[The American’ Volunteer
PUBLISHED EVERY THURSDAY MORNING
Joliu B, Bratton,
OFFICE SOUTH MARKET SQUARE.
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IJffcticaL
\ Written for the American Volim/w
TO BESSIE.
Why do sweetest flowers fade
Soonest at a chilling breath 7
Why are those we love best, made
But for that grim reaper—Death ?
Must it be, all earthly Joy
. Shall to sorrow soon be turned,
Mast sad thoughts our hearts employ,
And all cheerful feelings spurned?
Not, If we believe, and trust
In the loving counsel given,—
" Though on Earth, there’s moth and rust
Lay your treasure up In Heavon.l’
Then a blessing shall attend
Every thought and word and deed,
Love with all our actions blend.
- Comfort la our direst need.
Flowers may fade, and droop, and die,
Friends vanish far from mortal eyes,
Low In the Earth they both shall lie,
Bat rise to "Bloom In Paradise."
IPkellaneous.
MONET,
Miriam Leslie was listening to a word
of advice from her stepfather. Mr. Pal
mer. She was a very beautiful woman
of two and twenty, with a face that was
a rare combination of sweetness and
strength. Just now the resolute mouth
and expression of the brown eyes show
ed that firmness in her character pre
dominated, though no look of temper
marred her amiability.
'I have no power over your movements,
Miriam, 1 said the old gentlemen, kindly.
‘You are of age, and the wealth you in
herited from your father Is entirely under
your own control; but *1 am afraid you
are Committing a grave error if you ao
cept Wilton Seymour's offer. I am afraid
he Is a man to marry powers of money.'
‘Why ? I pass over the implied slight
to my attractions ; but tell me.why you
think Mr. Seymour marries me for mo
ney alone.'
‘I don’t know that I mean that exact-
ly. I know that you dre young, beautiful
and talented; bull think ifyou had been
poor you would not have had this offer; 1
‘Again, I why do you think so?'
‘Wilton Seymour Is one of that unfor
tunate c)ass--ayoung man who has lived
upon expectations. He has been educat
ed and supported by an eccentric uncle,
• who jvas supposed to be enormously
Wealthy. Wilton has lived la complete
Idleness, passing through college with
average credit; and since that, moving in
society, received everywhere as the heir
of hia uncle's money, who, when he
died, left it—much less than was suppos
ed—to a hospital. Wilton accepted the
situation gracefully enough, applied for
a situation as clerk in the wholesale
house of Myers & Co., and courted an
heiress. 7
‘You are bitter. I believe Wilton Sey
mour to be an honorable, upright man,
wbo loves me, who is trying to earn a
support for himself, and who dots pot
look upon my money either as a stimu
lus Co his affection or an impediment in
the way of it. 7 <
‘I see you are determined to marry
him. Weil, I will see that your money
is settled upon yourself. 7
‘I love my future husband too well to
offer him insult. My money will .pur
chase him ajunior partnership with My
ers & Co. 7
‘He has told you that.’
'No. Mr. Myers informed mo that lie
could be admitted into the firm If he had
a capital often thousand pounds—only a
small portion of my money. The remain
der may still remain where it is, subject
to Wilton’s check and control.’
'This is-sheer insanity ! I never beard
of such folly!’.
'Miriam’s face grew very sweet as a
look came Into her soft brown eyes of de
votion and trust.
‘lf I am willing to trust myself, my
whole future happiness iu Wilton’s hands,
my money is of little consequence. If he
cauuot win my confidence sufficiently to
contioi my fortune, do you think be cun
win my love—myself ?’
Mr. Palmer moved uneasily in his
chair. %
‘I wish you would listen to reason—l
am truly speaking for your own good,’
he replied.
T know that. After nine years of such
love as my own father would have given
me had he lived; alter seeing your severe
grief for ray mother’s death, your atieo
thm for my little step sisters—your own
Children—never surpassing that showed
to me, do you think that I do not appre
ciate your motives? I thank you from
my heart for your advice; but my whole
future happiness is involved in this deci
sion, and I believe I am deciding to se
cure it.’
‘I sincerely hope so. If in the future
you find I was right, remember I claim
a father’s right to comfort you, a father’s
home to receive you.’
Too much moved by the old man’s sol
emn tone to rely in words, Miriam press
ed her lips upon the kind eyes that look
ed into her own;
‘There, my dear,’ he said gently,'‘l
have spoken as I felt it my duty to ape ik.
Now we will write to Mr. Seymour, who
will became my eon when he becomes
your husband. Get your finery all ready,
and we will have a happy wedding. May
God bless you, Miriam I’
Two hours later, Wilton Seymourcame
to put the engagement ring on Miriam’s
finger, to thank her for his promised
happiness. Looking at this mao, ns he
held the band soon to be bis own, uo one
could doubt bis love for the fair one who
stood before him.
They bad spoken of many subjects
when be said, suddenly:
'Mr. Palmer has told me your generous
wishes, Miriam, with regard to. money.
I cannot consent to this. In time, 1 may
prove how outlroly'l disregarded wealth
when my offer was made to you. It Is
true we must have waited longer before
I could offer you a home, but ! will wlp
my way to fortune yet.’
He lifted bis young, noble head as be
spoke, tossing the dark curls from such a
frank, manly face, so full of brave, bright
tsiolutlon, that Miriam wondered In her
heart how any one could look into bis
eyes and suspect him of mercenary de
sires.
