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.