The American Volunteer
PUBLISHED EVERY THURSDAY MORNING
John B. Bratton.
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Dollars will be charged. Those terms will be
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aorlptlon discontinued until all arrearages are
paid, unless at the option of the Editor.
■poetical.
INCONSTANCY.
Against the curtained pane, beloved,
The snow boats chick and fast,
r The wild wind's sorrowful refrain
Is tolling of the post—
And in the old familiar chair,
Beside the hearth fire's glow.
I sit n nd sing the tender air
You loved so long ago.
Ah, often sluoef the springs, beloved.
Have bloomed above your rest,
I breaths the sWeot eld song that sings
Itself within my breast— '
As children, In the cheerless days
When winter darkly lowers,
Retrace the garden’s sodden ways.
And talk of last year’s flowers. .
It never seemed to you, beloved.
When wo walked hand in hand.
Amid the sunshine and the dew'
Of youth's enchanted land,
It never seemed to you or me
That I could sing or smile *
If you wore lying silently
Within your grave the while.
Wo thought we could not live, beloved.
. If wo wero. tom apart—
That earth would have no more to give
To either stricken heart;
Alas, the change that tlmo has wrought
Your grave has held you long,
And lu n homo whole you are not,
I sing tho dear old song.
Do you look back to me, beloved.
From out your happy sphere,
And deem me false that I can be
Alive, and yon not here 7
Death does not alwoys bring its,balm
To every aching ill—
Life may outlast Us dearest charm.
And heart-break does not kill.
It would have been the same, beloved,
Had I been first to die—
Another love had worn your name.
More dear; perchance, than 1;
Ah, after all these.weary years.
Would you more constant be ?
And would you drop those bitter fears,
And sing the sqng for rae?
—The Aldtnefor March,
A DAY DEEAM.
■ In a long-forgotten pocket,
Tied up with a silken band,
I found H; only a letter
Traced in a girlish hand.'
I read It over and over,
Ah, me! as I did before, -
In the days that were lull of sunligh t
The days that.are no more.
I droamdd ol golden summer.
Far back In a Joyous time,
When every day was a poem,
And evt ry hour a rhyme.
There came a fragrance of roses,
And lilacs and mignonette,
And a sound of sylvan music.
And the eyes that are with me yet.
A flood of purple sunset,
Insclntllant glory came,
Till the deep old forests kindled,
And burned like a fluid of flame,
There came a girlish figure.
With billows of floating hair,
And she bent her face above me—
An angel over my chair!
I saw it all In a moment,
While I held the crumpled sheet
And then, as the vision faded.
The long, gray .city street,
With Ua hateful rush and clamor.
Came back to ray weary eyes;
Ab, still the fruitless straggle!
Ah. still the worthless prize!
I IPmdlanam
| NINETTE'S VISIT
'Hurrahi'oried my brotllerßen,spring
>ng upon me from the front door.
'Mamma says we may' go and see
Chloe und Uncle Bige, and Aunt Pam
ray; eo come right along and get ready
quick.’.
We ran into (be house, where f was
duly arrayed in a drese of which the
memory haunts me atIII, and which
then seemed to be the most beautiful
that could be. It was a huff gingham,
finely striped with white, made low in
the neck, with short sleeves in one puff,
and around the neck, arms and skirt lit
tle points of the same material as the
dress. Th ose little points were more to
me than was ever any point lace to a
lady’of wealth and fashion-; they quite
filled my idea of the beautiful in dress,
and when I was dressed in that, I was
on my best behavior, and felt myself tit
to present to a king. Brother Benny was
also put.into beautiful clothes, according
to a boy's Ideas, and with many injunc
tions to be good, we set forth.
Uncle Bige and Auut Pammy were
not relatives of our family ; but, accord
ing to a quaint New England custom
hrought with the settlers to the country
every man and woman at the head of a
family were addressed with these en-
-.Mdearlng titles out of love and respect.
The road to Uncle Bige’s was full of raa
| terlal for an all day frolic to children. At
the foot of the first hill was a little rill,
i nice for makiug into falls over which
one could sail boats ; at'the second bill
a great wooden watering trough,
nearly smothered in spearmint and pep-,
permint. At the foot of the third bill
was a wide stream, shallow enough to
wade in summer, but a river in high
winter, that turned my father’s mijl just
above, and over the. mill dam poured a
fall of water as grand to my childish
| eyes as any cataract abort of Niagara baa
; | been to my moture years. A little
; | further on was another wide stream, be
i J side which was the school bouse, and
: opposite the school house was another
, | house, where lived a boy named Dick,
•'.J that mother had cautioned, us uot to
■I Play with, because he was always get
•| ting into mischief. Beyond Dick’s house
!luy a Held of wonderful boulders, that
were the delight of the school children at
summer recesses. Beyond this ascended
another hill, and another, on the last of
which was the house of Uncle Blgo.
Charming as were the lures to play on
this beautiful morning, noltb er Brother
| Ban nor I were disposed to loiter; but as
Jj We neared Dick’s house, that dreaded
I boy a pp eared with a basket In bis band,
and said be woe going to Uucle Blge's,
and asked if we Were going there.
Very reluctantly we answered in the
aOlrmative. Then he would go with us.
We knew no way of getting rid of him,
as he went along quietly and pleasantly.
We forgot at lost bis dirty face and rag
ged clothes, and consoled ourselves with
the hope that he was going on an er
rand, be would return long before we
should,, and we would make it a point to
tell Uncle Blge and Aunt Pammy that
we had nothing to do with his coming.
Nothing occurred to further mar our
Pleasure until we reached Uncle Bige’a
house. An ominous stillness prevailed
on the premises, and Dick said, as be
| opened the gate;
I ‘f guess the folks ain’t to hum. 1
JOHN B. BRATTON.