Slio said nothing in answer to bis im
petuous speech, only smiled aud nestled
her hand in bis. Kbe was not a caressing
woman—rather coy In her sweet maiden
Joa6 aeoIR
BY JOHN B. BRATTON.
tllgnlly ; but where she gayr I v* anu
confidence, she gave them fuM.r and 'iee*
The days of. betrothal ap d hipldly.
During tho day Wilfnu sfnnd at Ilia deeU
fiogeriug ovri* massive ledgers and
dreaming of future happiness, and Miri
am selebted her liouhu, furnished it, and
kept dressmakers, seamstresses and mil
liners busy. She had nonobjection to her
stepfather’s wish to have house and fur
niture settled upon herself; but was reso
lule about the remainder of her large for
tune being left subject to control of her
future husband.
Busy days were followed by happy
evenings. The young people were favor
ites in society, and friends would insist
upon social.festivities to celebrate the be
trothal. The quiet-home evenings were
these, when two loving
hearts learned to read each other; while
Wilton loved more deeply every day,
Miriam was giving such respect to his
worth and manliness as made her fu
ture look brighter every day.
But the days of the betrothal were
short. A gay wedding, a happy tour,
and the young people came home to set
tle in the handsome new house as quiet
married folks.
Two years of happiness followed. Wil
ton was rapidly rising in the esteem of
business men—having purchased his
position as junior partner in the lirm of
Myers & Co., at Miriam’s earnest re
quest. But, although attentive to his
business he was ho mere drudge seeking
money us the only end and aim of life.
Miriam found him ever a willing es
cort to party, bail or opera; and the home
evenings were given, to music, or read
ing, or such bright intellectual inter
course as had its power of mutual attrac
tion before their marriage.
Virginia,
There were sage people who shook
their heads over-the young wile’s ex
travagance; but Wilton beemed most
happy when she was gratifying some
new whim and desire; and she had ne
ver known the need of economy. Money
had always been at her command, and
there was now no restraint upon her ex
penditures. For. line dress she cared but
little ; though she was tasteful, and her
costumes were always rich and appro
priate; but she was generous and chari
table, loved to collect trifles of exquisite
art around her, patronizing rising'ar
tists, and found no difficulty in exhaus
ting her liberal income year after year.
It was during the third year of her
married life Miriam began to find a
cloud upon the former bright happiness
ot her life. Wilton was changed. In
these three words the loving heart of the
yonng wifesmmned up all her forbodings.
He had.been the sunlight of her life—
loving-, tender and thoughtful. But it
became evident to her that some absorb
ing interest was gradually winning him
more and more from her side.
Evening after evening he left her, on
one pretext or another, oftentimes stay
ing away from her till long alter mid
night. His sleep became restless and
broken, and some absorbing care kept
bis face pale, hia eyes clouded, bis man
ner grave. There was no unkludncss to
complain of. Miriam met ever a tender
caress, a loving word; but she went alone
if She sought society; she missed the
pleasant home intercourse, and a strange
dull fear crept into her heart. Wilton
was becoming miserly.
He denied her nothing, but would
sometimes sigh heavily if she challenged
his admiration of some new dress or or
nament ; and it was evident be curtailed
his personal expenses to the merest ne
cessities. Too proud to complain, Miri
am, suffering silently, praying that she
might never learn to despise her hus
band as a mere money-making machine.
At first she endeavored to win bis confi
dence, but he kindly evaded her inqui
ries, and she made no further efforts.
But her home grew distasteful, missing
the companionship that had made the
hours there fly soswiftly. She had never
felt household cares, trusting everything
to the housekeeper. Sbehad nochildren to
waken motber-Jovo and cure, so she
plunged into fashionable follies and tried
to forget her loneliness. Never had b*r
toik-i been chosen with more faultless
taalo—nsyer had her beauty been more
masked than it now became; and she
sought for excitement us she never had
done in the first happy years of her mar
ried life;
And while Mrs. yeymour was thus
seeking for happiness abroad, that could
not be found at home, her husband's face
grew paler and thinner, and he became
mole absorbed in business cares. One
year more passed, and the hearts that
hud been so firmly bound together seem
ed to be drifting entirely apart.
Miriam was sitting sadly in her draw
ing room one evening, waiting for her
carriage which was to convey her to a
large social gathering at a fashionable
friend’s. She was dressed in costly lace,
over rich silks, and every detail of her
costume was faultless in finish and of
choicest quality. Her face was pale aud
her face very sad.
She looked up as the door opened, hop
ing to see Wilton, though it was long
since he had spent au evening iu her so-'
ciety. Instead of his tall, graceful figure,
the portly form of her step father entered
tire room.
Miriam sprang forward witli a glad
smile.
‘I am so glad to see you,’ she exclaim
ed, warmly.
‘Hut were you going out ?’
•Only to be rid of my loneliness and
myself; I shall be happier here with
you-’
‘Truly, Miriam? Will you treat mo
as your father to-night? I have come
here ou a painful and delicate errand,
and I want your confidence.’
‘You love your husband, Miriam ?’
Tears answered him.
‘Do you love society, dress and excite
ment better than you do Wilton ?’
‘No, no I A thousand limes, uo I’
•Could you give up all these fur bis
sake ?’
‘You have some motive for asking
this?’
‘I have, indeed. I 'love your husband
also,. Miriam. I have learned to respect
him. to trust him, and I was wrong
when you decided to trust your happi
ness in his hands.
‘Hut father some great change has
come over Wilton. Ho seems absorbed
in money-making.’
