The Potter journal and news item. (Coudersport, Pa.) 1872-1874, August 06, 1873, Image 1

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jno. S. Mann,
PUBLISHED every wedxksdat at
c (:> U PERS I 5 O BT, PA.
Cor. Mo in and Third.)
T j, • Ms . *1 .75 PES VE AS IS ADVANCE.
Jnt .. S. .Maun. *• F. Hamilton,
proprietor. PuHMter. |
Attorney at Law and District Attorney,
Office on MAIS St.. ' ™ cr the P"*t tffice,
Solicits al! business to his profession. ;
Special attention given to collections.
Attorneys at Law and Conveyancers,
CulirrOoßs promptly a.i>cM to.
Arthur B. Mann.
-r t i:.* malice A.-nt i SvUlij Public.
attorney eat law,
~S'. md St. opposite Court House.)
Attorntj at Law and lusnrance Agent*
! rri< r IR r>t.B=TFi> BU' K.)
[ IMv.T. ■
Baker House,
Bhows & KELI.Y. Propr s.
f erner of SIX ONI) and EAST Streets,
i ctv attention paid to the convenience i
comfort of guests.
*f stabVng attached.
Lewisville Hotel,
(orner of MAIN" and NORTH street's.
IF .ti Stabling attached.
IfiiN ST. ABOVE SECOND, .over French's store,: ' j
: •' Ps- - ' e, (Lazing. Graining, Calcirnlning. !
-■ g. P*per-tiaugi!ig. eu-., j<
w;th neatness, promptness and
dispst.-h in an cases, and j t
satisfaction guar- .
ajit 1 e . 1
inEfi PAINTS fcr sale. 2<2s-t j
I ■ C'-OS J. S. MANN 1
f'rsrs Medicines Books, Stationery, )
O r. Main and Third Sts.,
' rner Main and Third.)
N arrieal and Mechanical Dentist,
M . t ran teed to give satisfaction.
v a .— 1
... "all J:bter k Billing Marine, 5
'EH \ ii' >NING. Cameron ccc. l'a. j <
'V; •• dDi: CCTSHISGLK MACMMX to | ,
L ? y. inches.
5 -rn -t; Ylaclune* and Generai Custom M\.-rk •
>rt*r. 2422-tf
: <
• will! UrUin, i
°us p , H i ii ,
Omental, Hcroratiif & frcsto
hE U\lNtj and paFeR HANGING clone 1
*Uh neatness and dispatch.
■---•etion guaranteed.
ter t wiiJj
t Ua IVEK house
• : umptly ;u Leaded to. j C
r ' c w agon-making, PlactsmithlngJ 1
1 • i, . v? " Trimming an t Repairing ffint- .
r- t . • neatneas and (iurahiiitv. Charges *
542& tv \
IVU,,, 'E W OHK, .
s, 'ik r.. v ' ' * • s, .V'e and workmanship, on
fj *'ier "* bie terms. J
4 Nii iTa'i? n or !f,,? at the office of .Torn ,
•' a ii! receive prompt attention- ; '
at Sprin^field-
Heres the sjk>L Look around you. Above on
the height
Lay the Hessiangencamped. By that church on
the right
Stood the gaunt Jersey farmers. And here ran
a wall—
j You may dig anywhere and you'll turn up a
Nothing more. Grasses spring, waters run flow
ers blow
Pretty much as they did ninety-three years ago.
Nothing more did I say: stay one moment;
you've heard.
Of Caldwell, the parson, who ouce preached the
Down at Springfield? What. No? Come—that's
tad, why he had
All the Jerseys atlainel And they gave him the
Of the "rebel high priest." He stuck in their
For he loved the Lord Gd—and he luted King
He had cause, you might say! Wheu the Hes
sians thai day
Marched up with Knyphausen they stopped on
their way
At the "Farms," v here his wife, with a cliiid in
her arms,
Sat alone in the house. How it happened none
But God —and that oue of the hirliug crew
YY ho filed the shot. Enough:— there she lay
And Caldvveii, the chaplain, her husband, away!