Wo went, on, knocked, bin obtained
uo answer. Dick- then tried t e latch.
The door was fastened.
'•’Never mind/ said Dick, ‘you’re mu i
and Upcle BlgeV folks won’t .nind ir it
we go In and rest/
Dick then ralajd a window,uu I, quick
as thought, slung himself in and opened
the door to ua. We walked in, as a mat
ter of course. The old cat ran mewing
to meet us, but the fire was all covered
with ashes, for an all day’s absence.
‘They won’t be borne till night/, said
Dick, pointing to the fire y ‘you see the
fire’s covered up for ail day. Sit dowm
and rest, and I will got you a drink.’
I thought mother had made a great
mistake about Dick, for a kinder boy X
bad never seen, and I felt sure we would
not bave known bow to get along if
Dick bad not been wltb us, for Benny
nor I would.never have thought of such a
thing as trying to go into a bouse that
was fastened up. But, as Dick said, I
thought Uhole Bige’s folks would not
care about It one bit.
‘Now/ said Dick, after he had given
us some water, (be took the best glass
tumblers for the water, instead of tbe
dipper,) ‘I guess you are sorter hungry
after your walk? If Aunt Pamray was
here she would give you a slice of her
bread and butter, and she won’t care if
I do as much for her, now that she is
gone.?
But Dick could not dud tbe bread at
once. He concluded It must be down !u
the cellar. Soho opened the fire, blew
a coal until it uiazed; and with It he ig
nited a candle, and went down into tbe
cellar. Soon he appeared with a loaf of
bread and a plate of butter.
‘There's pies down there,’ said I>iok.
‘l’m sure Aunt Pammy would never let
you off with plain bread and butter. She
thinks too much of Ninette there, not to
give her a piece of pie.'
‘Don’t meddle with the pies,’ said
Benny.
‘Never you mind—l know what I atp
about,’ said Dick. *1 know Aunt Pam
my' better than you do; I’m doing Aunt
Pammy now,’ and Dick disappeared
again in the cellar, and soon'.emerged
bearing a pie.
.‘There’s lots of cider barrels there,’ said
Dick. ‘Uncle Bige always' gives every
one that comes to bis house a good drink
of elder, and we’ll have a little cider,
too."
‘Don’t get any cider; I don’t care for
any,’ said Benny. .
’Never you mind; I’m Uncle Bige now,
and you must have some cider to wash
your bread and butter down,' replied
Dick.
■But its lour, I am sure, and I don’t
want it,’ said Benny.
‘I know how to sweeten it, then. Trust
to me to make it good,’ said Dick, and,
taking a pitcher, again he went down.
He was gone a long time, hammering
and fussing, as if getting cider was bard
work, as no doubt it was ; for, instead of
a faucet, Uncle Bige’a barrel bad a gim
let hole fastened by a little bard wood
stick, but in. as tight as Uncle Blgs’s
strong hands could put it, to prevent
leaking, and driven in besides, so that it
was ail that Uncle Bige could do to re
move it when he wanted to draw cider
for his friends.
But after a while Diok re-appeared
with the cider, and proceeded to serve
out the refreshments.
‘Where Is the candle?’ naked Benny.
‘lt’s down In'the cellar, I will bring
It up presently, when I am sure I am-
through,’ said Dick.
We ate our bread and butter with great
relish, but with a sort of guilty feeling
we ate after it the pie; but when we came
to the cider it was so sour that we refus
ed it entirely.
'l’ll make it good,’ cried Dick. ‘Aunt
Fammy’s good victuals shan’t be spoiled
for any fault in Uncle High's cider.
He then proceeded to rummage the
pantry until he found the saleratus.
This he made One, and put it into half a
tumbler of cider, which instantly foamed
up like soda water.
'Quick! Drink it quick while it foams,’
cried Dick.
But we could not drink it quick. We
wore not used to that sort of thing, and
when it was through foaming it tasted
so much of the saleratus that we could
not drink it all. Dick, however, man
aged .bis own portion admirably, as be
did also a most generous portion of bread
and butter and pie.
‘lf you had an egg in this cider I think
you would like it,’ said Dick.
'I think we had better go home,’ said
Benny.
‘l'll go in a minute,’ said Dick. ‘You
Just wait till I get a'drlnk.'
Dick was gone a long time. The old
clock in the corner ticked terribly loud,
the cellar door was wide open, and it
yawned below like a pit of darkness. We
felt as if we bad done something awful,
and as if something would presently
come from the cellar aud drag us down,
when the clock commenced its loud and
ong strokes fo{ the hour of ten. I think
we should have run away at this mo
ment if Dick had not appeared with bis
.dipper full of egge.
'Just look!’ cried he, 'what I'found.
All these eggs under one turkey! How
she did bite me, though! I’m going to
roost them.'
’Now don’t,’ aald Benny.
‘Don't 1’ said I.
‘Pooh!’said Dick. ‘What does Aunt
Pammy care for a few eggs? They are
noc at home, and you have come all
this way to see them, and then to go
home without dinner, you might faint
on the road.’
What it meant to ‘faint’ 1 did not
know, but supposed it was something
awful, from which roasted eggs were to
keep us, and I suppose brother Ben
thought eo too, for he said no more
about the eggs. Diok was a big boy—a
great deal bigger than Ben—and we
thought be must know almost as much
as grown folks, and we were used to do
ing us grown folks said.