‘One year ago your husband asked
mo to keep a secret from you, believ-
®h{ Metifan Bo I tinker
ing he was increasing your hi\ppiness
by so doing. I consented, hutNl am
convinced now that the deceit is wrung.
He has assumed a burden that- is'cftjj'
heavy for him to bear, and' yoir'arw
not-happier than you were a yen/ago.))
1 Happier'Kxried Mariaiuinfitllsively;
‘I am wretched, wretched in losing any
husband’s society and confidence I’ .
‘You shall not complain of that
again. I am breaking my promise,
but you will soon understand my mo-
tive. A year ago the bank in which
every guinea of your private fortune
was invested, failed, and everything
was lost. Tliis house, and the money
Wilton had paid to secure his business
position, were all that was left of your
father’s wealth. Convinced that luxu
ry, society and extravagance were nec
essary for your happiness, Wilton em
ployed mo to keep the fact a secret
from you, and braced himself for a tus
sle with fortune, .resolved .to regain
by his own exertion what was swept
away by the failure before you could
discover .the loss. But, Miriam, ho is
over-tasking his strength, and your are
becoming a butt for censures on your
extravagance. My secret has burdened
me too long, and you must now he the
judge of the right course to pursue.’
Miriam was weeping, but the tears
were not all hitter; She gave its full
meed of gratitude to the love that
would have. shielded her from the
knowledge of poverty and pain ; and
yet she could scarcely forgive the want
of confidence in her own ability to bear
the sacrifice that the.deceit implied.
It was long before she spoke, but
when she did her eyes were bright and
her voice clear and firm-
‘The house is mine ? 7 she asfted.
‘Certainly. But it needs such a large
income to sustain such an establish-
ment. 7
‘Tell mo what style of house does
Wilton 7 a income warrant ? I mean the
income he hid two years ago. 7
A smaller house,dear —no, carriage,
no house-keeper; two servants, but cer
tainly no footman in livery;" no obser
vatory 7
‘Stop, atop! I understand you. You
will seo, father, if I am made unhappy
by your kind frankness., Wilton Is in
the library absorbed in business. Will
you wait here while I speak to him ? 7
‘I will come again, 7 he said kindly.
‘Good night, Miriam. Heaven grant
I may have judged your heart right
ly.’
But Miriam did not seek her husband
at once. It seemed mockery to go to
him with diamonds flashing from her
rich dress; so she sought her own room,
and putting aside her evening toilet,
dressed herself plainly but carefully,*
and then kneeling down, prayed with
earnest fervor before she left the apart-
ment.
‘Wilton
The harassed, weary man looked
up.
‘Wilton you should have trusted me.
Give me your heart, your confidence,
my dear husband, 7
He bowed his head upon hef v out
stretched hands.
‘Can you bear it, Miriam? 7
‘I can bear anything if you are beside
me—if you love and trust me. What
I cannot bear is to believe my husband
loves money better than his wife. 7
‘No, no. 7
*1 understand that, now. But there
must be confidence between us. Wilton,
I must bo your true wife, bearing your
sorrows and reverses. 7
‘My own brave darling. 7
He was standing beside her now, and
for the first time in that long, weary
year, the oid bright look was on his
face and the old clear ring in his voice.
His arm was round her, and she leaned
upon his breast.
‘Forgive me, 7 ho said, earnestly, ‘for
doubting your, courage—never your
love, Miriam. 7
She laughed a mejry, bright laugh,
and then playfully closed the desk. She
drew him to a seat beside her, and
sketched a burlesque picture of their
future home, with Mrs. Seymour, in a
crimson dress, frying onions, wh'ilo Mr.
Seymour milked tho cow in the gar
den.
It is four years since Mr. Palmer
broke his promise. A happier homo, a
more thrifty housekeeper, or prouder
husband cannot be found, than in the
pretty house of tho Seymours, whore
love, confidence and happiness will not
yield tho first place to Money.
Accident at a Funeral.—Tim ob
sequies of the late Peter Keihmeror,
who was interred at the Porks Church
Cemetery, on Tuesday of last week,
wore numerously attended. It Is esti
mated that there were nearly four hun
dred sleighs at the dwelling of the de
ceased before the funeral and about five
hundred at tho church upon the arrival
of tho cortege. The funeral was the
largest that is known ever to have as
sembled at tho Forks Church. While
the friends and acquaintances of the de
ceased were collected at the dwelling,
and just when the officiating clergyman
was about to begin the ceremonies at
at tho house, the floor of tho room in
which tho corpse lay and tho mourners
were sorted began to sink slowly. This
part of the house had been constructed
as an addition to the old building and a
subsequent examination showed that
the joists that had been framed into a
piece of timber at one end had been
broken Sioffife'The floor descended so
slowly oBfmose who were in tire room
hatdly knenr what had happpened be
fore they were down. The cellar un
der this part is but little more than
half as deep as an ordinary cellar and
those who were carried ail the way down
were in no way injured. The coffin m
which the deceased reposed wae caught
by several collected persona, and was
therefore not disturbed. Some persons
in the room, believing that the entire
building was coming down, were panic
stricken, and made a hasty exit through
the windows. It required some time to
help tho aged and infirm persons out of
the collar, and all felt relieved when It
was announced that no one hud suatalu
ed any injuries Easton Argun.
CARLISLE, PA., THCfiSJ)AY;TEBRUARY 6.1873,
BING THE BELLS SOFTLY.
