tucked in grandma’s iron-gray Bilk skirt and ran baoh to the bouse for grandpa’s spectacles, and bad seen the gig vanish in the distance, I felt lonely. Burns’s Hallow was a lonesome place at si) times; uhd Ihe handsome rambling mansion, which u.ight have sheltered a regiment, had a ghostly air about it when one walked through the upper, rooms alone. - ■ There were but two servants in the kitchen, Hannah Oaks and the Irish lad, Anthony. I heard them laughing merri ly together, for, though Hannah was an old wo'hian, she was.full of fun,' and in five minutes the door opened, and Han nah came in with the tray; ‘Please, miss,’ she said, as she eat it down,.‘may I run over to Mapielon to-i night? My sister's married daughter had a hoy last night, they say, i want lo see it nal’rally-it’s the first f ever had for grandniece or nephew!’ ‘Who brought you the news?’ I asked. •Anthony, miss,' said Hannah, 'He met'George—that’s my niece’s husband —when he was out after the cow, stray ing as.she always is, and he told him to tell Hannah she’s a grand aunt.’ ‘You may go,’ I said, ‘but don’t stay late. Grandpa and grandma ma ybe away ail night, and X feel nervous. To he sure, there is Anthony, but I never rely on him. Be certain not to stay late.’ I repented this injunction with a sort of fright stealing over me—o presentiment of evil, X-might say—and sdmething. prompted me to add, ‘Be back at o.’ Why, I cannot say, but I felt as If, at 0,1 should be in some peculiar danger. Hannah promised, and after doing all that I required, .went away, and I beard her heavy shoes on the garden walk out side. Early as it was, I had dropped the cur tains and lighted the wax candles on the mantel, and I sat long over my tea. find log a certain companionship in it, as wo men of all ages will. I sat thus a long time, and was star tled from my reverie by a rap at the door —a timid sort of a rap—so that I knew at once that it was neither a member of the bouse nor an intimate friend. I waited, expecting Anthony to answer the door, but finding he did not, went to it myself. It bad grown quite dark, and the moon rose late that night. At first I could on ly make out a kind of crouching figure at the bottom of■ the porch. But when I spoke It advanced, and by the light of the hall lamp I sawn black naan. I have always i» ad a sort of fear of a negro, and instinctively shrunk away, but as I did be spoke in a husky whisper: ‘This Is Maasa Morton’s, isn’t it ?’ ‘Yea/ X replied, 'but grandfather is out.’ I retreated. He advanced. 'Please miss,’ he said, ‘Judge B. sent me here. He said maasa ’ud help me ou. Let me stay here a night, miss. I’se trabbled five days sense I left. Hidin’ like. I’se awful hungry, ’pears like I’d drop, and old massa’r arter me. For the lubob heaben, Miss, let me hideeoDie wberes, and gib me jes’ a crust. Massa Judge promise Maasa Morton ’ud help me, an’ it's kept me up. Missus will, I know.’ I knew that grandfather had given suc cor to some of these poor wretches before; but I felt.that I might be doing wrong ,by admitting a stranger in his absence. ‘Cuation and pity atauggled within me. At last I said : •You have a note from the Judge, I suppose, sir.’ ‘i hud some writln’ on a paper/ said the man, ‘but I’ue lost It, de night It rained so. Ah! Miss, I’se tailin’ the truff—Judge sent me sure as I’a a sinner. ’ I’se been helped along so far, and ’pears like I mus’ get to Canada. Can’t go bdok noways. Wife’s dare, and tbe young ’uns. Got clear a year ago. Miss, I’Jl praj for you ebery day ob my life ©f you’ll jes* bo so good to me. So will Di nah. Tank you, Mies/ For somehow, when he apoko of wife and children, X had stepped back and let him In. It was the back hall door at which the rap bad come, and the kitchen was close at hand. I led him thither. When I saw bow'he was, how wretched; how bis eyes glistened, and how under his rough blue shirt hla heart beat so that you could count the pulses, I forgot my caution- I brought out cold meat and bread, drew a mug of older, and spread them on the table. The negro ate vo raciously, as only a starving man could eat, and I left him to find Anthony, to whom I intended to give directions for his lodging throughout the night. To my surprise, Anthony was no where about the house or garden. Hannah must have taken him with her across tho lonely road to Mapleton. It was natural, but yet X felt angry. She should not have left me here alone, BYJOBN B. BRATTON nud what if the negro should be uu im poster, after nil? I shuddered at the thought; but when I ventured again'(u the kitchen there he sat, humble mid fearful as before, and I could harbor no auch fancy. Yet I longed for Hannah's return and, listened very anxiously until the .dock struck nine. Then, Instead of her lout steps, I heard the patter of rain drops and tberumble of thunder, and looking out saw that a heavy storm was coming on. Now, certainly, grandpa and grandma would not come, and Hannah, waiting for the storm to pass, would not be here for hours. However my fear of the, ne gro was quite gone, and I felt a certain pride in conducting myself bravely un der these trying circumstances. Accordingly I went up stairs, found in the attic sundry pillows and bolsters, and carried them kitchenward. ‘Here,* 1 said, ‘ make yourself a bed on the settee yonder, and be easy for the night. No one will follow you in the storm, and, no doubt, grandpa will assist you when he returns home. Good night.’ ‘Good night, and God blessyou.Misa,’ still speaking in a very husky whisper. And so I left him. ' VmoiifXA, But X did not go up stairs to my bed room. I intended for that night to re main dressed, and to sit up in grand pa’s arm-chair, with candles and a book for company. Therefore I locked (he door, took-the most comfortable posi tion,.and, opening a volume, composed myself to read. Beading I fell asleep. How long I slept! cannot tell. I was awakened by a low sound like the prying of a chisel. At first it mixed with my last dream so completely that I took no heod of it, but at last I understood that some one iyas at work upon the lock of the door, I sat perfectly motionless, the blood curdling in my; veins, and still chip, chip, chip, went the horrible little in strument, until at last I knew whence the sound came. Back ot the sitting-room was grand pa’s study. There, in a great old-fash ioned chair, were stored the family sil ver, grandma’s jewelry, and sundry sums of money and important papers. The safe itself stood in a closet in a re cess, and at the closet the thief was at work, ■ . , The thief—ah without doubt the ne gro I had fed and sheltered! Perhaps the next act would be to murder me. I listened. The storm was still raging; but, though the road was lonely, better that than this home with such horrible company. I could not save my grandfather’s property, but I could save my own life. I crept across the room and into the hall, and to the door. There, softly as I could, 1 unfastened the bars and bolts, but, alas! ,one was above ray reach. I waited and listened. Then X moved a hall chair to the spot anil climbed upon it. In doing so I struck ray shoulder against the door frame. li was but a slight noise, but at that moment the chip of the chisel stopped. I heard a gliding foot, and horror of horrors, a man came from-the study and clutched me with both bands, holding my arms as if in a vice, while be hissed in my car: ‘You’d tell, would you ? You’d,call help ? You’d better have.slept,you had; for you see now you’ve got to pay for waking. I’d rather hev let a chick like you off; but you know me now, and I can’t let you live.’ . I stared in his face with horror, ming led with au awful surprise, for now that It was close to me, X saw, not the negro, but our hired man, Anthony— Anthony, whom 1 had supposed miles away with Hannah. -He was little more than youth, and X had given him many a present, and always treated him well. X plead with him kindly. ‘Anthony, I never did you any harm ; I am a girl. Don’t kill me, Anthony. Take the.money, but don’t kill me, for poor grandma’s sake.’ ‘You’d tell on me/ said Anthony, dog gedly. ‘Likely I’d be caught. No, I have got to, kill you.’ As he spoke be took his bauds from my shoulders, and clutched my throat fletcely; J bad time, to utter one suffocating shiiek—then was strangling, dying, with sparks in my eyes, and a sound of roaring waters In my ears, and then What bad sprung on my assassin with the silence of a leopard ? What bad clutched me from him, and stood over him with something glittering above bis heart? The mist cleared away—the blurred mist that had gathered over my eyes. As sight returned I saw the negro with bis foot upon Anthony’s breast. The fugitive whom I had boused and fed, had saved my life. Ten minutes after—ten minutes in which, but for that poorslave’s presence, I would have been hurried out of life— tbe rattle of wheels and the tardy feet of old Ajax were heard without, and my grandparents were with-me. It Is needless to say that we were not ungrateful to oar preserver; needless, al« so> to tell of Anthouy’s punishment. A young drug clerk committed suicide la Bristol, a few days ago. At the In quest, the Coroner asked a fellow clerk of Ihe deceased If be knew of auy cause foi the suicide. ‘No,’ was the reply; ‘he was getting along very nicely, and was going to be married next month,’ ‘Go ing to be married next month,’ was he?’ exclaimed the Coroner. ‘That will do. We’ve got at the bottom of this bus ness.’ An old agricultural laborer in Eng land tried a •locular method of evangeli zing bis family. Being reroousliated with by his pastor for not ‘bringing up’ his boys as he should, he replied: ‘I duuno ’ow ’lts, sir; I order ’urn down to pray every nightand morning, an’ when they won’t go I knock ’em down and yet they ain’t good!’ Mrs. McGuire, of Dodson station, 0., broke the head of a young man who In sisted on wooing her daughter. Though dead, he cannot but be congratulated up on this early escape from, such a mother in-law. fh '&■ m #TtfHiis' lift lit lit ## II V , it' I'j| / I4 Hi , il/ ;P i xtilJilt it t i It whs a cottage. Don’t tell me that I don’t know. Haven't I been there to gath er rosea and feast on strawberries? No, it wasn't a cottage oruee -there was nothing Frenchified about it. It was purely,American, and harmonized sweet ly with the delightful scenery. No, it hudu't a Hat root, nor a portico—nothing at all of the kind. But then it had rose vines running »»l over the windows, and wbolo colonies of wrens that made their nests and sang beneath its eaves. To the right was a field of clover, red with idossoms, on the left an orchard whence winds scattered u shower of bloom. In front was a green lawn, shaded with some massive walnut trees, and to the rear opened a long grass luue. through which the cows walked every, morning to their pasture beyond, and relumed every night to be milked. I know, well enough to whom this cot tage belonged. It was built by the hand of him who owned it uud lived la It, and I had always admitted its excellent taste in blending the useful with the beauti ful, though I had never seen him—my visits having been to his wife and dur ing his absence. I had learned of him, though—heard enough to make me In tensely curious to see him ; for not a fe .mule tongue in the neighborhood ap proved his wife’s choice. . ‘Whktisthe mailer with him—la he Immoral ?’ I asked. ‘Not that I know-of,’ was the rejoin der. But to tell the truth, Dolly, he is insufferably ugly--his face is all scarred and oictraized, 1 should think by fire, and you know it always made me ner vous to look at anything ol that kind.’ •Poor man ! Perhaps Ire got burned in rescuing some child or feeble woman from the flames, 1 I said. ‘Don't know, never heard; never made inquiries; you know they ouly came to live in this neighborhood last summer, and I have uever had the courage 16 ask what disfigured him, but I wish that you would.’ II am considerably acquainted with Mrs. Winslow,’ I replied ; II thought of calling upon her this morning ; perhaps she will tell the story without being asked.’ ‘Do, that’s a dear, good Dolly.’ And I did X’he whole atmosphere seemed redo lent with . music and fragrance. I couldn’t tell why all the birds had taken it into their heads to'sing, warble and build their nests there, and 1 didn’t know why it was that the roses, butter cups, violets and daisies should prefer that place lo any other,' But they seemed to prefer it, judging from the great pro fusion in which they grew. The whole aspect was delightfully ru ral and picturesque, and ail over linger ed an influence of quietude and repose, A narrow foot-path, crooked as foot paths usually are, wound along through the lawn, beneath the shadows of giant walnuts, and by this I approached, en tered the little gate, and ascended the graveled walk, bordered by beds of flow ers, to the door. It was open, and not pausing to rap I went in. A serene and peaceful hush.rested within. Tbe balmy wind nestled in the wreaths of snowy drapery hanging at tbe window, whore great white and red roses bowed their graceful beads, and the warm, rich summer light Came in and lay in bright bars of radiance upon the floor. A cradle was there, and it required no conjuring to tell thatjt bad an inmate— a self-dignified, thoughtful, Impertura ble little baby, whose quiet calmness I could not understand. It was wide awake, and its great blue eyes were star ing with infant persistence at something. I could not tell what; then they turned upon me and 1 relumed the gaze. But lb made no difference, the baby had not a foul or evil thought to bide, It was not conscious of a sin in word or deed, hence there came no blush to that delicately rounded cheek, no falling to that calm, quiet eye, limpid as a lake in summer, serene ns the heavens in June There wue a rustle and u flutter of mus lin, the sound of a light, springy step, the glimpse of u fairy form, mid Mrs. Winslow stood before me. She was not very beautiful, but spark ling and vivacious, with aglow of health on her cheek, and with the light of health in her eye. . The baby had roused now, to be suie— no more of its quiet and calmness.—no more of its thoughtfulness and serenity. Its little form fairly fluttered with plea sure. It laughed, clapping its dimpled hands. ‘You’ve come to stay all day with me, haven’t you? and the baby had such good company while mamma was gone, hadn’t it ?’ she said, in a light, chirrupy way, that set off the little fellow with re newed delight. Her invitation had only seconded my design to remove my bonnet and man tilla, while she sat down ou the rocker and took tbe baby, we prepared to en joy the day and each other’s society. I can’t tell you what we talked about. No, it was not of balls, nor operas, nor lions, nor sights. No, not a neighbor’s character was dissected. No, Che infir mities of the clergyman were not shown up. No, not a morsel of private scandal was out«and carved. But tbe time flew swiftly and pleasantly after dinner, and when the great round sun was sinking behind tbe trees that burned and glowed in the rich, warm light, she came to where 1 was sitting, and without a word, laid a portrait upon my lap. It was that of a noble looking man, with expres sive and faultless features. ‘ls that your husband ?’ 1 asked. ‘My husband as be was.’ she answer ed, heaving a little sigh, ‘You have seen him?’ I replied In the negative. ‘You will remain with mo this eve ning?’ I replied that I should bo happy to form bis acquaintance, and again looked at hla portrait. ■He doesn’t look like that now,’ she answered, wiping away a tear, ‘yet he says ho shall ever have cause to bless the lire by which he lost hla good looks, but which won him what be esteemed a thousand times more valuable. ■What was it?’ I asked, with unac countable dullness of apprehension, Bhe pointed archly, with a smile, to her wedding ring, PLEASANT STORY. CARLISLE, Pi., THURSDAY, JANUARY 23, 1873. ‘Do tell mo the story—l should be de lighted (o hear lt. f Again she smiled, saying : *1 do not know that you will consider it very interesting; however,several rea sons conspire to make me wish that you, should know all, and since you have n«v* er heard it, perhaps I may us well tell It to you.’ ‘Certainly, certainly.’ ‘You see, when Mr. Winslow first be gan his attentions to me, I wasn’t at all pleased. He was handsome, I knew, Jbut 1 had set my mind, very foolishly, upon having a rich husband, and one that could keep me above the necessities of work. So T blighted and repulsed him on all occasions, treating him not mere ly with indifference, but with actual loathing aud scorn. Such treatment one might have supposed, would have quick ly obliterated his possion ; on the con trary, however. It only seemed to in crease it. About this time I formed the acquain tance of a city gentlemen, whom rumor .reported immensely rich, and whose in tense selfishness was veiled beneath u manner of the utmost suavity. HN at tentions to me were marked, and uot to be mistaken—and though he bad uoi spoken of love, he looked aud »o ! ed it, and I believed in him. II was iu October, I think, the atmos phere was dry and. cool, with night winds—when, as we were returning from a party, late at night, I was sur prised and shocked at the appearance in the distance of a red light that seemed to climb the sky and quench the very stars. A wild and awful presentiment of approaching evil at the same instant crossed my mind. .