Dick now raked open the coals and pul
in the egge* Presently be pulled them
out, and opened them one by one. In
every egg, to his dismay, was a young
turkey Just ready to batch, paving
never heard that young fowls Just ready
to hutch are an epicurean dish In Ibouth
America, Diok rejected bis antidote to
faintness with supreme contempt, and
declared hie readiness to go home at
once. In fact, be seemed now In quite a
hurry to be gone; while, as It woe get
ting towards the beat of the noon, and
€lk iramran loluntwr
we were neither hungry nor conscious of
doing wrong, we were more In the hu
mor for stay In t; but Dick hurried ns off,
Dick had performed the part- of Unde
Bigennd Aunt Pamray to his satisfac
tion; and, doubtless, thought tbe real
personauc* would prove far less enter
taining than their representative, if by
chance they should come upon us in.the
preseu t slate of affairs.
‘Come on/ sah! Dick, ‘Uncle Bige and
Aunt Pammy might come home direct
ly, aud we hud better be going.’
‘I think then wo had better stay/ said
Benny, innocently. ‘I came on purpose
to see them, and it’s a long walk for me
aud Ninette.’
‘But I’ve got logo home/ said Dick.
‘But we bavn’t/ replied Ben. ‘We
came on purpose to stay all day. May
be, too, they might takes us home at
night.’
Dick scratched his head and thought.
Presently -he espied a ray of hope.
•No, I am sure they will not come.
Don’t you see they have burled up the
fire? And something might c&toh you
on tbe road; Didn’t you hear about Ed.
and Jowler stirring up a bear in tbelr
corn field? It may be hiding in tbe gulf
by the school house, and if you should
stay here, and Uncle Bige should not
come to-night, how would you do about
the bear?’
Tbe ‘bear’ carried tbe day, and we set
off, leaving behind us a disorderly
house, which imprinted itself upon my
memory. The ashes and fire brands
strewed the chimney hearth ; egg shells
and prematurely batched turkeys strew
ed tbe floor. Upon the table stood tbe
half-tiHeil tumblers of cider* and from
the pantry beside the chimney corner
peered the fragments of a wbealen loaf,
part of a plate of butler, while dirty plates
were on tbe shelf, in the chairs, on tbe
bedrth and on the table. Crumbs were
everywhere, while the nicely sanded
door bad beSn decorated with hideous
ohaik figures by tbe inventive genius of
Dlok, who, having found a piece of chalk
In the pantry, thus spent the time while
he roasted the eggs. Tbe cellar door
yawned behind, from which the candle
had not been removed, the old clock
ticked hoarsely like a chained watch
dog, and leaving wide open windows and
doors, and hurried by Dick, wo hasteuetf
home.
That night, when Uncle Bige's family
returned, they were much astonished.
Could it be possible that some band of
strolling thieves bad entered and strip
ped their house? The house was open,
tbe fire was out, and the days of matches
Were not yet come. They wore obliged
to bring firebrands from a neighbors
before they could examine the place; and
Bonny and I afterwards recalled the
singular fact that we bad that night seen
Uncle Bige’s star roaming about tbe
hill, Instead of standing still, as usual.
When the light was produced, a rigid
search was made, which developed the
fact (bat nothing was missing of value,
and.that the candle had burned to its
socket In the cellar, where the eider was
fast running away, from Dick’s inability
to properly fasten tbe tap. The next day
the whole neighborhood was set to won-
dering as to tbe persons and cause ol
their visitation, which led Ip a question-
ing of Benny and myself, aud revealed
tbe secret.
. Uncle Bige had a jolly laugh over our
visit, was thankful that bis house was
not burned, but was not a.bit grateful to
Ulok for gathering that nest full of eggs
from tb* turkeys, and, as their number
of turkeys was limited to one pair at
that time, I dare not say our visit was
remembered by them until after their
next Christmas dinner; while the repri-
mand we received for our part in the
transaction imprinted it upon our mem-
ories for life.
The ‘Wonderß of the World.
, The seven wonders of the world are
among the traditions of childhood, and
yet it is a remarkable fact that 99 per
sons out of every 100 who might be
asked the question could not name
them. They are the pyramids—the
mystery of the past—the enigma of the
present—and the enduring for the fu
ture ages of this world. The temple,
the walls and hanging gardens of Baby
lon, the most celebrated city of Assyria,
and the residence of the kings of that
country after the destruction of Nine
veh. The Chrysele phantino statue of
Jupiter Olympus, the. most renowned
.work of Phidias, the illustrious artist of
Greece. The statue was formed of gold,
and was sitting on a throne almost
touching the summit of the temple,
was seventy feet high. The temple of
Diana at Ephesus, which was two hun
dred and twenty years in building, and
which was 425 feet in length, and 220
in breadth, and supported by 127 mar
ble columns of the lonic order 60 feet
high. The mausoleum at Halicarnas
sus, erected in memory of Manaolus,
the king of Caria, by his wife Arteme
sia, B. 0. 353. The Pharos at Alexan
dria, a lighthouse erected by Ptolemy
Soter at the entrance of the harbor of
Alexandria. It was 450 feet high, and
could be seen at the distance of 100
miles, and upon which was inscribed,
“King Ptolemy, to the gods, the sa
viours, for the benefit of sailors.” Last
ly, the Collossus at Rhodes, a brazen
image of Apollo, 105 Grecian feet in
height, and which was to be located at
the entrance of one of the harbors of the
city of Rhodes,
The manufacture of rails by a new
system which does away with manual
labor to a great extent, is to bo carried
on in a rail mill which is now being
erected at Louisville, Ky., at a cost of
$500,000. In the process of making the
rail, the iron passes through thirteen
sots of rolls, without a halt, and is turn
ed over five times for side rolling, fho
iron is taken from the heating furnace,
and transformed into a rail in half a
minute.
They marry young women at auc
tion in China. Hero they are disposed
of at private sale.