Some one has gone from this cold world of ours,
No more to gather lie thorns and Us flowers;
Comoro lo linger where sunbeams must hide
Where, on all beauty, death’s Angers are laid ;
NWoary with mingling life’s bitter and sweet,
Wftfrry with parting and never to meet,
TSomSpbelias gone to the bright golden shore;
King foie Tiell softly, there's crape on the door
Ring tno bell sojtly, there's crape on the door!
' one>lf
Sorao omul's resting from sorrow and sin,
Happy where earth’s conflicts enter not In;
Joyous os birds, when the morning Is bright,
When the sweet sunbeams have brought us
their light.
Weary with sowing and never to reap,
Weary with labor, and welcoming sleep,
Some one’s departed to Heaven’s bright shore.
King the boll softly, there’s crape on the door!
King the bell softly, there's crape on the door I
Angels wore anxiously longing to meet
Ouo who walks with them In heaven’s bright
street:
Loved ones have whispered that some one Is
blest—-
free from earth’s trials, and taking sweet rest.
Yes S there Is one more In angelic bliss—
Ouo loss to cherish, and ono less to kiss.;
One more departed to Heaven's bright shore;
Ring the boll softly, there's crape on the door!
Ring the bell softly, there's crape on the door!
THE DEATH OF KAMEHAMEHA V.
Honolulu, December.l7.—The, death
of his late Majesty Kamehameha V* has
left the Hawaiian 'kingdom without a
head. The sovereign just deceased was
the grandson of the great Kamehameha,
a famous.warriop who, about fifty or six
ty years ago, reduced under his sway all
the islands composing the group, and es
tablished a dynasty. The reign just clos
ed had extended over a period of nine
years, the king expiring*at the ago of 42,
•on the anuiversity of his birth. It had
been known for months that the sover
eign was in a very precarious slate of
health, hut no official bulletin stating
(he facts was allowed to be published.
On the morning of the 11th instant, ho
walked to his breakfast table, and, soon
after returning, lay down and expired
without a struggle, borne account of the
ceremonies observed in this mid-ocean
kingdom on accasion of a death in a
royal family will probably be of interest.
It .is the universal custom among the
natives to wall for the dead. Men and
women join in uttering a long drawn,
plaintive cry, broken Into a quaver as by
the striking of the hand against the
throat. This cry was set up by the
household attendants as soon as the King
was known to have expired. The
standard was lowered and 42 minute
guns fired from the battery on Punch
Bowl Hill, an extinct crater just behind
the city.
•It is ttie custom here, when one of
high rank has died, to immediately pre
pare the body for lying in slate during
the tew hours that this climate will al
low. It is then enclosed in an air tight
cotlln, which remains for several weeks
in the palace, surrounded by signs of
•honor and accessible to visitors. During
this period the natives resort nightly in
throngs to the piemisea and spend the
time walking. In accordance with this
custom the annexed proclamation was
issued by authority df odd of the royal
household :
A Command. —This la a command, a
call, an invitation to the common people,
the tribes, the families and divisions of
;he ancient subjects of the different is
lands, to-assemble ami come, mou; wo
men, and children, to attend upon and
watch the corpse of our King and lord,
to remain there every night until the day
of the funeral. The mauka gate,of the
palace yard will be open for you every
evening until the hour of 7} o’clock, afr
ter which it will be tabu. Drunkenness,
and disorderly or bad conduc't is forbid
den. But the quiet expression of soirow,
and the real songs of grief, is what is al
lowed.
I was one of the few foreigners .who,
by taking advantage of the earliest op
portunity, gained access to the palace be*
fore the gales were shut, which was done
even before the expiration of the brief
time appointed for visitors. The resi
dence of the sovereign Is a small and
plain building in the centre of a large
square, inclosed by a high stone wall
Pissing through the gates, now draped
In mourning and guarded by the police,
we approached the palace steps, on either
side of which a detachment of Hawaiian
soldiers was drawn up, presenting a floe
military appearance. Throngs of natives
.were pouring up the broad way, intent
on taking a lust look at their dead ruler.
All the officers of the kingdom, civil and
military, were in attendance. The body
of the late King lay upon a high dias,
dressed in a uniform that presented an
incongruous combination. There were
red pantaloons and a bbek coat; the
'hands were incased in white kid gloves.
Thre£ orders adorned the breast. To a
stranger in the kingdom, the most inter
esting of the surroundings were the large
mantles which were thrown over the
bier. These are the famous feather
cloaks, the peculiar possession of royalty.
They are made by fastening yellow feath
ers upon a network of twine, the feath
ers being procured from a bird that bears
only one under each wing. ‘A vast
amount of time and labor must be ex
pended to make one of these mantles,
wnich are large enough to cover the body
of a man and fail in folds about him.
They descend from generation, and are
never allowed to pass out of the royal
family, forming as they do the Stale
robes. The appearance is exceedingly
teautiful; a line golden color is en
hanced by the graceful forms in which
the flexible material naturally falls.
At the head of a dias was a stand bear
ing the sword and hat of the deceased,
and on other tables were flowers and a
sliver dish iu which was burning in*
censc. The Cabinet Ministers stood to
gether at the head, while the sister of the
King, known as Ruth, the only surulv
lug member of the race of Kamebaraebaa,
sat by the side of the corpse, the picture
of sorrow. On each side of the body
were two men continually waving what
are called kahilis. These are stafls bear
ing feathers, made to stand erect like gi
gantic plumes. The original idea In this
custom la said to bo to keep evil spirits
aloof from the dead. It is general ob
servance* among tbo natives. The Hue
of visitors passed by within view of the
body, and out into the palace yard.’ On
the veranda of a house adjoining the
King's residence stood a native woman
who has for many years exercised bound
less control over the King. She bus.
been known us the "sorceress, M and Is
understood to bavesustuiued to him even
more intimate relations. 6he was utter
ing the wail for the dead at the top of
her voice. She hada girdle drawn tight
ly around lief body to assist in the pro
longed exercise of the lungs, Her mis
used power Is gone, and she knows her
self to bo the object of
The burial of the late King will not take
place for several weeks.