‘lf that should be onr house !’ I almost shrieked! • 'Nonsense; it is much farther off,’ ex claimed Barton. But I was not satisfied, and I hurried on eagerly, dragging.him with me. We came nearer, nearer. Sty fears Were all too true. It was indeed our beau tiful home, wrapped iu one broad sheet of smoke and fiame, or w ith forked tongues lapping the pillars, and shooting from the windows, while up at dneof the skylights my mother was standing in her night dress. With one wild shriek 1 called the at tention of the crowd to her situation. Hundreds of people by this time had collected, though chiefly, as it seemed, for the gratification of their curiosity. Some were running with ropes and lad ders, while many others were shouting and giving orders, which no one seemed inclined to obey. ‘My mother, my mother!’ I cried. ‘Will no one go to the assistance o'Jmy mother?’ ■ Every moment the flames increased -with astonishing rapidity, surging and roaring like a sea of storm, Still ray mother stood there surveying the scene, with the resignation of a martyr. . ‘Barton! Barton!’ I shrieked, ‘fur God’s sake help my mother!’ He stood still. I implored and urged him. At length he turned toward me with a frown, and said: ‘I cannot risk my own life to save even your mother.’ ‘Great heavens! and I have loved this man.' The thought rushed heavy and seeth ing through my brain. There was a shout, an exclamation, an utterance of brave, strong words. Some nervous arm bad placed a ladder, and a man was rapidly mounting—on through the dense smoke wreaths—through sing ing flames, scorched by the intense heat. The crowd swayed and murmured like a wind swept wave. He appeared again—l saw my mother in hla arme-.-I knew that she was saved. .There was a crash of the roof, mingled with exclamations—a great mist swan before my eyes—a noise not unlike that of the roaring flames, was in my ears, 'and I lost the consciousness of surround ing objects. Is it necessary to tell who it was that thus rescued my mother? .What emo tions I experienced upon hearing how deeply I was indebted to the man I had despised 7 It is necessary for mo to tell you, however, that then and there be forever lost the good looks which you ad mire in that portrait. The clothes were burned from his body, and the flesh of his face and neck scarred and scorched till the skin seemed to have the consistency of leather.’ 'There, my dear, you have told enough —let me finish it,’ said a manly voice at the door. , I looked up, a man was there, on whose countenance there were deep tra ces of the fiery element, but lie didn’t look ugly to me at all. Each scar seemed rather a badge of honor. Hie wife presented him, and as he gave me bis hand, he said: ‘One whom my wifo esteems so high ly cannot be a stranger to mo, and now, since she has told you part—for X have been a sad eaves-dropper—let me tell you the rest. 1 I joyfully assented. ‘Then and there,’ he began, 'I heard the flames roaring around me, am] felt its fiery breach scorching my cheeks, and seeming to lap up the vcry-sprlngs of life, but was conscious only of a great Joy at my heart, far the mother of ths prized one was in my arms. I knew when I touched the ground with my charge, by the acclamations that cent the air, but could only think that I had made her happy, and lu the bliss ol that assurance, forgot for the.tlme my suffer ings, the world and everything. 1 lay ill through several weeks—thro’ days and nights that would have been anguished indeed bad bad I not known whose care it was that provided every thing essential to my comfort—had not auoh a sweet face bent over me, such a soft hand ministered to my wants. Ne ver in the proudest days of my health had I experienced .suoh exquisite felici ty, and never in my weakness. Now, when she sat beside me, when she brought me fruits and flowers, when she put her hand in mine and whisper ed something that would have repayed sufferings a thousand times hitler thau mine— 1 ‘Ob William,' she cried, blushing to the very toots of her hair, ‘don't tell bow silly and foolish I was, 1 ‘lt was neither silliness nor folly,' X exclaimed, ‘but the reward of the great est virtue and heroism. Let him go on, I am deeply Interested, and long to know all.’ *1 have but little more to tell; but as I grew strong and able to walk about. I observed that all the mirrors had been removed. Hitherto, iu my deep happiness, I bad thought little of the soars Which I should have known would deface my features. This incident reminded me of lt f aqd excited my curiosity. When I requested, one to be brought she implored me to desist now, but thank God U didn’t shock me in the least. I took her iu my arms, ami whispered, that since her beautiful face hud become mlue I saw no cause to regret the loss of oue, aud wouldn’t, for the world, change back again. - ‘You have seen aud loved mo now,’ I said, ‘whereas, you didn’t before—you know all ray disfigurement, and .with it your manner has ebauged from acorn to loving kindness, so T have nothing to mourn for. ‘And every day of my life has since convinced me more and more that I told the truth.’ BOILS. A boil is generally very small at first and a fellow hardly notices it;, but in a few days it gets to bq the biggest of Ilia two, and the chap that has it is of very little account in .comparison with his boil which then "has him.” Bolls appear mysteriously upon various por of the human body, coming when and whore they “darn please, 5 ’ and often in very inconvenient places. Sometimes a solitary boil is the sum total of the affliction, hut frequently there is a “ rubbishin’ lot of ’em” to help tho first one. If a boil comes any where on a person, that person always wishes it had como somewhere else, although it would,puzzle him to tell just exactly where. Some persons called them ‘‘damn boils,” but such persons an addicted to profanity, the proper name being boil. If a chap lias a boil he. gem rally has a good deal of sympathy from others—“ in a horn.” Whoever asks him what ails him, laughs at him for his pains to answer, while many un feeling persons make game of his mis fortune, or boil. It is very wicked (o make fun of persons with boils; they cannot help it, and often feel very bad about It. Physicians don’t give boil patients ver,- much satisfaction us a general thing, although young physi cians just beginning to practice are fond of trying their lances on them. Boils are said to be “ healthy,” and judging from tho way they take hold and hong on and ache and.burn and grow and raise Cain generally, there is no doubt they are healthy and have strong constitutions. They are generally very lively and playful at night, and it is very funny, to see a chap with a good largo one, prospecting around Ids coucii for a place where his boil wilt fit in “with out hurting.” Boils tend to purify the blood, strengthen the system, calm tho nerves, restrain profanity, tranquilize the spirit, improve the temper and beautify the appearance. They are, good things for married men who spend their evenings from home, as they give them an opportu nity to rest theic night keys and get acquainted with their families’. It is said that boils save the patient a “fit of sickness,” but if tho sickness is not the best to have, it must be an nil-fired mean thing. It is also said that a per son is better after he has had them, and there is no doubt that one does feel better after having got rid of them, .Many distinguished persons have en joyed these harbingers of good health, Job took the first premium at tho countyfair for having move achers un der cultivation than any other person. Shakespeare had them, and meant boils when ho said “One woo doth tread upon another’s heels, so fast they follow.” Matrimonial Statistics Some curious facts are to be gleaned from the marriage statistics of various countries, as shown by a recant article in Lippencoli’s Magazine. “It is found that young men from fifteen to twenty years of ago marry young woman aver ageing two or three years older than themselves; but if they delay marriage until they are twenty to twenty-five years old. their spouses average a year younger than themselves ; and thence forward this (liffflrence steadily in creases, until in extreme old age on the bridegroom’s part it is apt to bo enor mous. The inclination of-octogenari ans to wed misses in tlieir teens is an every day occurrence, but it is amusing to find in the lovo matches of boys that the statistics bear out the satires of Thackeray and Balsae. Again, the husbands of young women aged twen ty and under average a little above twenty-five years, and the inequality of age diminishes thenceforward, fill for women who have reached thirty the respective ages are equal; after thirty five years, women, like men, marry those younger than themselves, the disproportion increasing with nge, till after fifty-five it averages nine years.” The greatest number of marriages for men take place between the ages of twenty and twenty-five in England, between twenty-five and thirty in Prance, and between twenty-five and thirty-five in Italy and Belgium. FF nally, in Hungary, the number of in dividuals who marry is 72 in a thou sand each year ;in England it is 61; in Denmark, 59 j in France, 57, the city of Paris showing 53 ; in the Netherlands, 53; in Belgium, 13 j in Norway, 36, Widowers indulge in second marriages three or four times ns often as widows. For example, in England there are CO marriages of widowers against 21 of widows; in Belgium there are -18 to 16; in Franco 10 to 12. Old Mr. Weller’s paternal udviee to “beware of llio widows” ought surely to ho supple mented by a maxim to beware of widowers. ■ Ait overcoat thief at Orceu May, Wis consin, has actually been sent to the pen itentiary. What are wo coming to ? WOMEN OH THE FEOHTIER. A writer in the Kansas Magazine gives the following account of the women found along tlio Wetern fron tier. X know of no female inhabiting the border wilderness of our country who has not some of the refinement which belongs rather to sox than to race except the Indian squaw. A wo man whoso face heave any evidence of a relationship with any of tho domi nant races of tho world, has something about her wherever you find her which is womanly and attractive. Tho bor derer’s wife does not swear or chow tobacco, nor offer any suggestion of immodesty in action or word. If I might he allowed to coin the expres sion, I would say that tho standard of delicacy by which tho border wo man’s sensibilities were governed was a different and broader one than that in common use. She associates with -men,-and-very coarse ones. She is in timately acquainted with and interested in all their affairs. She is is accustom ed to wildness and danger, and learns to be strong of hand and nerve, and to be cool in sudden emergencies. I have been amused, to note that a women, who was complete mistress of a recal citrant mustang, would utter Hie little cry of her sex and inglotiously retreat at tho sight of ono of the harmless lit