It is said that a lame dog is like an
inclined plane because ho.isa slow pup,
while the other is a slope up.
A lad crawling into a sugar hogs
head, his first exclamation was, "Oh,
for a thousand tongues,”
CARLISLE, PA.THURSDAY, MARCH 1873,
[From the N. Y. Police Nows.]
OUE MUBDEEEES AND WHAT TO DO
WITH THEM.
Ex-Qovernor Seymour of New York
delivered a lecture recently, before the
National Prison Association, at their
convention in Baltimore, on “ The
Cause of Crime,’.’ a fruitful topic and
one which he handled with character
istic masterly ability. He devoted
especial attention to the erroneous idea
that the spread of knowledge would
operate as a check upon crime. This
he emphatically denied, claiming that
“the most dangerous criminal is the
educated, intellectual violator of the
law,” and that 11 learning by itsself
only changes the aspect of immorali
ty.” If we would effectually work for
the suppression of crime, he claimed it
must be by the increase of moral and
religious training which we give to our
youth and an elevation of pur standard
of social morality beyond the meagre
require ments of law. He also urged
that the action of the laws should in all
cases be “swift, stern, and certain.”
Certainty more than severity, ho be
lieved, carried a dread of punishment
to evil-doers. Enlarging upon this
point, his words were: ,
•• Lot (ho way of bringing offenders
to justice be direct, clear and un
trarameled. The technicalities of plead
ing, proof, and proceedings in many of
our States are painfully absurd. TO
the minds of most men a criminal trial
is a mysterious jumble. The public
have no confidence that the worst
criminal will be punished. The worst
criminal cherishes at all times a hope
of escape. In every part of our coun
try there is a vague idea that certain
men of legal skill can extricate offend
ers without regard 'to the merits of
their case, This is a fruitful cause of
crime. There is not in the midst of the
American people a clear, distinct con
ception of our penal laws, their actions
and their results. Not less hurtful to
Justice are those fludtations of the pub
lic miud which shakes off spasmodical
ly its customary indifference and
fiercely demands a conviction of those
who happen at such times to bo charg
ed with crime, and thus make popular
clamor take the place,of judicial calm
ness and impartiality. No one feels
that there is in this country a clear,
strong, even flow of administration of
criminal law.”
This is, in a nutshell, a plain state
ment of the wretched condition of our
country, which seems to grow day by
day more prolific in crime, and its only
fault is that it does not put the case
sufficiently strong. There is not mere
ly a “hope of escape” on the part of
criminals, but an actual confidence.—
They would be foolish to think other
wise, in view of the lessons, of every
day experience. Does any person be
lieve Stokes would have deliberately
assassinated James Fisk had he not
felt certain that the means at his com
mands would clear him easily from the
possibility of punishment for his
crime ? It was not the weakness of the
law, but of its administration upon
which he based his expectations of
immunity, and, but for an extraordi
nary outbreak of public sentiment
—more of revolt at the peculiar atroci
ty and cowardice of the manner of
commission of the crime and of sym
pathy with the victim than of moral
indignation at the crime Itself—bis hope
would have been realized. Even yet peo
ple find it almost Impossible to believe
be will actually be bung. They say .it
would be too good to be hoped’ for.
We refer to Blokes merely as as an il
lustration of a class. What we have said
applies to at teast three murderers whose
crimes have been perpetrated since his,
two of w,hleh within this past week. Fos.
ter is a fellow of a different class—a mere
brute—liable from bis villainous instincts
to commit crime at any moment when
opportunity is afforded, especially if be
be drunk, and ought to be bung on gen
eral principles the first excuse be gives
to society for making that disposition of
him. But even he Is not so bad, not so
dangerous an enemy to society as the de
liberate scoundrel, the one who" consi
ders bis chances of escape, finds them
good, commits his damnable crime in
cold blood, and then has tbe audacity to
endeavor to carry it off by mere bravado
and an Impudent assertion of Justifica
tion, generally as false in fact as it is in
suiting to every moral sense in society.
Simmons' murder of Duryea came under
the order of crimes of this class, Magni
der's murder of Lockwood was another
instancs. Still another was the unpro
voked assassination of Charles Pfeifer by
Michael Nixon, also an event of the past
week. The first of this delectable trio
says: 11 1 killed him in a quarrel.” The
other two deem it sufficient to say ; “ I
told him I’d shoot him and I did.” These
men would never have elevated tliem-
selves to their present evil prominence
by the unrestrained gratification of their
worst passions,, had the' - seen Stokes
promptly hung for his crime. They
would have hesitated to take the lives
of their fellow creatures had they any
idea that their own would bo forfeited as
a consequence,
Oov. Seymour was undoubtedly right
when be so lengthily, and earnestly
dwelt upon the Imperative administra
tion of justice, but be was not right in
undervaluing the benefit to be derived
from severity. If we wish ever to have
our laws respected, we must mete out to
offenders against them the heaviest pen-
alties which the laws prescribe. When
a man commits a murder, bang him.
No country ever was cursed with mom
desperate villains or greater numbers of
them, than our far western and border
States and Territories at the time of their
first settlement, yet iu no other place
were ever good order and the safely of
person and property so quickly attained
as there when the Vigilantes got to
work. Every minute that elapses be-
tween the time of the murder and the
execution of the murderer is Just so
much time wasted. That was the prin
cipal of the Vigilantes, and is the one
which should prevail in New York to-
day. Hand in hand together there went
certainty and severity. So must they go
hero, even if wo have to stretch a few
points to effect It.