CAUSE OF DEW.
If dew “fell,” It would fall for the
same reason that rain falls; but dew
does not fall, It is simply a deposit of
moisture, always contained in the air to’
a greater or lesser degree, and which,
when there is enough of it, will always
form on any cold body exposed to the
moist'air, in precisely the same way
that a cold bottle or stone taken from
a cool cellar and suddenly exposed in
the shade to the moist, warm, summer
air, will become wet; this is not sweat
ing, nor does this moisture come out of
the bottle nr stone, as many people be
lieve, hut from the air. It is for the
seme reason that moisture will con
dense against the window-panes, when
the air is cold outside, and moist inside,
the moisture slowly freezing, while its
deposits form crystals of lie, which wo
so often admire in winter. When the
weather-is cool enough, the moisture
deposited will even freeze on plants
and grass, and then we call it hoar
frost; if it does not freeze, it is simply
dew. The only point left to ho ex
plained is, why does the ground be
come as cool during the night, so much
cooler than the air above it, as to cause
the latter to deposit Us moisture ? This
was_ for years a vexed problem, till
Wells first suggested the radiation of
obscure heat, which takes place from
the surface of the earth through the
clear atmosphere into the space above,
and so causes the surface to become
much cooler than the air itself. He
demonstrated this by means of there
mometers placed at different heights,
and also by the fact that dew is only
deposited on cloudless nights. When
there are clouds they reflect the heat or
prevent it from escaping. The surface
of the earth thus kept from cooling, no
dew is deposited. —Manufacturer ami
Builder.
NOAH’S FLOOD,
admit the powerful agency
of rushing.water in drilling, rasping,
and transporting materials which make
up hills, mountains and plains. Those
traveling icebergs, of which so much is
said, that scoured the face of the earth
in their progress from the north, un
doubtedly were employed by nature to
smooth the surface on a gigantic scale.
But that great flood referred to circum
stantially in the Bible must have been
a terrific event to have impressed all
mankind with a traditional recognition
of its universality.
Sir Henry James, au English engi
neer, has attempted an explanation ol
phenomena that are traceable to ,the
deluge, and especially treats of what
must have occurred by a change of the
axis of the earth in its rotation. If the
globe were of.uniform density the poles
would traverse the circle of evagation
in three hundred days* If the density
increases from the surface towards its
center, something else would follow.
He argues that as the flood commenced
on the I.7th day of the 7th month, in
the GOOth year of Noah’s life, and cov
ered all the land 150'days, and after
having destroyed every living thing
sav6 those in the ark, and was just 160
days draining bff into appropriate chan
nels and basins of present oceans, seas,
lakes, and rivers, he has mastered the
problem.
The flood, then, was in consequence
of changing the polarity of the earth.
Whether earthquakes opened vast
rents in the crust of the earth, into
which waters rush from their old local
ities and thus altered the center of
gravity, or whether enormous masses
of Ice broke their fastenings and sliding
along an inclined plane, brought about
the flood, still remains an open ques
tion, which may freely discussed with
out exciting the apprehension of the
police of any country.
Strange Capture of a Murderer.
The power of conscience and the un
bearable weight of guilt could- not be
better ebowu than iu the case of the man
Caldwell, of Coldwator, Miss., who mur
dered his employer, Johnson, and robb
ed him of $l,lOO and escaped, leaving no
traces behind him. .Last Saturday, Dr.
Ritchie, who Uvea at a small interior
town 13 miles from Coldvvater, known
as Thyatala, was on a spree, and the
murder at Coldwater being fresh in his
mind, he accused every one be met, in
a jocular way, of being the roan who
committed the murder, finally he met
a stranger, and being just tipsy enough
not to care what he said, addressed Che
stranger in the same manner.
“Yea—you—you are the man who
murdered Johnson at Coldwater.” A
look of guilt overspread the mao's face,
and simultaneously he ran bis hand in
in, his bosom as If lo draw£ a
weapon. Dr. Ritchie collared him with
his left hand, and with his right drew a
dirk from his pocket, and told him if he
attempted to draw a weapon he would
plunge that knife to bis heart in n sec
ond. He theo commanded the man to
withdraw his hand, which was speedily,
obeyed, when, instead of a weapon, he
drew out the sum of $l,lOO, which he
dropped on tiie ground at his feet. Mean
while a crowd had gathered around the
doctor and his prisoner, and the evidence
of the man’s guilt was by this time so
palpable that ho was placed under arrest
uud securely tied.
The next morning the suspected man
was taken to the jesidence of Mrs. John
son by bis .captors. She at once became
frantic, ami begged to be allowed to treat
Caldwell In the same manner that
lie hud treated her husband, and it was
with difliciiUy tbutshe could be restrain
ed from doing the prisoner harm* On
the way to Hernando Caldwell confess
el lo both (lie murder uud robbery, but
gave no other excuse for the crime than
the desire for the $l,lOO which he hud
seen paid to Mr. Johnson and deposited
in the trunk.
A SHINED FAMILY.
Tho Career of Edward Stiles Stokes—His
Relatives and Victims—A Sad Talo of
Domestic Shame and Sorrow. .