Did he preach—did he pray? Tliink of him as
you stand
By the old church to-daythink of him and that
Of militant ploughboys: See the smoke and the
Ol that reckless advance—of that straggling re
Keep the ghost of that wife, foully slain in your
And what could you—what should you—what
would you do?
Why just what he did: They were left in the
For the want of more wadding He ran to the
Broke the door, stripped the jiew s and dashed
out in the road
Y\ iih bis arms full of hymn books, and tiirew j
down liis load
At tlieir feet; Then, above all the shouting and :
Kang his voice—"Put Watts into 'em —Boys, give
'cm Watts!"
And they did. Tliat is ah. Grasses spring.
flowers blow
Pretty much as they did ninety-three years ago. j
Y'ou may dig anywhere and you'll turn up a j
But not always a hero like this—and that's all. 1
—Uret Harh . !
How did I know she was a widow.
Don't you give give nje credit for
any common sense or discrimination
at all?
How do you know that a rose is
| red ?
How do you know lubster salad
from sardines?
I knew she was a widow from the
very moment I took the corner seat!
in the car, opposite to her little black
bonnet with its fluttering breath of
crajx* veil and the Astrachan muff
that k Id two tiny, black-gloved
How I envied that muff.
Don't tell me of your Yenuses,
your Madonnas and your Marys
Queen of Scots—they couldn't have
held a candle to this delicious little
I never did believe in grand beau
ties !
A woman has no business over
awing and impressing you against
your will.
And she was one of your dimpled,
daiM -f-iced creature-, with soft brow n
eyes, long-lashed and limpid and a
red mouth, which looked as if it w as
just ready to l>e kissed.
And then there was a tangle of
golden spirals of hair hanging over
her forehead and braids upon braids
pinned under her bonnet, until a hair
dresser would have gone frantic at
the sight.
.lust as I was taking an inventory
of these tilings, in that sort of Unob
servant way that 1 flatter myself be
longs to a man of the world, she
dropped her muff and of course it
rolled under the car seat^
Wasn't I down on my knees at
once after it? 1 rather think so.
•Thank you, sir.' said the delicious
little widow.
'Not at all.' I replied. 'Can I do
anything more for you?"
•No, thank you—unless you could I
tell me what time we get into Glen
•Gleudale,' I cried. 'Why, I am
going to Glendale.'
Of course, we were friends at once
and the daisy-faced enchantress
made room for me beside her, 'lest,'
as she said, 'some horrid disagreea-;
hie creature should step in and bore ]
her to death,'and I stepped right out
of the musty, ill-ventilated world of j
the railway carriage into an atmos
phere of Eden.
When a bachelor of forty fails in ,
love at first sight—oh, ir hat a fall is j
tuere. my countrymen. No halfj
measure, I tell you.
li Before we had been speeding
through the wintry landscape an
I hour, I had already built up scleral
n blocks of chateaux d' K.<pa<jne. in my
i mind.
1 I saw my bachelor rooms bright
ened with her presence.
'• | I fancied myself walking to church
; ( with her hand on my arm.
,! I heard her dulcet voice saying,
'My dear Thomas, what would you
like for supper to-night?' I beheld
myself a respectable member of so
ciety—the head of a family.
V hat would Bob Carter say now
'• —I meant then.
Bob who was always railing me
on my state of hopeless old baehe
! lorhood; who supposed, forsooth.
, because he happened to be a trifle
younger and better-looking than my
sell that 1 had no chances whatever,
I'd show Bob!
'What did we talk about?'
1 he weather, of course; the scen
ery, the prospects—all the available
topics, one after another; and the
more we talked, the deeper grew my
. She was so sensible and so origi
nal and so everything else, that she
ought to I e!
I discovered that she preferred a
town life to the seclusion of a coun- 1
try residence—so did I. Who would
stagnate when he could feci the
world's pulses as they throbbed ?
She loved the opera—so did I.
She thought this woman's suffrage
j movement all ridiculous—with a be
witching little lisp on the last sylla-!
j ble—l agreed with her.