Let the old gallows In the Tombs bo
set up once raoro, and never again taken
down so long aa there remains a single
person charged with murder even await
ing trial. Let; it bo always ready for
prompt use upon the conviction of an
assassin, whatever his excuses or his
social degree. Instead of bothering
about now trials, and deferring days of
execution even for mouths ahead of the
date of sentence, as is now tho custom,
let the sentence and Its carrying out be
Included in a single day, and if that day
be the one immediately following the
perpetration of tho crime for which the
sentence is pronounced, why then, so
much the better I Even then tho mur
derer will have much more tlmo to
“make his peace with heaven,” if be
can, than he allowed his victim. And
why should we concern ourselves about
what becomes of the murderer in tbe
next world ? That Is something which
he should have thought of before. Our
interest to him only covers his stay in
this life, and if we know what it is for
our own good and the peace of society,
wo will make that stay ns brief as possi
ble.
We would, of course, regret seeing a
vigilance committee necessitated in New
York city, but eveu that would be bet
ter than the state of afiaiis which now
exists. By whomsoever, the work is
done, regular authorities of Vigilantes,
let us see that it is done. Hang every
one of our present crop of murderers, and
our word for it,-.a very long-time, will
elapse before their places are filled, and
we again find ourselves regaled with a
“ man for supper” almost every day.
MURDER OP A ' SCHOOL (URL.
At Salisbury, Maryland, on tho after-
noon of March Bth, a young girl
named Mary A. Shockley was return
ing, in company with four small chil
dren, to her home from the district
school, met a short distance from the
school house,, a young man named
George W. Hall, with carried a gun in
his hand. Hall addressed some words
to Miss Shockley, which caused the
young girl to pause, and thereupon en-
sued a colloquy. Hall asked Miss
Shockley why she had not answered a
letter he had written her the week be
fore. She replied that she couldn’t im
plying that she was unwilling. He
hen said that she could have written
to him as well as to some others he
knew, and expressed a determination
to shoot her then and there. To this
threat the young girl fearlessly replied,
“Pshaw! George Hall, you can’t
frighten me!” Hall then asked the
children if Miss Shockley’s brother
Elijah—a lad of sixteen years—was on
the road, and upon receiving a reply in
the negative ho told a little girl who
was standtng.near his victim to move
aside, deliberately raised his-gun and
shot Miss Shockley through the heart,
and then ran rapidly away into a piece
of woods. The poor death stricken girl
ejaculated “ O Lord I” and fell to the
ground. Two of the children ran back
to the school house and informed their
teacher, who hastened to the scene of
the tragedy only to find hia favorite
pupil lying on the ground weltering in
blood, which was pouring from a
ghastly wound in her side and gushing
from her mouth and nose ns she spas
medically gasped in the agonies of
death. Ho raised her head and asked
her to speak to him, but though she
made an effort to do so her strength
was unequal to the task, and she soon
ceased to breathe.
Hall and Miss Shockley went to the
same school together until a few
months ago, when the" former put aside
his books and went to 1 work on his
father’s farm; Hall had long loved his
victim and pressed his suit vigorously,
hut his affection was not reciprocated,
and upon being convinced that she
would never regard him favorably'ho
determined to take her life. Since the
murder evidence has appeared estab
lishing the fact that ho had long enter
tained an intention to murder her, and
was only deterred from his hellish
purpose by the presence of her brother
as she passed to and from school.
Miss Shockley was about fifteen years
old, of sweet and oven temper, bright
and intelligent, and, was just budding
into womanhood, the brightest and
most beautiful girl in her neighbor
hood, and her tragic death has created
tremendous excitement there. Both of
the actors in this tragedy are of very
respectable families and both moder
ately wealthy.
What Icicles Are.
Icicles are a pretty paradox, formed
by the process of freezing in sunshine
hot enough to melt snow, blister the
human skin, and oven, when concen
trated, to burn up the human body it
self. Icicles result from the fact, that
air is all but completely transparent to
the heat rays omitted by the sun—that
is, such rays pass through the air with
out warming it. Only the scanty frac
tion of rays to which air is not trans
parent expend their force in raising its
temperature. Tho warm puffs of tlio
summer breeze are not heated directly
by the sun itself, but by the earth and
tho objects on it which the sun has pre
viously warmed. The truth of this is
sensibly felt on entering a town after
sunset, from the open country, in sun
shiny weather. Tho same difference of
temperature is never felt at the close of
a cloudy day. This causo is ono ol the
reasons why the air on a mountain top
is colder than the air at its foot. Tho
air on high mountains may be intensely
cold, while a burning sun is overhead.
Tho solai rays which, striking on tho
human skin, are almost intolerable, are
incompetent to heat the air sensibly,
and wo have only to withdraw into per
fect shade to feel the chill of the ai bios
phere.
AN ounce of mother, says the Span
ish proverb, is worth a pound of clor-
Wiiy is a man’s life safest in the last
stages of dyspepsia ? i’.ccause lie can’t
well dlo-gest thou.
A punster challenged a sick man’s
vote at the election on the ground that
ho was an ill legal voter.’
OHTWABD BOUND,
BY THOMAS BUCHANAN HEAD.
Faro yo well, our native valleys,
Ami our native hills farewell ;
Though wo part, your blessed memory
Shall bo with us Uko ft spell:—.
For with you our souls In silence
Breathing for us hopes aiid prayers,
living eyes that weep In secret
Gazing on tho vacant chairs,
Tender hearts made dear unto us
By unnumbered sacred ties,
Bond at eve their tearful vision
• To tho stars that o'er us rise.
These are children, darling children,
In tho April of their years,
In their play they cease and call us,
Ami their laughter melts to tears.
There are maidens overshadowed
With a transient cloud of May,
There are wives who sit In sorrow
Like a rainy summer day. .
There our parents sit dejected
In tho darkness of their grief,
Mourning their last hope departed
As tho autumn mourns Its leaf.