tle lizards which infest Die prairie paths of tho Southwest. On tho border, tire old business.of the-sex, to look pretty, receives as fnueh attention as it does anywhere. There is not much choice of material— calico is tho article. Va lenciennes and Mechlin, and all the cunning variations in name and mate rial which make up the lexicon of the modern dry goods clerk, even the cant about “chaste” colors and "pretty” styles are utterly unknown to tho belle of the border. As she tilts back in a liidebotlomed chair like a man, it is easy to perceive that feet which are not always coarse, are incased in bro gnus, constructed with a special view to the roughness of wayside stones, the penetrating qualities of early dew, and the gravity and persuasiveness of kicks administered by them.. The neck, sun burned, but not'always wanting in duo proportion and natural whiteness, is ignorant of collar or confinement.— Waist and limb are unconflned by any of the devices which are supposed to be so necessary to -style, and the hair combed straight and smooth, is tSvisted intoa tight litt'e knot behind, which, as compared with tiro enormous myste ries which for these many years have been carried about beneath the hats of fashionable women, remind ono of the knob of an old-fashioned bureau draw er. In the frontier toilet there is a lack of tiie two essentials of starch and whiteness. Cleanliness there is to be sure, but it is a cleanliness of material and fact, and fails in any suggestion of daintiness. It is upon the calico men tioned that the efforts of taste are most expended. There are rutiles there, and bias stripes and flounces, and a hundred pretty and fantastic devices which is beyond masculine technology to de scribe. Yet there are no prescribed fashions for these vagaries'in dress.— There are women here whose hair (alls in troublesome abundance, and will not be confined ; whose checks, if they could but know the absence of the ca resses of tR6 sunbeams and the boister ous kisses of tho wind, would show the clearest white and the bonniest bloom. There are limbs which shuffle slip shod along trails' in search of Inst ani mals, of whose round strength the owner , lias - little thought, ami arms which split firewood and bring water from the spring whose whiteness and mould would fit them rather for the adornment of golden dual's and folds of ancient lace. Wouders of tire Universe. What assertions will make one bellt-vo that in one second of time, one beat of the pendulum of a clock, a ray of light travels over 152,000 miles, and would tberforo peiform the tour of the world In about the same lime that it requires to wink with our eyelids, and iu much less than a swift runner occupies iu taking a single stride ! What mortal can be made to believe, without demoustraliou, that the sun is almost a million miles larger than the earib?—and that, so remote from ua,*a cannon -ball shot directly to ward it, and maintaining Us full speed would be twenty years In reaching it, yet It effects the earth by its attraction iu ad appreciable instant of time? Who would not ask.for demonstration, when (old that a gnat’s wing, in its ordinary flight, beats many hundred times in a second ?~or that there exists animated and regularly organized beings, many thousands of whoso bodies laid together would not extend uu inch? Hut what are these.to the astonishing truths which modern .optical Inquiries have disclosed, which leach that every point of a medi um through which a ray of light passes is affected with a succession of periodical movement;; regularly recurring at equal intervals, no less than live hundred mil lion of millions of times in a eingle sec ond ! That is by such movements com municated to tile nerves of the eye that we see; nay, more, that it is the-diller enca in the frequency of their recurrence which affect us with the sense of the di versity of colors? That for instance, in acquiring the sensation of redness, our eyes are affected four hundred and eighty two million of millions of times —of yel lowness, five hundred and forly-oiio mil lion of millions of limes—and of violet, seven hundred and seven millions of times per second 7 Do not such tilings sound more like the ravings of madmen than the sober conclusions of people in their waking senses 7 They, are, never theless, conclusions to which any one may most certainly arrive, who will only be at the trouble of examining the chain of reason ng by which they have beau obtained. A loving swain in Maine dedicated a napkin ring ‘to my almost wife.' In Now Haven, a lawyer, recently ob tained an Injunction to prevent his next door neighbor having a ‘walte.’ T 'h' ♦ VOL 59-NO. 33 THE DEATH BAILING DONALDSON, Prof. Donaldson, known iu Harrisburg as the most intrepid balloonist that has ever ascended from our streets, has been Interviewed by a reporter of the Rending Eagle with tho following result: Donaldson’s first ascension was made In Reading last August, and since then he has visited the clouds twenty-four times irt various parts of tho south and west. He has lost severaf balloons; been bruised, scratched amflnjured in many ways ; has boon dropped into tho Atlant ic and ducked In Lake Michigan ; has been thrown against chimneys and land ed in trees; h'B boon lost, given up as dead, and found again ;haa put on his citizen’d dress while two and a half miles high ; lias, burgled and cut his balloon over a mile from earth; has performed on the trapeze, for tho benefit of an eagle a mile above the clouds, and has won the distinction of being the most rccklp.