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|Wcal
THE OLD COUPLE,
They eat in the sun together
Till the day was almost done;
And then, at the close, an angel
Stepped ouer the threshold.stone,
He folded their hands together.
Ho touched their ej o lids with balm,
And their last breath floated upward
' Like the close of a solemn psalm.
Like a bridal pair they traversed
The unseep mystical road,'
That loads to the beautiful city
Whoso Builder and Maker Is God.
Perhaps in that miraale country,
They will give her lostVoath back,
And the Aowersofavanlshed springtime
Shall blossom In the spirit’s track.
One draught of the living waters
Shall restore hlsmanhood’s prime,
And eternal years shall measure
The love that outlives time.
But the shapes they left behind thorn,
The wrinkles and silver hair—
Made sacred to us by kisses
. The angel Imprinted there—
We'll hide them away In the meadow,
When the sun Is lo w In the west,
Where the moonbeams cannotflml them,
Nor the wind disturb tholr rest.
But wo’ll let no tell-tale tombstone.
But its age and date, arise
O’er the two who are old no longer
,In their Father's house lu the skies.
IPWlanw.
IN LIFE AND DEATH.
A THRILLING STORY OP WOMAN'S AF
FECTIOtf.
Au autumn eveuing, gusty aod bleak,
trees shuddering and tossing in the raw
Wind; a thick piercing mist, shrouded
everything, and a moaning, grey sea
creeping up the lonesome grey sands—
under a ghostly darkening sky—that
was what Marian Wilde saw from her
window, out of which she stood, gazing
an hour or more.
A handsome girl was Marian Wilde
tall and stately, luminous splendor, and’
massive colls of shining black hair. The
deep crimson dress she wore set ofT her
dark colorless beauty.
She stood alone in the ‘ room—her
eyes gazing with a fixed, meaningless
stare over the wide sea. The room was
large and luxuriously, furnished, and
oyer bed ami chairs, and dressing-table
lay spread thp filmy whiteness of bridal
robes. Au exquisite dress of silk and
lace, apriceleaa vail, tiny, slippers, tinier
gloves, costly boquet and a velvet casket
/ull of glimmering pearls—for to-morrow
was Marian's wedding day.
The gloomy evening grew gloomier,
Che wind rose to a gale, and above its
singing came the shrill shrieking of the
sea birds. The surf came tramping in
with a doll roar ov.er the beach, and. the
mist was turning into a steady rain. Still
Marian stood with a vague stare gazing
over the sea. ’
'The lonesome, desolate, awful sea,’
she whispered to herself—.‘the wide, piti
less, cruel seal Oh, my love, my own,
my Willie 1 If I were only sleeping with
you under those black waves 1 Better far
than being the bride of Gilbert Owen to
morrow.’
There was a tap at the door; she never
stirred. The handle turned; there was a
rustle qf silk, and a woman’s voice speak
ing in the dusk.
‘Marian, are you here?’
The voice awoke her from her trance.
She turned half around from the win
dow.
•Yes, Aunt Marla, come in.’
‘What an owl you are, child—all in
the dark. Why on earth don’t you light
the gas ?’
‘I don’t need the gas to think.’
‘Thinking, are you? A bad habit, my
dear. Of what are you thinking ? That
you are the luckiest girl in the world, I
hope.
‘Not exactly, ray good aunt. Just wish
ing it were not a sin to commit suicide.
The sea down there looks very inviting;
the distance is short, and this November
evening is just the thing for It.’
Bhe laughed a reckless laugh.
Aunt Maria, a buxom, comfortable la
dy, searching uneasily for the match box
in the dark.
‘You are crazy, girl 1 If I did not
know you of old for an oddity, I should
box your ears far such a speech on the
of your, wedding.’
‘Precisely, auntie; that's why I make
‘Now; Marian 1 Oh, dear, where's the
matches? Ah, I have them. Thank
goodness for the blessing of light; things
always seem twice as bad in the dark.
I’m afraid you’re not properly thankful
for your blessings, Marian ?’
'l’m afraid I'm not, auntie.’
‘Now, here,' said auntie, folding her
hands and looking at her noisy niece in
mild reproof, ‘here you are blessed with
everything your heart can desire—lovely
dresses, pearls and point lace, and a cabi
net full of the most exquisite and costly
bridal presents. Now what more could
any.glrl of sense desire ?’
‘Very true, auntie; but I don’t know
that I am In my senses.'
'Nonsense, child! Don’t be absurd 1
Isn’t Mr. Owen everything the most fas
tidious could desire—upright, honorable,
esteemed by all and immensely rich?’
‘X know it,’ with a heavy sigh ; ‘a
great-deal too good for a reckless, love
less, perjured wretch as I.’
Aunt Maria gave a little scream.
'Good heavens, Marian! Hrive you
gone deranged that you use such vile
language? Perjured! What on earth
do you moan? But I need not ask ; Its
all about that unfortunate William
Joy co I’
The girl made-a sudden motion toatop
her, as if the name stabbed her like a
knife.
‘Auntie! auntie I pray don’t; I can’t
bear it to-night. Leave me alone; I don’t
feel like myself.
'All the more reason why you should
not be left alone. Come down stairs; Mr.
Owen is there waiting for you.’
‘I can't go—l won’t go. Toil him so,
If you like.’ If Gilbert Owen Is wise—if
lie wants a wife to-morrow —he had bet
ter leave me to myself to-night.'