She thought a woman's true sphere
was home; my feelings surged up
too strongly for utterance and 1
merely bowed my assent.
Here was a delicious unanimity of
soul—a mute concord of sympathy.
M hat would Bob Carter say when
( he saYv this beautiful little robin
lured into my cage. llow I would
lord it over him. How I would in
| vite him to 'happen in any time.' j
How I would, figuratively of course,
hold up Mrs. Thomas Smith over
his envying eves. I uttered au au-
O *
dible chuckle as I thought of these
things which I had some difficulty
in changing into a cough.
'You have got cold,' said the wi
dow sympathetically. 'Do, please,
have one of my troches; they are
very soothing to tne throat.'
I took the trochk, but I did not
•wallow it. I would as soon have
eaten a priceless pearl. I put it in
my left hand breast pocket as near
my heart as practicable.
Her first gift.
'A bachelor like me is used to such
things," I Said in an off-hand man
4 A bachelor." echoed my travel
ing companion. 'Bless me, then
you are not married?'
'Unfortunately, no.'
'lt's never too late to mend,' haz
arded the widow, roguishly.
'That is 1113* sole consolation,' I
answered, gallantly*.
'There is nothing like married life,"
sighed the widow, with a momentary
eclipse of the limpid brown orbs, be
neath the whitest of dropping lids.
'But what's the use of my talking
about it to you? You can't under
stand 4*
•i can imagine," I replied mod
•You must find a wife as soon as
possible,' said the widow looking in
-1 tenth- at the lu-ni of her pocket
handkerchief. 'You are living onh"
; half a life now. Ah, Y*OU cannot 1
think how much happier Y*OU would :
be Yvitli some gentle, clinging being
at Y-our side—some congenial soul
! to mirror Y*our own.'
! Instinctively I laid my hand upon
my heart.
•Do not fancy that I shall lose an
instant in the search," 1 said. '1
have already pictured to myself the '
pleasure of a newer existence.'
'Have you ?' The brown eyes shot
an ai-eh, challenging sparkle toward
me. *Tell me all about her.'
'Do Y OU really wish to know?'
'Of course I do.'
I congratulated myself mentally
on the fine progress I was making,
! considering the small practice in
love making that I had. Bob Car
j ter himself, with all his ready tongue ,
! and good looking face could not
j have carried on a flirtation more
; neatly.
I 'ls she fair or dark?'questioned
i the widow with the prettiest of ia
' terest.
'Neither, about your complexion.'
'Oh." laughed my interlocutor,
Mitli a charming pink suffusion over
i her dimples.
'ls she young?'
,: 'Yes. about your age.'
j 'Pretty ?'
'More than pretty—beautiful.'
The widoM- arched her perfectly
penciled eyebrows. 'What a devo
ted husband you will make! and
M*hen are you to be married?'
'Are you acquainted M-ith Mr. Car
ter, Mrs. Alverin's brother?" asked
the M idow, presently.
'Yes,' I answered, whh a little gri
mace. 'A self-conceited, disagreea
ble puppy.'
•Do you think so?" asked the wi
dow. doubtfully.
'Of course, as everybody else. So
M ill you, when you meet him.'
'Shall I?'
4 A man who thinks because he's
! got a handsome face and a smooth
tongue, that nobody else lias any j
business in creation.'
'Dear, dear!' twittered my com
panion: 'that's very bad, indeed.'
•Of course, he M ill pay a good deal
of attention to you. if you are 40 be
his sister's guest,' I pursued; 'but it
won't do to encourage Lini.'
'By 110 means. He is a profession
al flirt."
'ls it possible?' lisped the MidoM-.
j And I mentally shook hands Mith
j myself for having thus deftly put
a spoke in Bob's wheel.
First impressions are everything,'
aud I certainly had been beforehand
with the pretty widow. Neither had
I I any compunctions of conscience,
for hadn't Bob been playing practi
cal jokes of all styles and complex
ions on me ever since we had entered
the bar side by side?