-s and during performing icronant In'the known world.. He was vv»*ll on meeting' the Eagle- representative and entered Into conversation very readily. After giving the detailed amounts of his performances above mentioned, the re porter inquired : “Wlmt is the most (lur ing thing you do, Professor?” Donaldson replied, “Well to my mind I have done nothing daring or reckless. A little trick 'which .is amusing, and which I intend to do, will be done In tills manner: I a'- ways go up without a basket, on the bare trapeze bar. in tho act - whore I fall backward and catch myself by the toes, ; [. will have the bar arranged so that if breaks as I fall, allowing me to tumble some twelve feet toward the earth, when I shall be caught by a rope, I also have It to break and catch myself with, my right haud. Thin will be done, when I am a half mile high, and it will be well calculated to amuse'the peopl-,*.” Reporter. "What would juu null reck less performing ?” Donaldson. "I should like to anchor two balloons.in the air about a.half mile high, and walk a rope attached to- both of them. Tbulmightbe call. d reckless, by tiurvuns people. However, I diallko Ibe business ,of frightening people. 1 shall hereafter pay more attention to scientific ballooning." 11. ‘‘How about your proposed ocean trip'.'" D. "I shall cross the Atlantic ocean by balloon next summer, if I,can satis factorily arrange things by that time. I am positive it con be done, and I am de termined to .do it. During my limited experience as on reronaut I have ascer tained many things that render it con clusive to my mind that- the voyage can be successfully accomplished. , X shall construct three balloons, have them join ed together, with boat, ballast, provisions and all the necessary requirements, and thus equipped,! shall start in a calm season and perform the journey in about two days and a half. I shall'make a voyage first, however, from St. lauds to Boston." 11, “How do yon navigate the air*.’” D. “That Is one of the discoveries 6f icronauting. It la an established fact Iliac at a certain altitude, say tiro and a half miles, there la a current of air blow ing from west io east. T cdiall ascend to that current, and with it travel tho 2,000 miles in about two days and a half." 11. ‘‘But ia there not a possibility of failure?" D. ‘‘None 1 lint I call discover. I shall feel above tile ocean as t feel above the laud, just as secure as I feel at U)is mo ment sitting in this oliaif. Of course I shall have a basket atlucheil to (he bal loon on Ihe ocean voyage. 1 ’ B. "How high have you been, I’ru fessor', 1 ” D. "M.v harnrneter has Indicated over three miles. I uwcini atul perform on the bar In my parlnrmlng clothes, and when out of sight, above the clouds, I put my citizen's clothes on, while stand ing on the bar." B. "What is the ucoun trip lo cost I). "About $0,0U0." Alter giving Ihe repot ter a graphic de scription of the many phenomena to ho witnessed above the clouds; the lights and shadows; the true causes of ruin ami. bail,ami many oilier iotereatingauhjecla, a deluded account of which (ho crowded .slate of our columns will not admit, the interview closed. The leronaut is in ex cellent health, and us the reporter left the professor assured him that the JPaylc before long, could furnish the balance of this article by recording the ocean voy age successfully acoomished.— Patriot. . An Indian’s llmvencie.— Tho fol lowing remarkable incident is related to have recently occurred by tho Rock land county (Wis.) Independent; An Indian trapper and hunter has been operating in one of the northern towns of that county, and near his camp lived a fanner. Tiro Indian had a box Cov ered over with giass Ailed with rattle snakes. Last August tho Indian came to tiro farmer’s house one day intoxi cated and asked the farmer to give him a certain sheep he was preparing for exhibition at tho county fair, saying that be was hungry. This the farmer refused, but offered him a hen if he would shoot it. The Indian declared ho would have tho sheep, and fired at it, hut missed it. The farmer then sot his dog on tho Indian and drove him away. A few nights since the farmer was awakened from ills sleep by some thing cold crawling over him, and seizing tho object, he hurled it across tho room. He was horrified to hear tho noise of rattles in every direction. Telling hia wife to lie quiet for her life ho raised up and turned up the light, when lie saw a huge rattlesnake colled tip at the foot of the bed, ready for a spring. Seizing it is revolver, lie Ared, and shot off its head. The noise of tho pistol arouse I tho hired man, who has tened to tho room, and before reaching it (the door was opened,) killed two rattlesnakes. Two more were killed in tho bedroom, making Avo in all. At tho foot of the hod was the Indian’s box. It is supposed ho entered (lie opened window and emptied- tho snakes out on tho bed. A man In Duluth cannot got Into good society until ho owns twelve corner lota. Bomb are, unwisely liberal, ami take more delight to give presents than to pay debts. Ratos of Advertising. No. times Isq. 2iwj. 3 o 1 cot. 1 week. 81 00 Too woolfroolirso Sl2 00 $23 u<> 2 " IGO3OO 4 00 600 900 14 00 26 0° a •* 3004 00 600 900111 00 10 00 30 4 •• 360 4,76 675 41 75 13 60 13 00 33 f, •*' 300560060750UD0 20 00 85 (£ 0 “ 3GO 060 7 50| 86015G02350 37 6® 2 months 400 760 860 *0 50 17 60 25 00 42 5° •• 5 00 8 60 060 10 50 20 00 80 00 60 0£ jj “ 7GOIOOO 12 60 Ifl OC 28 00 40 00 73 (>D 1 year. JOOO 15 00 20 r oj2s oojto 00 75 00 100 oM ~v’o (iocs coos’ ’ *ft«qu«ro. ’xccntors’' Im’rs*. Notices idilorfi’ 1 2 00 'cnees’ ' Notices, 3 00 ”v Ciu cce Mug six Hues, 7 00 ncf isporllno nn- Twelve (iocs constitute For Kxccntors’ and AcU For Auditors’ Rollers, For Assignees’ and similar * For Yearly Cards* uot oxceedi For Announcements five cent less contracted for by tbe year. For business and Special Wot per lino. Double co’~-' in mlvct Agricultural. DEEP vs, SHALLOW PLOWING,. Tho subject of tho deop, or shallow plowing has been much discus cd in the last few years, without definite settlement, and may still bo considered an open question. Why is this? Is not tho question susceptible of demonstration? I think it is. As a rule, either deep or shallow plowing is right. Now to find the rule suppose .wo take a period of ten years and observe tho success of two farmers possessing land similarly situated, of like character, the one always plowing deeply, thoothor always shallow', ’(’he results ought to be significant and almost conclusive. Now I undertake to say that, by this very, test, the question lias often been settled, mid that too, In favor of deep plowing. 