"To lament over the loss of Willie
Joyce ? Oh, I'm not afraid of ycurilash-
Ing eyes, Marian. You want to bo sen
timental and romantic on your bridal
eve, and mourn over your sailor lover,
lost at sea. But I know you better than
BY JOHN B. BRATTON
you know yourself, my dear, and I
know if Willie could rise from the deep
ami claim your promise, you wc;nid not
keep it. You like, wealth mm hixn.iv ns
well as any of ih. 'I irlnn, and you kn.»v.
the dill’ renco bw the wife of u mil
lionaire and (h»* wife of a sea captnin. I’ll
leave you alone, my dear, ns you request
ed. Be sentimental, if you please ; I'm
not afraid to trust you. Shed ail your
tears tonight, and have your,eyes as
bright as possible to-morrow at the altar.
Good night, my'dear, don’t sit up late*
I’ll tell Mr. Owen you have a he&dache,
aud can’t comedown. White lies are
indispensable on these occasions.’ .
With which Aunt Maria sailed away.
Marian looked darkly.jifter. her, with
out attempting to speak, and then back
again over the wide sea.
‘I deserve it all,’she said to herself,
.‘Aunt Maria is right. I am an incon
sistent fool and coward. Why don’t I
tell Gilbert Owen the truth, and go out
into the world and fight the battle of
life, aa other girls do? Ah I me, what a
false, treacherous, weak creature I am,
\oith neither courage to work nor want!’
She turned away from the window,
and began pacing hurriedly up and
down. Then, aa if seized by a sudden
Impulse to escape from herself and her
own dark thoughts, she seized her
shawl and hat, and put them rapidly
on.
'Once more,’ sire said to herself, ‘ouee
more,to visit the place of trust before I
am that man’s wife. Hero I Hero I where
are you ?’
A big dog, asleep on the hearth rug,
rose up uud shook himself ponderously.
The girl knelt down, and put her arms
around bis shaggy neck.
‘You belonged to him, too, Hero, as I
did, and you were his parting gift to me.
My brave, handsome Willie! Oh,Hero!
Hero! only think of his lying under the
sea, and to-morrow my wedding day.’
The shaggy neck of the Newfoundland
grew wet with her raining tears. Hero
rolled out bis great tongue, fully aware
sometbiug was wrong, and tried to con
sole her in his doggish fashion. Sud
denly she started up, dashing away the
•tears.
‘Come, Hero, before it is too late. For
he last time 1’
A minute and they were out in the
wild, wet night. The cold fluttered her
dress and shawl, the rain bleak in her
face, and darkness was failing like au
inky pall over the sea, and the rocky
path leading down to it. But Marian
Wilde knew it well, and could have
made her way secure in blackest mid
night; and She followed Hero along the
Jagged, uneven road, fleetly and secure
ly.
Down on a high boulder, garment flut-
tering uud flapping, hair escaping, and
blowing black’ from her eyes, her face
palu and wild, and all wet with the
jmshing rain, her eyes strained in a
vague, despairing stare over the black
sea, she looked, on her pinnacle, like a
goddess of the storm, watching her work
—a modern ‘Norma of the Fitful.’ Per
haps the man toiling laboriously over
the rooks thought so—a young man,
sunburned and handsome, dressed in a
shaggy jacket and rough sop’—western
hat. She never heard him—eyes and
heart and mind were all far away.
'Marian!'
That voice 1 She gave a cry, and al
most fell from the slippery boulder. Had
the dead arisen? Was it Willie Joyce’s
ghqst that stood before her ?
‘Keeping tryst, Marian—my Marian. I
kuew I should find my darling here.’
The active young figure stood beside
her on the wet rook. Ah, no! Ah, no!
no ghost this—no ghost to clasp her in
such strong arms—no ghost to press such
rapturous kisses on her pale lips.
‘Oh, Marian—my Marian—my beauti
ful, dark-eyed darling! What a lifetime
It seems since I saw you last ?’
Hire slid out of his arms, white as a
spirit !n the dying light, looking up at
him, pushed, eager, impassioned with
wild, dilated eyes,
‘Alive,’ the pale lips murmured; ‘alive
and back again, and I thought him
dead. Oh Willie 1 Willie!’
He raised her up, laughing boyishly at
her frightened air.
'Alive—of course I am, back again, to
be sure; too. Why, Marian, are you sor
ry to see me, that you wear such a face as
that ?’
‘Sorry? Willie! Willie!'
‘Well, you said that before, and it’s
highly satisfactory, though not explana
tory. Como, my darling girl, get over
your fears; I’m not a ghost, I assure
you, but Captain Wra. Joyce, come over
the ocean to make you my wife.’
There was no reply. Her head dropp
ed on her shoulder, and clinging to
him, be could feel the slight figure shake
from head to feet, ■ !
‘Marian,’ he said sternly, what is it?
Have you forgotton your promise?’
‘Oh no, no !’
‘Do you repent it ?’
. ‘No, no, no.!'
‘Then what in heaven’s name is it ?
My wife you promised to bo—my wife
y shall be in spite of fate. They .told
me down in town an absurd story about
Gilbert Owen, a man who might bo your
father. Tell me It is not true.'
‘I cannot.'
‘Good heavens 1 You’re not going to
marry him, Marian—that old man ?’
‘No, no. no 1 not now; but I was. Wil
lie ! Willie 1 I thought you dead.’
■My poor girl J And that dragon of
an aunt badgered you into it, I know.
And the wedding was to be 10-prorrow?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then I have arrived in the niok of
time. You won’t marry Mr. Owen to
morrow, Marian,beoauao you shall marry
me.’
Willie !’
‘I mean it, my darling. Down the
path there is the carriage I came in.
Come with me ; never mind going back
to the house. ‘ I'll take you ns you ore,
and you shall bo my wife. Bather hnsiy,
I allow, but necessity knows no law.’
'But, Willie,’ she said) shrinking back,
‘I don’t know.’
. The young mau looked at her, his face
growing stern.
'Thou you are false, Marian Wilde.