'Stupid Tom,' had been his pet!
name for me. ahvays: but this
M ayn't so very 'stupid' a game, after
all. ' )
M bile I was thus metaphorically
hugging myself, the conductor
bawled out. 'Glendale,' and I sprang
1 up to assist my lovely companion
out of the car, cheerfully burdening
myself with bags, baskets, parasols
and bulky wraps.
As we stepped upon the platform,
I nearly tumbled into the arms of—
Bob Carter.
'llullo, Tom!' was his inelegant
1 greeting. 'You don't grow any lighter
as you groM- older.'
1 M-as about to retort bitterly,
when a sudden change came over his
face, as he beheld the pretty widoM
behind me.
•Gertie!" he exclaimed, clasping
both her hands in his.
'Yes, Robert,' she ansM-ered, Mitli
sprakling eyes and flushed cheeks.
•That gentlemen has got my parcels;
he has been very kind to me."
•Oh, has he, though? well, we
won't trouble him any further. I
am much obliged to you, Tom, and
we'll send you cards to the M*ed
•To what wedding?' I gasped.
'Didn't you tell him, G'-rtie?'
•Why to our wedding, the tenth of
next month, to be sure. An repair/
Tom, be careful of yourself for my
And that was the last 1 ever saw
of my daisy faced widoM ! For if
you think I was mean-spirited
enough to go to that wedding, you
are mistaken in my character.
A Terribly Real Story-
Nine days after a storm in the
Gulf of Mexico, a traveler, finding
his May from the salt-pans of West
ern Louisiana, took a little fishing
craft. There Mas that fresh purity ,
in the air and the sea which folloM s
the bursting of the elements. The ,
numerous "bays" and keys that in
dent the shore looked fresher and
brighter and there Mas that repen
tant beauty in nature which aims to
soothe us into forgetfulness of its ,
recent angry passions. The white
winged sea birds ACM- about, and tall
M-ater-foM-1 stood silently over their
shadoM s like a picture alove and be
lOM*. The water sparkled M ith salt i
freshness, and the roving winds sat
in the shoulder ot the sail, resting
and riding to port.
1 he little bark slipped along the
shores and shallows and in and out
by key and inlet, seeling its shadow
on the pure white sand that seemed
so near its keel. The last vestige of
the storm was gone and the little
Gulf-world seemed fresher and glad
der for it. The tropical green grasses
and water-plants hung their long,
linear, liairlike sheaths in graceful
curves, and patches of willow-palm
and palmetto, in many an intricate
curve and involution, made a laby
rinth of verdure. The wild loveliness
of the numerous slips and channels
where never a boat seemed to have
sailed since the Indian's water
logged canoe was tossed on the
shadowy banks, was enhanced by
the vision of distant ships, their sails
even with the water, or broken bv
the white buildings of a sleepy plan
tation in its bower of figs and olive
and tall moss-clustered pines.
Suddenly- the traveler lancied he
heard a cry, but the fisherman said
no—it was the scream of water-fowl
or the shrill call of an eagle far above
dropping down from the blue zenith;
and they sailed on. Again he heard
the distant cry and was told of the
panther in the Lush and wild birds
that drummed and itli almost
human intonation; they sailed
on again. But again the mysterious
troubled cry arose from the labyrinth
of green, and the traveler entreated
them to go in quest of it. The fish
ers had their freight for the market
—delay would deteriorate its value;
but the anxioas traveler bade them
put about and he would bear the
It was well they did. There, in
the dense eoverets of the swamps,
amid the brackish water-growths and
grasses, they found a man and wom
an, ragged, torn, starved. For nine
days they hail no food but the soft
pith of the palmetto, coarse muscles,
or scant poison-berries, the
damp morass, and tiieir drink the
brackish water; and they told the
wild and terrible story of Last
Last Island was the Saratoga and
Long Branch of the South, the south
ernmost wati ring-place in the Gulf.