But tho prayers of these are with us
Till the winds that fill the sails
Seem to bo tho breath of blessings
From our native hills and vales.
Then farewell, the breeze is with ns
And our vessel ploughs tho foam ;
God, who guides tho good ship seaward
Will protect tho loved at homo. '
ABOUT SONGS,
We find that about the songs that de
light us are clustering many memories
that would render them doubly sweet
were their history only known. It has
been to us a matter of surprise that no
book has been written embodying the
romantic history of our ballads. In
this article, wo propose to give, mostly
from memory, an account of a few of
the’ popular lyrics, as an example of
what materials such a volume could he
composed.
“Annie Laurie,” is an old Hcottjsh
song, written by a Mr. Dougins of Fin
land, which after slumbering for years,
almost forgotten, was introduced anew
to the. musical world by the Misses
Cummings, in their celebrated Scottish
concerts. It owes its wondrous popu
larity to an accident which happened
during the Crimean war, on tho even
ing proceeding the battle of the Alma.
The allied troops had marched from
Baltsckik Hay to the Alma, when upon
tho Bouljanak, a small stream, they
bivouaced on the evening of the 19th of
September, 1853.
Tho march had been a severe one,
and the tired men, after their evening
meal, had gathered around the camp
fires in knots, to while away the time
in talk of home and those near and
dear to their hearts. It was when the
troops wore thus engaged that a High
lander of Sir Colin Campbell’s brigade
began singing in a clear, strong voice,
this sweet song. Tho effect was elec
trical. The cherished recollections of
their native lands stirring their hearts,
one by one the Scottish troops joined in
the music, until from thousands of
voices the refrain
'Ami for bonny Annie Luurie
I’d Iny .mo down imd dee. ” ’
swelled forth in the evening air. Noxi
morning, in that terrible charge in col-
umn, many a voice was stilled forever,
and many a stout heart, in truth, had
laid down and died.
11 rsver of Thee.” About this song
linger the sad memories of a gifted son
of genius. Foley Hail, its author, was
a gentleman of wealth and great intel-
lectual endowment. Admired and
pelted, ho led a wild, heedless life, in
which his wealth molted away until he
had not wherewithal to buy his daily
bread. The woman he had loved dis
carded him. In the deepest distress,
he composed this charming song. A
London publisher gave him one hun
dred dollars (or it—a more pittance for
such a spendthrift. He wrote other
successful songs, but in a moment of
weakness, depressed with poverty, he
forged tho name of his publisher, and
notwithstanding that most strenuous
efforts were made in his behalf by his
many friends, in which tho publisher
joinedf Foley Hail was thrown into
Newgate Prison, whore lie died broken
hearted, before his trial came on.
“ Home, Sweet Homo,” a song that
can never grow old, was composed by
our great -countryman, John Howard
Payne, when wandering a homeless,
penniless stranger, in the modern
Babylon. It was during one of these
nights, when suffering from hunger and
impecuniosity, lie listlessly walked tho
streets of Paris, that, through tho un
drawn curtaihs, lie noticed tho fires
glowing upon the hearths of the
dwellings which he passed, and the
families gathered around their cheer
ful light, betokening the happiness
reigning within. Depressed with his
unfortunate condition, tho emotion of
his heart found utterance in (ho form
of this sweet song, which lie wrote next
day (Sunday), in an upper room of the
Palais Royal. It is sad to think that
from the bitter anguish of a heaven
born mind this exquisite result should
follow, and yet the world's history is
filled with many more examples of the
paradox, in “'agony joy is born.”—
Watson's Art Journal ,
Robin Redbreasts, when they,with
more than usual familiarity, lodge on
our window-frames and peck against
tho glass with their bills, indicate se
vere weather, of which they have a pre
sentiment, which brings them nearer
to the habitations of man.
Spiders, whoa seen crawling on the
wall more than usual, indicate rain. In
tho summer, the quantity of webs of
the garden spiders denote fair weather.
Swallows, in flnoand settled weath
er, fly higher in the air than they do
just before or during a shower or rainy
time- Then, also, swallows fly low,
and skimming over the surface of a
meadow where there is tolerably long
grass, frequently stop nnd~liang about
the blades, as if they were gathering
insects lodged there.
Ravens, when observed early iu the
morning at a great height in the air,
soaring round and round and utioring a
hoarse, croaking sound, indicate that
the day will he lino. The raven fre
quenting the shore and dipping him
self in tho water, Is also a sign of rain.
YOL 59—N 0.43,
THE BALDWIN LOCOMOTIVE , WOEES.
In tho year 1819 Mr. Matthew Baldwin
started as a Jeweler and silversmith, the
trade to which ho had been apprenticed,
in a small shop and in a small way in
Philadelphia. Finding, after some years,
that he was doing no good as a Jeweler,
he determined to try some other branch
of business, and in 152-5 he formed a part
nership with a machinist, and began the
manufacture of bookbinders’ tools and
cylinders for calico printing in a small
alley way running ofl Walnut street, in
wbat.ls now the “down town” section of
. Philadelphia. Three years later, having
bought an engine to furnish their rarf-w
chlnery with steam power, and finding
that it was unsatisfactory for their pur
pose; Mr. Baldwin himself designed and
constructed one especially adapted to
their requirements. The efficiency and
success of this engine, and Its acknowl
edged excellence of workmanship, turned
Mr. Baldwin’s attention to the Improve
ment r>f steam engines, and that Just at
the time, 1820-30, when the feasibility of
working railroads by locomotive Instead
of by, horse power, or by stationary en
gines, was being so commonly discussed
by American engineers and railroad men.
