American volunteer. (Carlisle [Pa.]) 1814-1909, January 30, 1873, Image 1
The American Volunteer PUBbianßD EVERY THURSDAY MORNING •Tolm 33. Brattou OFFICE SOUTH MARKET SQUARE. Terms.—Two dollars per year If paid strictly la advance. Two Dollars and Fifty Cents if paid within three months, after which Thro© Dollars will bo charged. These terms will be rigidly adhered to In every Instance. No sub scription discontinued until all arrearages are paid, unless at the option of the Editor. |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,