You wish to wed Gilbert Owen, not mo.
Ho, tho rich old millionaire, can give
you servants, diamonds and luxury ; I,
tho lover of you in youth, nothing but a
strong arm, a warm heart, and an hum
ble home. Well, go on, It la only tho
old story of a woman’s treachery over
again.’
. , .
. • .
• ,
1 . •
1 4
I 4
'trit[..isin ....). • t ,1111 L
„ .. ~„. ~...,
, • ..
He turned to leave her, but she clung
to him passionately, desperately.
no I take my with you. I will
do whatever jou say; I will be your
wife. Ob, Willie, I love you with my
whole heart!
‘My dearest!' mine in life and death !
my wife-ray own for ever and' ever
come I’
.He passed her arm around him, aud
drew her down the path,
in the thick gloom. A moment later,
and they were aide by side in. the car
riage, driving rapidly into town.
Gilbert Owen’s wedding day dawned
in storm, and wind and rain—dawned
to find the cage empty; tlfe bird flown.
The bride-elect had fled—where or
whither, who could say? There was
no note left to explain—no cluo to bo
found to her mysterious, diasapearance.
If the earth had opened and swallowed
hershecould not have vanished more
completely.
Aunt Maria wont into hysterics, not
the proper thing to do—through no
great love for the wilful, lost girl, but
because something of the kind was ex
pected of her, and because she really
felt keenly Gilbert Owen’s disappoint
ment.
As for that luckless bridegroom, lie
suffered, yet ho made no sign. Ho had
loved her with a love as strong as' it
had been vain; and he had lost her and
he bore it with silent grief.
“ If I only knew her fate!” he groan
ed once to her aunt, “ If I only knew
she were safe and well, I could bear it.
But this uncertainty, this suspense.—
Oh, my poor little Marian ! n •
Aunt Maria had. her own idea re-
membering that last interview. The
haggard face and reckless words, the
last repentance meant something be
sides the girlish talk, after all. Under
that stormy sea, rolling forever myste
riously and grand under the windows,
she bad gone; in the storm and the
darkness to meet her lost lover.
‘She was mad enough, and impul-
sive enough, and daring and foolhardy
enough for anything,’ Aunt Maria said
to the silent despairing bridegroom,
•thatinfatuated child; and I know os
well as I am alive that she lias com
mitted suicide. It was in her face that
night.’
But Marian, mourned for ns dead,
was very far from death. Sailing over
the sea with her sailor husband—her
handsome, gallant 'Willie —she was
happy as the day was long. Singing
blithely on the sunlit deck,, as their
vessel glided over tropic seas, she had
no thought even,for the’man left be
hind in her native land, and whose
heart she had almost broken. Willie
was beside her—the lover husband now
—and the world was .Eden, and she the
happiest Eve that ever laughed in the
sunshine'.
So the years followed one another
until three were gone, and a tiny baby,
girl tcgldled about the back of papa’s
ship after mamma Marian. She had
been over the world, through the trop
ics, across the wild Atlantic, through
holy Palestine, and'was- now once
more back in her native land. Hand
somer, happier, brighter, statelier—
these were all the changes these three
years had wrought.
‘My darling girl will stay at home
this trip,’ Willie said, ‘as it is my last
and baby Marian is too delicate to cross
the Atlantic this winter, - Only three
months my love, and then to settle
down with my wife and birdlings in
some cosy little country home.’
So they parted, the first parting since
the wedding day. Marian clung to
him in passionate, womanly weeping.
‘I wish I wore going. I wish I were
going 1’ was the cry, ‘Oh, Willie, lam
afraid 1 I am afraid .”
‘Little goosey 1 of what ?’
‘I don’t know; but I feel as though
something was about to happe_n—as if
I should never see you again, Willie.'
‘Foolish Marian 1 but you shall.
Living or dead, I think I should have
to come back to you. Keep up heart,
and good bye 1’
Captain Joyce sailed that day for
Liverpool, and Marian waited in the
house where ho had left her nursing
her sickly child—waited in fear and
trembling now—but it was wild, win
try weather, with singing winds and
fierce storms on the ocean.
Three weeks and news came—the
nows she had trembled to hear. In A
Wild, wild storm the ship had gone
down, and every soul on board had
perished.
• She read the cold, brief newspaper
paragraph In white, still despair, sit
ting by her child’s dying bed. Before
morning broke Marian Joyce was
childless as well as widowed.
Three months later, a worn, pale crea
ture came to Aunt Maria, as she sat in
liar comfortable parlor—wan and thin
enough to bo the ghost Aunt Maria
thought her.
‘Marian 7 great heavens 1’
‘Yes, aunt; Marian comes back poor
and friendless and dying, to see if you
will take her in.’
‘And you didn’t drown yourself after
all?’ auntie cried aghast.
‘Drown myself! No. Did you think
so? I have been married, and I am a
widow. Willie’s ’
And then Marian Joyce told her
story humbly and brokenly, with pale,
trembling limbs and downcast face,
very unlike the Marian of old.
‘I have been very 111,’ she said, In
conclusion. ‘X think I bavenotloog to
live, and I have come to my old home
to die.’
Aunt Marla’s womaly heart was
touched, and Marian was kissed and
cried over, and, forgiven, even by Gil
bert Owen, who came to see her at
unco, and in whose heart all the old
love revived at the sight of'the pale,
patient face. And Marian did not die,
as the months passed; strength and
lilo returned, and now life began to
beat strongly in the almost dead heart
in her old home.
And with tho now life came new
hope to Gilbert Owen.
Before the second anniversary of her
widowhood ertmo round he had asked
her to marry him onco more,
‘I lovo you bettor than, over Marian,’
CARLISLE, PA., THURSDAY, JANUARY 30,1873.
he pleaded. ‘I have loved you so long
and so well, and my life is so lonely.