Mr. Franklin Peale, at that time the
proprietor of the Philadelphia Museum,
by way of catering for the public inter
est and amusement, requested Mr. Bald
win to construct a working model of a
locomotive forexhibltiou in tho museum,
This was in IS3I, the year’ after Peter
Cooper’s little locomotive. “Tom Thumb”
had beaten the horse car on the Balti
more and Ohio Railroad. On the 2*sth of
April the miniature engine was set in
motion in tho museum, in the presence
of a crowd of spectators, and with such
success that 'Mr. Baldwin shortly after
received an order to build a locomotive
for tho Germantown Railroad. Making
some Improvements in the design of his
I museum model, he set to work on his
difficult task, doing most of the wprk
with his own hands, with unsuitable
tools, improving many of them, and
having to educate the mechanics who
assisted him as the work .progressed*
The result was the. “Old Ironsides,” Mr.
Baldwin’s first locomotive; a four
wheeled machine, with nine and a half
inch cylinders of eighteen inch stroke,
and Che driving wheels of which were
fifty-four inches in diameter. It was
put upon the track on November 20,1832,
was a marked success, and was in active
service for fifteen or twenty years after
wards. The following day the United
&tntcs Gazette thus, commented on the
trial
“A moat gratifying experiment was
made yesterday afternoon on the Phila
delphia, Germantown and Norristown
Railroad. The beautiful locomotive en
gine and tender, built by Mr. Baldwin,
of Philadelphia, whose reputation as an
ingenious machinist is well known, were,
for the first time, placed on the road.
The engine traveled about six miles,
working with perfect accuracy and ease
In all Us parts, and with -great velocity.”
Tho six miles was traversed by the Old
frnnsldes at a speed of twenty-eight
miles an hour, a performance which
caused such wonder and curiosity that
the people flocked to see it, and paid high
prices for the privilege of riding behind
it, the officers of the company still regard
ing It as an attractive curiosity rather
than as an all important revolution in
motive power. The following advertise
ment will cause those who have made
the journey by railroad between the At-,
lantlc and Pacific to smile ;
“Notick. —The locomotive engine
(built by M. W. Baldwin, of Fhllad'el
phfa,). will depart daily, when the
weather is FAIR, with a train of-pas-
seuger cars. On rainy days Houses
WILL HE ATTACHED.”
In wet weather it was not supposed
that the sightseers would like a six mile
ride, even behind the hew locomotive;
so, Old Ironsides, the iron horse, was put
in (heatable, and the old car horse took
its place. Mr. Baldwin only received
$.1,500 for his locomotive. Ten times as
much money would not he a largo price
for one now. It was not till February,
1534, that Mr. Baldwin completed hla
second engine for the Charleston and
Hamburg Railroad; hut in the same
year he made one for the Pennsylvania
State Rond from Philadelphia to Colum-
bia, one for the Philadelphia and Tren
ton Company, anil two more for the
Pennsylvania State Road, after the suc
cess of (lie first one was assured. Five
engines In one year were too much for
the limited facilities of the Baldwin
shops, and'in the following year, 1835,
the business ofthe works was removed to
far larger and more commodious shops,
which still form a small portion of those
now in use. From that time the Bald
win Locomotive works have been an in-
stitution in Philadelphia and throughout
the whole country; lu_a Irtter like this
it is utterly impossible to note the in
numerable improvements which Mr.
Baldwin made and the valuable patents
ho took out. No sooner had lie complo*
tod an engine than he wanted to build a
better one, and he soon began to increase
the size of his locomotives, the number
bo ■annually turned out, and the size of
his shops. Onward seemed to bo ins
watchword from the time when the tide
of fortune turned in Ida favor till the day
of his death, September 7, ISOO, The
works have since gone on growing in
size, as the business necessitated, till they
now occupy eix entire blocks of ground.
The year Mr. Baldwin died the works
turned out US locomotives. From that
time the number has increased every
year with rapidity and regularity, till, as
I have already said, the number of en-
gines which now leave the shops in a
month fa about forty. I saw nine power
ful locomotives, complete in every re-
spect, and ready for departure, four being
already placed on thb’tracks in the yard.
It would take the aggregate labor, could
It bo concentrated, of 1,700 men to make
a locomotive in one day. The Baldwin
Works employ over 3,000 men. Ten
days are occupied in erecting an engine
alter ail the thousands of parts, big and
little, have been juade in the foundries,
forges and machine shops. About three
months elapses from the time the order
for an engine la received till it Is deliver-
ed. If the Baldwin Works are turning
out forty a month, they must then al
ways have 120 In various stages of prog-
ress on the stocks. This makes the
erecting shop an exceedingly Interesting
place to the visiter after going through
the shops where all the component parts
.Rotes of Aclvcriislng*
No. nmcfi i sq. 2 Kq. 3 Eg. 4 »q. y 4 c, HC |1 cOl
1 week. 91 00 f 2 00 83 to 81 oo 8? (0 fW 00 822 0a
2 “ 150 300 4CO 600 000 HOO -20 oS
3 “ , 200 400 6on 600 n oo 'lO 00 *BO (R
1 ** 2GO 476 G 73 07512W18 00 S 3 K
ft “ 300 ft 50 060 76014puV000 85 OK
0 •• 350 050 760 8 50 15 60 22 GO 87 K
2 months 4 00 7 50 8 50 *9 60 17 60 25 00 •'« > H
3 " (6 00 8509501060V000 SO 00 50 OH
0 •' f 75010 00 12-50 Ifi Or 2S 00 40 00 75 OX
’ y.° ftr « L 1 00 15 00 2ft- fO 25 • P 40 00 76 00 100 (T
~ U '"asquo l "”*
coc im’"
ul l
Twelve lines cons!ltute a square, •
For Executors’ and Adm’rs'. Notices. $4 00
For Andttore’ Notices, 2 00
For Assignees'and stmllai Notices, 3 00
For Yearly Cards, noioxccedlb# six lines, 7 00
. I-or Announcements flvo cents per lino im
less'oonlrncted for by,the year.