The career -of Edward S. Stokes now
under sentence of death for the murder
of James Fisk, may bo illustrating how
deeply a great crime strikes among the
innocent victims, and that wealth, cul
ture and standing are no sure safeguards
against the saddest vicissitudes of human
experience. It Is rare that a reference of
this kind includes sufferers of like high
prominence, for there are no better names
In New York or Philadelphia than those
borne by persons stricken In this catas~
trophe.
In the year 1838, Edward H. Stokes, a
successful cloth merchant in Now York,
and nearly connected with some.of the
most prominent representatives of tho
wealth and benifictnoo of that city, re
tired from business with a handsome
competency. Eight years previously he
had married a Mies Stiles, daughter of a
leading Philadelphian, and, seeking a
homo of ease and elegance, Mr. Stokes
chose Philadelphia as his future resl
deuce. There his eldest, son was born,
in 1839, and named Edward Stiles, after
a maternal relative. The lad was a boy
of unusual beauty and promise, a quick,
active mind, a generous and loving dia
posilion—these traits being remembered
well after tbo lapse of years by those who
knew him well at that lime. Two daugh
ters and two other sons were bora in tbe
period between 1840 and 1850. The fam*
ily Is recalled as being rarely endowed
with all that seemed needed to insure
the happiness of the household. The
home was one of wealth and luxury, tbe
culturedf the best.
Edward was educated at tno Universi
ty and took high rank as a scholar. -He
went to New York at the age of seven
teen, to enter into the store of Samuel
Perry, an extensive cheese dealer. Perry
failed three years later, and young
Stokes made a new partnership with a
junior of the collapsed house, and they,
as Stokes & Budloug, opened a store on
Veeey street. They had excellent sue*
cess, their foreign shipping trade being
very large, calling Stokes to visit Europe
several times witbin the next few sea
sous. About this time the senior Stokes
was Induced to remove to New York,
where he made his office with his son,
though not originally intending to be
come.entangled in business. Such was
the result, however, and not only were
the father, but other ond prominent
wealthy relatives, gradually but heavily
involved in the extended ventures of
Stokes & Budiong. Tbo failure of the
firm followed and .father and son were ;
thrown into bankruptcy.
With tbe wreck of his fortune young
Stokes embarked next in the enterprise
of establishing an oil refinery at Hun
ter's Point. Three hundred thousand
dollars were expended in the worths,
which were to be of the best class, when
the company fell into difficulties, and at
this juncture the baleful light of Jim
Fisk's countenance comes into the story.
Jim was In the full tide of ills operations
with Erie. He held tbe advantage (we
wish it were lees employed by even more
scrupulous railway managers than be)
supplied by his corporation, in transpor
tation and control of tbe market, as tbe
Erie was the great thoroughfare of tbe
oil regions. A. compact was struck.
Piak entered the refinery company, rein
forced capital, and with a change bf
name and heavy “drawbacks" on the
Erie freight bills, the Hunter's Point
refinery sailed strongly into . Successful
competition. Blokes was secretary ns
well as partner/ Atone time his profits
from the refinery gave him $l,OOO per
\yeek
In 18G4, Stokes married the daughter of
J. W. Southwick, a prominent furniture
dealer in New York, one of the oldest in
bis line in that city. A short time since
one of the oldest-residents showed us a
set of furniture, a wedding ouilit brought
to Chicago, in 1830, bought of Mr. South
wick, who Is now a man of immense
wealth, and still in active business in a
great Broadway establishment. The
wedding of Stokes with Miss Southwick
seemed to lack nothing that wealth, posi
tion and social surroundings could bring
to insure tboir sumptuous home in the
Hoffman House, and moved among the
most brilliant life of the metropolis.
Tho next scene in the drama brings
the infamous woman Mansfield into the
plot. Solomon described her many cen
turies ago, and we fear Solomon knew
what he was writiug about. But his
painting has never been surpassed, and
if-somebody could have slipped Into
Stokes’ mind the little pen portrait made
more than two thousand years ago, of
Josephine Mansfield and her Infamous
sisters, it might have spared tho commu
nity the fruits of the new acquaintance.
Here are some of the wise man's color
ings ot his subject:
She lleth in wait as for a prey, and lucreaaetu
tho transgressions among men.
Her feet go,down to death; her stops take
Hold on hell.
- Her house luclluoth into death, and and her
pains into the dead. None that go unto her re
turn again.
He gooth after her straightway, as au ox go
eth to the slaughter.
She hath cast down many wounded, yea many
strong mou have been Main by her.
Her house Is the way to hell, going down to
ho chamber of death.
The dead are there. Her guests are In the
depths of hell.
And just precisely that happened which
the Son of David predicted ; from the
house of the- harlot the path turned
downward. A quarrel between Fisk
and Stokes followed. It was curried
iutoaflairsof business. Fisk refused to
allow the Hunter’s Point coucerh to
make a dividend and thus cut ofl Stokes’
supplies. The disgraceful relations be
came more shameless, and the father-in
law, Soulhwlok, sent bis daughter and
her child to Europe early in 1871, to re
move her from the scene of scandal,
Stokes, enraged at Fisk, used bis posi
tion as secretary to collect $30,000 from
Devoe, an old merchant, which sum he
held openly and defiantly as his share of
the profits. Fisk caused his arrest on a
criminal charge. Blokes turned to bis
wealthy relatives. No one of them would
bail him, and he was forced to make
terms and submit, and refund the money.