Surely I deserve some reward.* »
‘But I don’t love you, Mr. Owon,’
Marian replied, very sadly. ‘I never
can love any one like that again. You
cannot take a wife who tells you this?’
But Mr. Owed thought otherwise,
and pleaded so nard, with Aunt Marin
to back him, that finally Marian yield
ed and said yes for the second time.
That evening she wandered down In
the ghastly dusk to the sea shore as she
had once done before, when Willie
came back.' The evening was wild and
wet, aS that had been; and standing on
the slippery boulder she looked east
ward almost expecting to see the re
proachful face of her drowned husband
rising white from the black waves. At
the thought a cold breath of air passed
like a waft from the church yard and
there beside her, at the place of
tryst, she saw as her vivid fancy paint
ed to her, a pallid, bloodless shadow,
the shadow of her lost husband.. -
‘Living or dead, I promised I would
come back,’ the well known voice said;
‘here I am Marian, you are mine and
must never be another’s.’
Aunt ■ Maria missed Marian and an
hour later, when Gilbert Owen called,
in dire alarm they set off in search of
her. Town to the shore, her favorite
haunt, as they knew, they hurried, and
there they fduiid her lying on her face
on the ground, wet, through, senseless
and white as death. ■
They bore her home and laid her on
the bed, from which she never rose.
Whether it was an optical illusion
brought on by an excited and strained
imagination or whether the spirit of
the dead husband really stood before
her in"the stormy twilight, it was all
the same. On the day she was to have
married Gilbert Owen, they buried
Marian Joyce.
LYDIA SHERMAN'S CONFESSION,
The confession of the Connecticut Bor
gia, Mrs. Lydia Sherman, who has been
sentenced to the penitentiary at New
Haven for life, Is.published, and is a fear
ful story of crime. The following are the
main points ;
Mrs. Jbberraau was arrested in June,
1871, at New Brunswick, N. J., on the
charge of having murdered her husband,
Horatio N. Sherman, at Derby, In 187 L
She was also charged with murdering
two of his children, but was only tried
for the first crime. Besides these she
was said to have poisoned two other hus
bands and several of their children. The
trial occurred In March, 1872, in New
Haven, and whs noticeable among poison
trials for the very clear testimony, of
Prof. Barker, of Yale College, who hud
examined the remains of the first men
tioned victim. The trial resulted in the
verdict of murder .in the second degree--
the jury united in considering her guilty,
but allowing that the circumstantial na
ture of the evidence permitted of a rea
sonable doubt. Since sbe.bas been im
prisoned her mind has been seriously
troubled, am! recently she has made a
full confession of her guilt, and expresses
herself as much relieved thereby.
* On the 28th of December she began her
story to the jailor, Capt. Webster. Mrs.
Sherman is a very ignorant woman. She
can scarcely write at all. She Is unable
to remember dates with any accuracy ;
so that part of her narrative is vague.
Mrs. Sherman’s story is as. follows:- She.
was borp in New Brunswick, N. J., in
1825, and was early left an orphan. At
the age of 17 she joined the Methodist
church, and at a love feast there she met
Edward S. Struck, whom she subse- I
quently married. Mr. Struck, in time,
became a policeman at Yorkville, one of
the suburbs of New York city. One
night.there was a row in a saloon on his
I beat and a detective was killed. Struck
I was off without leave; he was reprimand
ed and disgraced. It troubled him very
much, and weighed so on his inind that
he became crazy, and had a softening of
the brain. He then was discharged.
When he recovered, it;was only to be
very feeble, physically, and unable to
get any work, so that be was only a-bur?
den to his wife. One day a male friend
of tier’s suggested to her that she could
get rid of the man by poison. She took
kindly to the idea and gave him sumo
arsenic in his food, ami she also, with
some poison, killed their two youngest
children, so that they also should not be
burdens to her, and should not have, as
she says, to grow up to life’s cares. Bh«
was not suspected of this murder, and
soon after she went to Litchfield to live.
Hero she met one Dennis Hurlbut, and
married him, but she didn’t get along
satisfactorily to herself with him, and eo
she poisoned him. Boon after his death
she was told by a friend that there was a
man in Derby named Horatio N. Sher
man, who had plenty of money, and bad
lost his wife, and that by skilful manage
ment, if she wanted a third husband,
she could probably got him. According
ly she went there and applied to him for
the place of housekeeper in hla family,
and be engaged her; and subsequently
she succeeded in marrying him. He had
two. small children, Ada and Frankie,
and these she determined to poison, and
did poison ; but she did uol plan to poi
son Sherman. She intended to employ
the arsenic upon. rats in her kouse as
well as to kill the children, and site pur
chased it iu New Haven, In Peck’s drug
store, with the first mentioned object.
She took the package home and put it on
a shell besldo a similar package of saler
atus. Mr. Sherman used to drink a great
deal of elder, into which he would put
saleratus to mako it foam. This was his
favorite drink. The saleratus and the
arsenic on the shelf became mixed in
some way. This was not, therefore, su6h
a clear case of murder as the others. In
fact she only, neglected to warn him of
his danger. It is curious that the only
death for which she could nut be held
accountable, according to her story,
Bhould'be .that for which she has been
convicted
The time nas come when the ques
tion of false weights and measures must
bo mot squarely and settled.- When
the public refrain from buying fraudu
lent packages, the dealers will quickly
reform, and not before. By talcing
this course, the public will bo a law for
themselves,
A REMARKABLE PROPHECY.