1 ought to say, in this con nection,-that my observation has been limited to a few comities in Southern Ohio, possessing a great variety of soils; hut stilf clay, or heavy clay, loam, largely predominating. In my neigh borhood, among a large majority of fanners, the plowing question seems to he settled. That deep plowing one your with another, will give the best crops of corn, wheat, oats, grass, Ac., is, in their opinion, and according to my observation, a fixed fact. I know there are exceptions as there are to every rule. To illustrate, I will givo two eases, which may bo taken a.-. experiments. As good n field of corn as I over saw was raised on an old meadow field, plowed not more than three or four inches deep. But in this ease the season suited tho plowing.- it was an extraordinary season, hot mid wet. Had it been such n season usXSTI or >72—very hot and very dry—would such a field plowed ns that one was, have produced more Ilian half such a crop? Certainly not. In the spring of 1871 one of my neighbors plowed an old sod field (a good field) fen to twelve inches deep. The plowing was done with throe heavy horses and well done. X was in tho field while it was being plowed. My opinion was asked as to the plow ing and as to the probable results; ! replied that the plowing was maguili cent, but that he (tho owner) mb, doomed to disappointment—at least for tho first one qr two crops. " Why so?" ho asked. “Because you .arc (it once bringing to tho surface four or live inches of cold subsoil, which is not fi< to produce a crop.” As I expected, scarcely half a crop, was obtained. Now who will say that Hint field, with sub sequent deep plowings and thorough mixing of the soils, is not permanently henoflUod, mid will not be for years to come in a condition to produce greater crops than it could have done without such plowing? Noiv, is hot this the'trouble; have wo not a class of men among us ready to draw deductions from single experi ments, find come to conclusions no amount of reasoning, nor any number of contradictions, will disturb? Sucli would at once conclude from the eases given, 'that shallow plowing is tiio very thing. But such cases prove nothing at all. Xu the first case tho ground was rich, and tho season hot and wet. Any tyro in farming could have predicted the results had he . known, what tho season was to be. In the second case tho cause of failure i.-’ apparent to all; not that the ground was plowed too deep, but that there was 100 much cold subsoil brought up at one time. I am not an advocate of deep plow ing all at once. My plan is to plow a little deeper each time tv field is plowed. Bring to the surface u'small quantity of earth that never saw Ilia light before. By following this course I am enabled to raise, one year with another, better crops than any of my shallow-plowing neighbors! ■ In this article I do not propose to no tice many of the arguments in favor, of deop plowing and deep cultivation of the soil—such as being dryer when the weather is wet, and holding moistmv. longer when it is dry ; the advantages we have in tending a crop on deeply plowed ground, tho protection against washing", increased yield, Imt rather to inquire why farmers do nut all seo the facts in the same light ? [ am ready to admit that there may lm soils which, from some peculiarity, may not require or oven tolerate deep cultivation; still I have never seen a Aeld (and I have traveled some) that I would ho afraid to stick tho plow into 7or H indies deep. 1 might not mako much out of the Arst crop or two ; but so convinced am I that deep plowing is what we need that I would go right on fooling sure of my reward in the end. May not one objection to deep plow ing bo traceable to these two facts— viz: That many farmers are not Axed for plowing deeply ; that is, they have not tho plows or the teams; and that it is the fashion all over the. country to plow' much (surface) —to plant out many acres—and therefore they have not the time to plow deeply. Wo all understand that wo can plow two acres two or three inches deep, cheaper and quicker than wo can plow ono acre eight inches deep. Then wo can plow two to three inches deep with any kind of n plow and any kind of a team. To plow eight inchosin our stiff day soils, wo must have a good plow and two or three heavy horses, vveighingjrpm twelve to fourteen hun dred pounds each, anil trained to move slowly. Now when wo consider that purhup' three-fourths of nil tho plowing done in tho United States is done with two horse (or mule) teams, weighing not over ten hundred to the, animal—is it wonderful that wo have so little of what wo call deep plowing done, and that among so largo a class, there should bo those ready and willing to persuade themselves into the fallacy that, after all, shallow plowing is tho best plowing.— Oor- Cnmfry.gentleman. Llccs. lo oov* its cslrn.