His relations to Fisk were bitter, and out
of the intensity of the evil passions and
criminalities of his position with Mans ■
field, grew murder. Turn to Solomon
again, and there is‘no mystery in the
chain of sequences. It is said that the
same steamer that look out to Europe the
murder of Fisk by Stokes carried a di
vorce produced by her family for his
wife, who still remains abroad:
V **
If'young men In our communities
could only ride on express trains to the
devil, and take no one with them, there
would bo leas to be said, since, aside from
these considerations, it is every man’s
individual tight to barter away his life
and fortune and sacred honor at his own
price. Satan buys a great many of these
poor fellows very cheap, and at short op
tion for seller. But every car is part of a
family train. The shook and crush of
shame and disgrace must fall on the in
nocent as well as the guilty. In behalf
of the fathers and mothers and sisters of
the community, lot general warning bo
made of the case of Edward S. Stokes.
Where has romance woven anything so
sad? Where, in modern communities,
have been given more abrupt and start-*
ling variation ol light and' shade, from
the brightest point of promise and assur
ed happiness to the depths of darkness
and misery, than those on which the
curtain falls?— Exchange.
The following, entitled Handker
chief Flirtation, handed to us bya lady
friend, is.published by request:
Drawing across the lips—desirous of
acquaintance.
Drawing across the eyes—l am sorry.
Taking it by tho centre—you are too
willing.
Dropping—we will bo friends.
Twirling in both hands—indifference.
■ Drawing across the cheek—l love
you. ■
Drawing through the hands—l hate
you.
Letting it rest on the right cheek
yes:
Lotting it rest on the left cheek—no.
Twirling it in the left hand—l wish
to be rid of you.
Twirling it In the right hand—l love
another.
Folding it—X wish to apeak to you.
Over the right shoulder—follow mo.
Opposite corners in both hands—wait
lor me.
. Drawing across the forehead—we are
watched.
Lifting to the right oar—you are
changed.
Letting it remain on the eyes—you
are cruel.
Winding around the forefinger—l am
engaged.
Winding around third finger—l am
married.
Putting it in the pocket—no more at
present.
Crumpling up in the hands—l am
impatient.
Tying a knot in one corner—don’t tell
too much.
Tying a knot in the middle—there
will be trouble, or there are other eyes
upon you.
Twisting, and then doubling—let us
go together.
Over the left shoulder—you have de
ceived me.
Tossing it up and catching it in both
hands—come at once.
Touching the right eye twice—repeat
your last signal.
Biting it—l ain angry with you.
■Shaking it slightly—you are a flirt.
Holding it up, and then dropping it
in the lap-forgive me.
Folding and, then unfolding it—l
have something to tell you.
Doubling and striking loft hand with
it—don’t you dare.
Two distinct shakes—stay where you
are.
Clasping it to tho heart—l lovo you
to distraction.
Waving from both hands—come and
help me.
Holding it up without waving—l
wait for you.
Touching tho lips, and then waving
—good by dearest. '
Twisting it around the wrist—l would
kiss you if X dared.
Placing it under the arm—l’ll dance
with you, I’ll go home with you, I’ll
bo with you.
Take corners of tho handkerchief in
each hand and throw over the head—l
contemn you.
Wrapping around the right arm—
you are a fool.
What Sjiokino Does Fob Boys.—
A certain doctor, struck with the large
number of hoys under fifteen years of
age whom tie observed smoking, was led
to inquire into the effect tho habit bad
upon tne general health. He took for
Ids purpose thirty-eight boys, aged from
ib to fifteen and carefully examined
them. In twenty-seven of them he dis
covered injurious traces of the habit. In
twenty-two there were various disorders
of the circulation and digestion, palpita
tion of the heart, and a more or less
marked taste for strong drink. In
twelve there was frequent bleeding of
the nose, ten had disturbed sleep, twelve
bad slight ulcerations of. the mucus
membrane of the mouth, which disap
peared on ceasing from the use cf tobac
co for some days.
The doctor treated them all for weak-
ness, but with little effect until the
smoking was discontinued, when health
and strength were soon restored.
A School girl in one of the rural dls
tricts of Pittsfield, Mass., was over
heard trying to convince a schoolfellow
that she liked him better than she did
some othsr urchin of whom he seemed
Jealous. “Of course I like you better
than I do Bill,” said she, “for don’t I
miss words in my spelling lessons on
purpose, so as to be down to the foot of
the class where you are ?”
Tue compositor has his own way of
punctuating and spelling,, and this is
the way ho treated a certain passage of
scripture: “The wicked flea, when no
man pursueth but the righteous, is bold
as a lion.”
They tell big stories of. the number
of buffaloes out in western Kansas just
now, making their way south, the ani
mals being so plenty la some quarters
that railroad trains cannot bo run with
safely.
An exuberant youth of Pittsfield thus
spoke to a supposed friend:
“Hollo, Zone! Oh excuse me, I tho’t
you were another man !”
Laconic stranger;
“I am.”
Hates of Advortlsliig.
Ho. times aq. a sq, R y t t ye I coJ*
1 week* fl 00 -2 CO «to**CO ». CO 00 *S"cJ
2 ” 150 800 4t0600 9 CO 14 00 SO 02
n 11 • 300 400 500 00011 CO 1G CO 80 O'
1 " 260 4 76 670676 12 60 18 0(> 82 6®
5 “ 800 6 60 660 76014 00 50 00 85 00
0 V 860 6 60 .7 60 860]5f02250 87 60
2 months 4 00 7. 60 86C 060 17 60 25 00 43 60
3 “ 600 86006010601000 80 00 60 00
0 “ 7601000 12 DO If» «' 28 CO 40 00 75 CO
1 year. 10 00 16 CO 20 10 25 Cf 40 00 75 CO 100 QO
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VOL 59.-N0.35.