Tbo following 1# going the rounds ns " Mother
Shlpton’s Prophecy," which was first 'published
In 1488, and ro-publlshed In IWI. It will bo no
ticed that all tbo events predicted In it, except
timt mentioned In tbo last two llbcs, which Is
still in the future, have already come to pass.
Wo thank tho "Old Gal" for placing "the end"
beyond our Centennial Celebration:
“ Carriages without horses shall go,
And incidents All the world with woo.
Aroand the world thoughts shall Ay
In the twinkling of an eye:
Water shall yet more wonders do.
Now strange, yet shall bo true.
Tho world upside doWn shall ho.
And gold bo found at root of tree.
Through lulls man shall ride,
And no horao or ass ho at his side.
Under water men shall walk;
Shall ride, shall sloop, shall talk.
In tho air men shall bo scon,
In white. In black, In green.
Iron in tho water shall llont,
• As easy as a wooden boat. .
Gold shall be found, and found
lu a land that is not known.
Fire and water shall wonders do,
England’ shall at lost admit a Jew.
Tho world 10 an end shall come
In eighteen hundred and elghty-one.”
THE MODOC WAR
BATTLE WITH CAPTAIN JACK’S BAND
United Stales Troops Defeated !
FORTY KILLED • AED WOUNDED
Retreat of General Wheaton's Army,
REINFORCEMENTS ASKED FOR
[From tho Philadelphia Inquirer.]
San Francisco, Jab. '2O.— A dispatch
from Yreka, dated to-day, states that a
message has just arrived at that place
from the headquarters of Gen. Whea
ton, commanding the troops in action
against the Modoc Indians. A severe
battle was fought last Friday. The
troops under command of Gen. Whea
ton consisted of 250 regulars, two com
panies of Oregon volunteers, 25 riflemen
of California, under command of capt-
Fairchild, and a few Klamath Indians,
about 400'men in all.
The battle look place near the eastern
shore of Tule lake. Captain Bernard
on. Thursday went around the north
end of the lake to the east side, and to
east of Capf. Jack's position. Ho was
to advance against Capt. Jack from the
east, and Gen. Wheaton from the south
west ; the forces of the latterto be under
cover of -the fire of the howitzers. On
Thursday night such a dense fog envel
oped the country that they could not
see forty yards.
The two forces were then about twelve
miles apart, though to communicate with
each other it was necessary to go a much
greater distance. On Friday morning
Captain Bernard opened battle against
Captain Jack, who had about two hun
dred warriors concealed among the rocks
along r line two miles in length. 1 Gen*
Wheaton hoard the firing and had no
alternative but to march to the aid of
Captain Bernard without the fire of the
howitzers. The troops fought an unseen
foe from eight o’clock In the morning to
dark under a terrific fire, during which
scarcely one Indian was seen. The loss
to the troops was forty killed and wound
ed. The loss to the Modocs is unknown.
The troops were finally obliged to retreat
to their camps. Captain Bernard’s force
bore the brunt of the battle and suffered
terribly.
• All the cavalry fought on foot. Among
the killed are Frank Trimble and J. R.
Brown, of Oregon. G. W. Roberts was
mortally wounded. Captain Perry, of
the regulars, was seriously, andLleien
ant Kyle slightly, wounded. The move
ment Is called a forced reconnaissance.
Captain Jack’s position, the leaders say,,
they will takel, but one thousand men
will be required to dislodge him from the
lava beds. The troops • for the present
will only.try to prevent the Modocs from
raiding on the settlements, and will wait
for, reinforcements.
LATER.
Official despatches have been received
at army headquarters from Gen. (Jauby,
dated Portland, Oregon, Jan. 20, giving
anaocountof the attack of Gen. Whea
ton upon the Modoc stronghold, on the
17th lust. Tho details are substantially
the same as containecj iu ibe regular
press report. The fight lasted from eight
o’clock in the morning until dark. A
force of artillery and Infantry has been
ordered from the Department of Colum
bia into the District of tho Lakes, and a
company of cavalry was ordered into the
district for the protection of the Surprise
Valley. Reports reaching General Canby
from the interior posts as to the disposi
tion of tho Indians are entirely satisfac
tory, although they appear to be fully
apprised of the difficulty with tho Mo
docs.
still later.
§Xn Francisco, Jan. 21.— Four com
panies of United States troops—one of
infantry and one of cavalry—started for
the scone of the Modoc war to-day from
this city. The artillery will-take the
field as infantry. Tho total number is
about 300. *
Late intelligence from the seat of tho
battle with the Modocs show that four
teen' whites were killed and twenty
three wounded. The troops were
obliged to leave their dead on the field.
Tho voluuteers will leave for homo
in a few days, as their term of service
will expire.
ADDITIONAL REPORTS
from the scone of Friday’s battle with
the Modoc Indians, In Southern Oregon,
state that ton of the white troops were
killed and thirty wounded. Lieuton--
ant Roberts, of Captain Fairchild’s
command, cannot live. The Modocs
fought naked and with the greatest
desperation, springing from rock to
rock, picking off the soldiers, and oblig
ing many of them to hide themselves
till darkness afforded means for their
escape- Tlio troops made several char
ges along the line of the lava bods, but
were repulsed. The howitzers could
not be used to advantage, owing to the
dense fug. Captain Jack has the
strongest natural position in the coun
try.
‘Do you think It safe, my dear,’ said
a husband to his wife, ‘for ru« to take
oft flaunol, when it looks like spring?’
‘Perhaps so,’ replied tho wife, ‘but I
never saw any Manned that looked like a
ting.’
HORRIBLE TRAGEDY
Cold-Blooded Murder iu n Bonrd*
ing-lloiiM'. ’
Ono Printer Shoots Another—A Petticoat in
tho Affair, of Course—Rejnarkablo Coolness
of the Mnrderer. After the Deed.