For Business and Special Notices. lbcep»>
per lino.
Double column advci .Jsomenta extra.
of the engine, from the gigantic driving
wheel to the smallest nut ami holt, are
haade. You can see. a gang of men at
work, take a few steps and see what
progress they will have made by the next
day. In fact you can trace their work of
three months in an hour or two's stroll
around the half built engines. It is like
studying the patent ' incubator, where
you see the forming chicken from the
the time the egg is laid till the little *
rooster steps out of his shell. It Is in -
toreating, too, to note the.perfect sym
metry of all the work sent in from (he
machine shop. While the boiler and
heavy forgings have been making all the
smaller work has been cast in the foundry,
turned or planed, as the case may be, and
all the brass work prepared. Those
small pieces are all taken to a department
in the erecting shop, where they are
stored in cupboards, and given out as
wanted on written orders from the fore
man, As every engine in course of con
struction has a cupboard of Us own, and
every little piece has the uumberof the
engine besides its own distinguishing
murk on it, no mistakes can possibly
arise; and it is wonderful to see the ni
cety with which one piece fits or screws
into another as, one after another, they
ore put in their places. In this erecting
shop I saw an old veteran still doing ac
tlVo duty. It is the engine which Mr.
Baldwin made for hla old binders' tool
shop in 1839, and which first turned his
attention to practical engineering. It
must have been splendidly made to last
forty-three years and still be fit for ser
vice.—N. Y. Times.
ANIMALS AS WEATHER INDICATORS,
Ah indefatigable meteorologist has
gathered some curious observations oh
certain animals who, by some peculiar
sensibility to electrical or other atmos
pheric influence! often indicate changes
of tho weather by their peculiar motions
and habits. Thus:
\NT3. —An universal bustle and activi
ty observed inant-hllls may be generally
regarded ais a sign of rain ; the ants fre
quently appear all in motion togethef,
and carry their eggs about from place to
place. This is remarked by Virgil, Pliny,
andothers.
Bats Hilling about late in the evening,
in spring and autumn, foretell a tine day
on the morrow ; as do some Insects. On
tho contrary, when bats return soon to
their hiding places and send forth loud
cries,-bad weather may be expected.
Beetles flying about late In the eve
ning often foretell a flue day on the mor
row.
Butterflies, . when they appear
early, are sometimes forerunners of tine
weather.
Moths and Sphinxes also foretell flue
weather when they are common in the
evening.
Cats, when they “ wash their faces/’
or when they seem sleepy and dull, fore
tell rain.
Chickens, when they pick up small
stones and pebbles, and are more noisy
than usual, afford a sign of rain j as do
fpwls rubbing in the dust and clapping
their wings; but this applies to several
kinds of fowls, as well as. to the gallina
ceous kinds. Cocks, when they crow at
unwonted hours, often foretell rain;
wheu they crow all day, in summer par
ticularly, a change to rain frequently
follows.
Dolphins,as.well as Porpoises, when
they come about and sport and
gambol on theaurfateb of the water, beto
ken a storm.
Does, before rain, grow sleepy and
dull, lie drowsily before the fire, and are
not easily aroused. They also often eat
grass, which Indicates that their stom
achs, like ours, are apt to be disturbed
before change of weather. It la said to
bo a sign ‘of change of weather when
dogs howl and hark much in the night.
Dogs also dig in the earth with their feet
before rain, and often make deep holes in
the ground.
Ducks.—The loud and ciamorou . cack
ling of ducks, geese, and other water
fowls, is n sign ‘of rain; as also when
they wash themselves and flutter about
In the water more than usual. Vigil baa
well described all these habits of aquatic
birds.
Fishes, when they bite more readily
and gambol near the surface of streams
or pools, foreshow rain.
Flies, and various sorts of insects, be
come more troublesome, and sting and
bite more than usual, before ns well as in
the intervals of rainy weather, particu
larly in autumn.
‘Fnocia, by their clamorous croaking,
indicate rainy weather ; as does likewise
their coming about in great numbers in
the evening—this last sign applies more
obviously to toads.
Geese washing, or taking wing with
a clamorous noiso and (Tying to the
water, portend rain.
Gnats atlbrd several indications.
When they fly in a vortex in thobearas
of the setting sun. they furbodo fair
weather; when they frisk about more
widely in the open air at eventide, they
foreshadow heat; and when theassems
bio under trees, and bite more than
usual, they indicale rain.
Hoos, when they shako the stuiks of
corn and spoil thorn, often indicate rain.
When they run squeaking about, and ..
jerk up theft heads, windy weather is
about to commence.
Houses foretell the coming of rain by
starting more than ordinarily, and by
restlessness on the road,
Kike (cattle) are said to foreshadow
rain when they lick their forefeet, or
lie on their right side. Home say oxen
licking themselves against the hair is a
sign of wet.
Mice, when they squeak much and
gambol in tho house, foretell n change
of weather, and often rain.
Owls.—.Wlion an owl hoots or
screeches, silting on the top of tho iiouse
or by tho side of a window, a change of
weather may ho looked for.
Peacocks squalling by night often
fortell a rainy day.
Pigeon's,—lt is a sign of rain when
pigeons return slowly to tho dove-
houses before tho usual time of day.
Toads, when they come frhm their
holes in an unusual number in the
evening, although the ground bo still
dry, foreshow the coming rain, which
will, generally, fall more or less during
the night.