The American Stock Journal says:
We know of no branch of Uvo slock
husbandry promising more certain
profit in the United (Slates than breed'
ing heavy draft stock, whether of the
English or French breeds.
While traveling in France during
the past summer, we were much pleas*
ed with their work horses which are
mostly of the Percheron," Norman or
Flemish breeds.
. There are very few geldings in
Franco. The reason is, the stallions
are not unmanageable, vicious, and
dangerous as work horses, but docile,
obedient managed and intelligent.—
There is nothing in the nature of things
to prevent our having the advantage of
the greater toughness, strength, spirit,
fearlessness, safety, (in being less liable
to take fright,) freedom from disease,
and long serviceableness of the stallion
over the gelding, were it not that we
and our ancestors have so abused the
temper of the horse, that his progeny
exhibit, among the unaltered males,
vicious and treacherous tempers such
as make them unsafe and unreliable as
work-horses, even under the kindest
and most uniform treatment.
We have seen women and girls driv
ing spiiited stallions through the
streets of Paris with perfect safety and
ease, often leaving them stand with a
number of other horses without hitch
ing. ■ It is a common sight in the streets
of Paris to see three or four large stal
lions driven tanden to a largo cart or
dray, with no lines or anything to
guide thpm but the voice of the driver,
which they obey implicit! jt.
There are a few teams of this class in'
our cities, and they are the admiration
of all who see them. With anything
like an adequate supply they would
becoine fashionable, and the demand
be almost unlimited. The subject is
well worth the attention ol horsemen,
as well as of those farmers who breed a
few horses for sale.
To obtain such animals as rapidly,
and at the same time as cheaply as
possible, American farmers should
import the best 1 and most suitable
.Norman or English stallions. Tin
walk of the best bred of these animal -
is not only quick but their trotting re
tion is fine, and fully.equal to five in
seven miles an hour over a good roe.l,
drawing a heavy load after them.
These qualities not only fit them for
the city dray, but also for all kinds nt
farm and general road work.
Large, well-bred mares should be si-
lected and bred to these stallions, when
the produce would be found all that 1.-
required. Our farmers might com
mence moderately working colts thus
bred, at hco years old; for if well fed
and cared for, at this age they are as
strong as ordinary horses at three and
four years old, and are perfectly able to
do all ordinary kings of farm work.
The breeder thus gains one to two
years on every colt he raises,
thus greatly cheapening their pro
duction. At five and six years old
they may be taken to the city for sale,
where they would readily command
from $3OO to $5OO.
How to Eaiso Cows for the Dairy.
Tlie American block Journal says: A
heifer that is designed for tho dairy
should he brought up with great care,
and in a manner that will tend to make
her grow, and bring out all her good
qualities.
We will suppose that a heifer has
been brought up in such a way to the
age of 15 months, that she is in a thrif
ty condition, and lias every indication
of becoming a good cow. We should
recommend that she should now he
mated with the bull, as by beginning
thus early, we can control in a great
■measure her future devoiopement. As
tho ensuing live or six years will bring
out whatever of dairy quality she may
possess, we cannot be too careful at
first in our training. And first wo
should bo careful about, feeding too
high, as heifers kept in high condition
are liable to have inflammatory action
set up in the udder towards the close
their terra, which often destroys tin
usefulness of a portion of the organ, an.l
tends to hinder the secretion of Hi
milk, thereby injuring tho future rep.i
tatlon of the cow as a nlilker.
As there is always more or less of
inflammation during the first stages of
lactation, the young heifer should be
milked as clean as possible at least three
times a day, and her food should bn
light, with suflicient water, until the
feverishness is gone, when it will be
safe to adopt a more liberal policy.
In the early stages of lactation, cows
have a tendency, to dispose of tlnir
surplus nutrition through the milk
secreting organs, consequently they
should have a liberal supply of good
food at this period, so that not only
nature’s demands may be met, but that
their milk-producing qualities may be
stimulated beyond this. In order to
accomplish this, wo should fed not
only all the moist food the cow will
bear and assimilate, but whatever ol
rieh food that will have a tendency to
produce the largest and best results,
always keeping In mind never to im
pair her digestive powers, or promote a ,
secretive of (at. The cow that does not
respond to such treatment as this should
not he kept for dairy purposes, as those
cows only are profitable whoso milk
producing organa are capable of being
Improved by Judicious feeding.
Wheub agriculture is carried on in
the greatest perfection there is always
the greatest demand for manure.. Thus
is it in England. The area of that
country, as compared to the great ex
tent of such n nation as the United
States of America, is very limited—not
much greater than the single State of
Pennsylvania; yet she consumes an
uuully not less than 800,000 tons of
commercial, fertilizes, which is a much
larger amount than is used in the whole
United States.
llooa
jcutor
3 1 tors'
iKDOOfi
irly Cn
aounc<
meted
Unesa i
:onsiltnte a square,
i’ and Adm’rs 1 . Notices Si a
Notices, 2 00
»’ and similar Notices, il 00
mis, not exceeding six lines, 7 00
emonts flvo cents per lino un>
for by the year,
and bpeolal Notices. 10 ceo'
in ndvei Momenta extra.
;olutni
'Agricultural.
BREEDING DSA.Fr BOSSES,