From tho Now York Star, 21st Inst.
Marshall Magrudor, a printer, shot aud
fatally wouuded Clarence Lockwood, also
a printer, last oveuinv, at the boarding
house of Mrs. Hammond, 15-1 Madison
street.
Tho facts of tho affair, ua obtained
from the Seventh Precinct Station House,
and from witnesses of tho occurrence,
are as follows: Magruder went to board;
on Thanksgiving Day last, with Mrs.
Hammond. Lockwood has board
ing at tho same place for about six
months.
WHERE THE WOMAN COMES IN.
Among the numerous boarders was a
Miss Annie Brown, with whom Lock
wood at times, especially when intoxica
ted, used to flirt with, much against her
wishes, and in consequence of some words
they had nut spoken for aboutfive weeks.
A RECONCILIATION.
On Saturday night last a party was
given at the house, when the. little differ
ences which had existed between Miss
Brown and Lockwood were made upaud
everything passed" oft smoothly. On
Sunday night while Miss Brown was
sitting on the sofa in the parlor with
Mngruder,-LoekwootT came in with a
pillow in hla hand, with which ho play
fully touched Mias Brown on, tho shoul
der, at the same time saying : “I’m glad
our little diflerence has been made up;
we are friends again.”
Magruderjumped up somewhat excited
and said to Lockwood bitterly, "If you
have anything to say to any one,-' say It
when I am not with them, for I don't
want to bo annoyed by you,” and high
words followed, when Lockwood
SLAPPED MAGRUDER IN THE FAFE
They then clenched, ami after a strug
gle, they were separated by some of the
boarders. After they bad somewhat
cooled down, Magruder turned, to Lock
wood and said . "I don’t waut to fight
on the-Sabbath, but prepare yourself,' for
to-morrow I’ll shoot you like a dog.”
The matter then ended.until 7 o’clock
last night, when, while the boarders were
at supper iu .the basement. Magruder.
came iu, tho,worse for liquor, and, after
looking around the room, as if ho was
looking for some oue, remarked : M I miss
some familiar faces.” Turning to Miss
Brown, hesald : "Where,is Lockwood?”
“I guess he’s gone into the country,”
was the reply. Without saying another
word, Magruder turned round and
HUSHED UP ST A IPS
to Lockwood’s bedroom, which is in the
back parlor. Fearing that Magruder
meant mischief, Jacob Maddisou, anoth
er boarder, rushed after him, and on
reaching the landing he saw Lockwood
sitting iu his room on a chair. Magruder
was standing at the door with u pistol in
his hand, and before he could be prevent
ed he discharged the contents of one of
the barrels at Lockwood, but the shot did
riot take effect,and Lockwood jumped up.
Magruder fired again, and Lockwood fell
to the-floor
MORTALLY WOUNDED.
The ball had entered the abdomen. The
noise of tho shooting attracted all the
boarders to the scene, and some exclaim
ed "seize him,” at which Magruder
turned around and said, "I’ll shoot.the
first person that attempts to interfere
with’ me.” He then went' down and sat
at the supper table apparently perfectly
unconcerned
Officer Rogers; of the Seventh Precinct,'
was informed of what had taken place
and took the pistol from Magruder. He
then allowed him to finish his supper,
after which he took him to tho Madison
Street Station-house, where he turned
to Lockwood, who had been brought in
on a stretcher, and said, "I told you I
would shoot you.” A doctor was sent
for, who pronounced the wound fatal,
and ordered his immediate removal to
Bellevue Hospital. Coroner Hermann
was notified to take the man’s au
ti-morlem statement.
STATEMENT OF TUB DYING .MAN,
After being asked the usual questions
the dying man made the following
statement:
On Saturday night last we had & par
ty.of ladies and gentlemen in the house
where I boarded, 154 Madison street. I,
as well as others, drank considerable.
At 3 o'clock on Sunday morning I took
a few invited ladies to their homns, at
133 Grand street. I then wont back to
my boarding house. At 7 o’clock in
the morning I met several of tho party
in ,the parlor, and I wont to Miss
Brown, a young lady with whom I had
some misunderstanding some time ago,
and told her that she should not be an
gry with me any more, and to Jot by
gones pass, as I wanted to be friendly
with everybody, while I was speaking
to her Marshall Magruder, who was
sitting near her, said to rao, “ You have
no right to speak to her while I am
present.” He then pushed me hack.
While he was doing so I slapped the
girl on the face. Magruder then said
to mo, “ I’ll shoot you like a d—d dog,
as you are, on Monday.” I then.want
to my room, and staid there until tho
afternoon. On Monday I went to my
work as a printer on tho New York
Clipper, in tho Clipper building in
Centre street. Not caring to work I
took a walk, and returned home at
about three o’clock and laid down for a
couple of hours. About G o'clock in the
evening Magruder came to ray room
and said to me; “Lockwood, I told you
that I would shoot you iiko a d—d
dog, as you are, nud now, Q—d d—n
you,
I WILL DO IT.”
So saying ho shot at my face, as I
thought, but he missed; I then stopped
toward him, and he again shut at me;
this shot took effect in my abdomen ; 1
then became unconscious, and 1 think
X fell; when I recovered consciousness
Magruder said: Q—d— you, I told
Am that I would shoot you, and I have
done it; you have got enough of mo
now. I shot you and 1 am glad of it.”
Ho said this in the presence of several
persons; I had no pistol or any other
VOL 59-NO. 34.
weapon about mo, and never had since
I came to this city about a year ago; I
am 21 years of ago, and u native of
Spartansburg, S. O;; X never had qny
quarrel with Magruder before,, and I
had rather liked him.
Magruder was committed to the
Tombs to await the result of Look
wood’s wound, \yhich is considered fa
tal.
THE MURDERER'S STORY
Bofpie tbo removal of Magruder to the
Tombs a Star' mau’ bad an iuterview
with him in the Seventh Precinct Sta
tion-house. The prisoner was standing
at the door, with hat add overcoat on, as
if ready to stop at once into freedom. In
appearance ho is not unprepossessing,
about 5 feet 10 inches in height, and
sparely built; there was nothing in
mould or feature that indicated the des
perate character, evidenced by bis crime,
HU eyes were somewhat sunken, and
the black circles around (hem might be
attributed either to tho habitual dissipa
tion of his life or to a night made sleep
less by thoughts of hiserhne. Tuere was
/lathing in his demeanor to indicate the
latter cause, as his manner of
speech evinced .« coolness, that the moat
casual'coinmeutator on such a deed could
scarcely have attained.
When asks-d if ho desired to make any
statement concerning the affair, ho said
hn believed he did not just then. The
fact was
.HE DID NOT FEED KIOriT WE1,1.,
aud hud rather not talk about it. la re
ply to questions about his history, he sta
ted that he was born iu the neighborhood
of Lynchburg, Vu., and had been a resi
dent of this city some nine years. He
came of the sumo-family of Gen. J. 13.
Mag'rnder, the confederate, leader hi liv
ing given those answers lie turned to the
roundsman, who was stuuding by too re
porter, ami asked “if anything more had
been heard about that—,” jerking his
head to Iml cate his victim. The rounds
man could give him no news, and told
him so, adding, “He may get over it.”
“I HOPE HE MAY. 1
rejoined tho prisoner, iu a ttme as de
void of feeling and apprehension as if
he had ho possible interest in the result.
He then inquired how long ho would
have to stay wore lie was., Tho rounds
man stated probably Until tho result of
the injuries, could be known, unless
they wanted tho victim to identify
him. “There is no use of that,” said
the prisoner, with some animation.
“The shooting is admitted. Outsiders
may not think ah Ido, but .
I FEET JUSTIFIED IN SHOOTING HIM.
He slapped me in the face, and then
with a theatrical air told me to get sat
isfaction. I told him that I would ;to
go fixed, as I would shoot him on sight.
I kept my word. It is not my fault
that he had not a pistol with him. I
told him to have one. I went for satis
faction.” The coolness with which this
was said is indescribable.
ANOTHEE CANDIDATE • FOE THE
GALLOWS,
About 0:45 o'clock last evening, «s
Michael Nixon,'a bill-poster and dis
tributor, who carries on business at 11
East Broadway, and 1491 Broadway,
Now York city, was driving a truck
down the Bowery, he got into an alter ;
cation with an unknown man who was’
riding a gray • horse and leading an
other.
The altercation was continued, until
they arrived opposite No. 4 Chatham
square, when Nixon drew a Sharp’s
four-shooter and deliberately shot' the
unknown man in the head. The latter
raised his hands and fell from his horse
to the ground, and instantly expired.
Upon examination, tho ball was
found to have entered the left, pye and
penetrated, the brain. Captain Ulman,
immediately on hearing of the affair,
detailed two of his best detectives,
Fitzsimmons and Buskirk to search for
tlio murderer.
The detectives after a diligent searcl
found him concealed in a back room ai
his residence, No. 44 Baxter"street.
When told that ho was wanted, he as
sumed an air of indifference, and said,
“That’s all right; I shot him.” When
taken to the Oak Street Station, Cap
tain Ulman at once recognized him as
an old offender, he having been in cus
tody for assaults and affrays several
times previously.
Nothing was found upon the murdered
man that would load to his identiliea-
tlon. He has the appearance of a Ger
man, being of a very light complexion,
with a. blonde moustache. Upon his
person was found a constitution and by
laws of Mohawk Tribe, No. 1, of the Im
proved Order of Bed Men of the State of
New York, The body was conveyed to
tho Morgue, and Coroner Hermann was
notillfld to hold an inquest.
Extraordinary Bank Eobbory.
Lancaster, Jan. 15. — A during rub
bery was perpetrated here to-day,on the
Mechanics’ Bank. Between twelve and.
one o’clock two men engaged the cash
ier’s attention, who was alone in the
hunk, by selling seventy.live dollars in
gold and silver, the latter being in small
pieces. One of the men had on screech
ing bools, and walked continually while
his confederate and the cashier were
counting the money. Bending the ne
gotiation, a third party entered tire bank
by a rear window and entered the vault,
which was open, and abstracted conver
tible bonds to the amount of over six
thousand dollars, and other registered
and Judgment bonds amouutiug to over
forty thousand dollars. The thieve*,
four in number, were seen about tlnj
bank during the fureuoon, and the meu
who entered from the rear were seen by
women In the restaurant under the bank,
but were, of course, not suspected. The
parties who sold the specie wore well
dressed, one being about live feet live
inches high, llorld complexion and dark
mustache, and weighs probably one hun
dred and forty pounds. The other was
six feet in height and sparsely built. No
clue to their whereabouts has boon ob
tained.
A man recently broke oil' a marriage
because the lady did not possess good
conversational powers. A friend told
him ho should have married her, and
then refused her a now bonnet, to have
developed her i ower of talk.
Bates of Advortlwflig.
No. limes I sq. 2Bq. 8 flq. 4 sq.jVi ajijo ll col,
Pwcek. 81 00 -2 00 S 3 DO SI CO 87 Oolsl2 00 $22 o 0
2 " 160 800 4005 00 900 HOO 20 1)0
:i 200 4 00 600 000 n oo 10 co no oo
1 2 60 4 75 573 073 12 60 IK 00 112 6"
6 '■ 3005600607601400 20 00 85 IV
U •• 860 0507 60 86016602260 87 60
2 montliß 4 00 7 60 8 6C 060 17 60 26 00 4 2 611
8 " 600 86006010 60 20 001 SO (0 60 0»
0 " 76010001260 IB 00 23 00J 40 00 7.5 (.0
1 year. 10 00 15 00 20 00 25 00110 001 76 00|100 CO
Twoivo It mro.
For Exec Notices 51."
For Aud l ‘2 (X)
'For A»sl
lines constitute a sqm
;cntorn* and Adin'ra'..
JitorH’ Notices,
lances' and slmiltu N<
vny Cards, not cxcccdl
jouncoraents fivo coni
tided for by the year,
luess nud bpechil Not
For Yeai
For A.nii
lossconin
For Ultsi
porllno.
Double C(
;oltituD nclvcl Jscmeui
l^ricultnral
OOLOE OF PIGS,
Tlie show ol swine at the Western
Now York Fair was very largo acd
good. Most of the animals were black,
of .the breeds in which btyek predomi
nates ns i color, 'la-fact tbo tendency
of the day is toward tbo color of tlie
pig. But the dark, colored pig must
meet and overcome a great deal of
prejudice before it gains in public fa
vor a position equal to its white
brother. Standing by the pens of the
Essex . and Berkshires on the fair
grounds, wo heard as the throng of
farmers passed up the exclamation ;
“ They are fmo hogs but I don’t like
the color.”
Now, in reason, what is there in ibe
dark color which should prejudice a
farmer against ns fine breeds as those
above mentioned ?
“ Will they Ureas white'.’” asked
some dozen of lookers on.
Of course, for the color is not even
akin deep. It lies mainly in tho hair
and the scale on the surface of tho skin.
In other countries there exists none of
this prejudice against black swine.
One farmer who had bred both black
and white pigs said lip liked tho dark
color best for high bred pigs, because
tho dark animals were not so apt to
sunburn ns tho whites as thorough
breds have hilt little hair to protect
their skins. He had found tho effect
of tho sun a serious drawback to tho
thrift of the pigs. There is hot a single
reasonableobjection to be raised against
tho dark color of.pigs, and tho excel
lence of tho breeds are too great for
our farmers to overlook thorn. Grow
ers will recognize this fact more gener
ally belore long.
Preparing the Land for Grass.
—We are apt, very apt, to overlook the
fact that land intended for grass should
receive more thorough culture than
any other, because for years While in
grass, it has not the advantage of the
plow and other implements to stir the
soil, but must rest and back, and get
more and more in a condition to keep
out tho air, and let in and pass off less
readily the water. We should, thero
furo thoroughly prepare tho soil
Plow as deep as may be, and subsoil
well; pulverize and enrich the soil
.enriching it will make it more loose
and mellow, and keep it longer in that
condition,as well as increase the yield.
Such land will catch its seed, and if
plentifully applied, will be certain, un
der anything like favorable circum ■
stances to form a thick sot. A little top
dressing, aided by I ho, after math,
which should never bo fed close, will
ensure good crops two cuttings a
year.
But let thorn bj-a cold, hard under
soil, and tho soed put in tho usual way
—-littie of it, on a harsh, reduced soil,
without manure, what can bo expect
ed ? Just what we see ; light crops
gelling lighter each year until it will
hardly pay for harvesting. Such land,
when tho plow turns it down, will bo
found to bo hard. Tho sod amounts to
hut little, whereas in properly treated
land it will yield from sixty to seventy
loads of manure per acre. A mellow
seed hod, deeply loosened soil well en
riched, plenty of soed sown as early as
possible—are the points to ho scoured
in putting down grass land.
Sound Ideas on Farming.—Tho
following rules on farming were thrown
out by Mr. Greeley in his speech at
Baltimore and they so entirely cover
tho ground of successful culture that
wo give them a place for tho benefit of
our readers.
1. That the era under cultivation
should bo within tho limits of tho capi
tal and labor employed or, in other
words, that on impoverished soils no
one should cultiyato more land than he
cun enrich witli manure and fertilizers,
bo it one acre or twenty.
-. That there should be a law com
pelling every man to prevent ids stock
from depredating on his neighbor’s
fields.
3. That groou soil is more economical
than loose pasturage.
4. That deep tillage is essential to
good farming.
5. That tho muck- heap is tho far
mer’s bank, and everything should ho
added to it that will enlarge it, and in
crease at tho same time it’s fertilizing
properties.
0. That no farmer or planter should
depend upon one staple alone, but
should seek to secure himself against
serious loss in bad seasons by diversity
of products.
A Mebis Stumble.— When.a horse
stumbles never raise your voice—the
creature dreads its master's chiding;
never jog the reins—the mouth of the
horse is far more sensitive than the
human lips; trover uso the lash, the
horse is so timid that the slightest cor
rection overpowers its reasoning facul
ties. Speak to the creature; reassure
the palpitating frame; seek to restore
those perceptions which will form the
best guard against any repetition of tiro
faulty action.
There is nothing hotter for cleaning
painted woodwork than a piece of
common India rubber. Rub the wood
as if you were erasing pencil marks, and
then pass a dry brush over if. No wa
ter is necessary.
Boon Yield op Crops —The average
yield of crops, according to tho census
returns, is only about fourteen dollars
per acre for all tho land in cultivation
in the United States. This is a poor
showing, and shows the great need for
improvement in our agriculture.
Mu. Thomas Swartz, ofTruxelvlllo,
Snyder county, is reported to have
raised 815 bushels of com from (i ; acres
of ground.
Hop merchants—Dancing masters.
fOIICOH, o 00
UnjjalxUnca, 7 oo
ilßpor lino un»
tiers,
i(.s, oxint,