Situated on a fertile coral island en
riched by innumerable flocks of wild
fowl, art had brought its wealth of
fruit and flowers to perfection. The
cocoanut-palm, date-palm and orange
orchards contrasted their rich foliage
in the sunshine with the pineapple,
banana and the rich soft turf of the
mcsquit-grass. The air was fragrant
with magnolia and orange bloom, the
gardens glittering with the burning
beauty of tropical flowers, jessamine
thicket sand voluptuous grape arbors,
the golden wine-like sun pouring an
intoxicating balm over it: graceful
white cottages festooned with vines.
with curving chalet or Chinese roofs
colored red; pinnacled arbors and
shadowy retreats of espaliers pretty
as a coral gr^ve; and a fair shining
hotel in the midst, with arcades and
galleries—the very dream of ease and
luxury, as delicate and trim as if
made of cut paper in many forms of
prettiness. Here was the nabob's
retreat: in this balmy garden of de
light all that luxury, art and volup
tuous desire could hint or hope for
was collected; and nothing harsh or
poor or rugged jarred the fullness of
its luxurious ease. Ten nights be
fore, its fragrant atmosphere was
broken into beautiful ripples by the
clang and harmony of dancing mu
sic. It was the night of the "hop."'
The hotel -w as crowded. Yachts and
pleasure-vessels pretty as the petals
of a flower tossed on the Mater, or as
graceful shells banked the shores;
and the steamer at twilight came
breathing short, excited breaths with
the last relay*, for it Mas the height
of the summer season. In their
light, airy dresses, as the music
swam and sung, bright-eyed girls
floated in graceful waltzes down the
voluptuous waves of sound and the
gleam of light and color Mas like a
butterflies' ball. The queenly, lus
cious night sank deejier, and lovers
strolled in lamp-lighted arcades and
dreamed and hoped of life like that,
the fairy existence of love and peace:
and so till, tired of play, sleep and
rest came in the small hours.
Hush! All at once came the
storm, not as in northern latitudes,
with premonitory- murmur and fret-
ting, lashing itself by slow degrees
into white heat and rain, but the
storm of the tropics, carrying the
sea on its broad, angry shoulders,
till, reaching the verdurous, love
clustered little isle, it flung the bulk
of waters with all its huge, brawny
force right upon the cut-paper pret
tinesses and broke them into sand
and splinters. Of all those pretty
children with blue and with opales
cent eyes, arrayed like flowers of the
field; of all those lovers dreaming
of love in summer dalliance, and of
cottages among figs and olives; of
all the vigorous manhood and ripe
womanhood, with all the skill and
courage of successful life in them,
not a tithe was saved. The ghastly
maw of the waters covered them and
swallowed them. A few sprang,
among crashing timbers, on a floor
laden with impetuous water—the
many perhaps never waked at all. or
woke to but one short praver. The
few who were saved hardly knew
how they were saved—the many who
died never knew how they were slain
or drowned.
It has twice been my fortune in
life to see such a storm and know its
sudden destruction; once, to sec a
low, broad, shelving farm-house dis
appear to the ground-timbers before
my eves, as if its substance had van
ished into air, while great globes of
electric fire burst down and sunk in-
to the ground; once, to see a pine
forest of centuries' groYvth cut down
as grass by the mowei's scy the. I
do not think it possible to see a third
and survive and 4 do not wish my
soul to be whirled away in the vortex
of such a storm.
At noon or later, after the ruin of
Last Island, a gentleman of a name
renowned in Southwestern story
found himself clinging to a bush in
the wild waters, lashed by the long
whips of branches, half dead with
fear and fatigue. For a time the
hurly-burly blinded and hid every
thing. and the long roll rocked and
tore at him in desperate endeavor to
| wrench loose his bleeding fingers.
The impules of the wind and storm
at such a time is of a solid body and
there is a look of solidity- in the very
appearance of the magnificent force.
But as it abated he thought he heard
a faint cry. and looking around he
saw a poor girl in the ribbons of her
night-dress, clinging to a branch and
slipping from her feeble hold. Tired
as he was, and wild and dangerous
as the attempt might be, he did not
dare to leave her to perish. Choos
ing iiis time in a lull, he struck out
to the bush and reached it just as
her ebbing strength gave way. He
took lier in his sturdy arms and
clinging with tooth and nail, stayed
them both to their strange anchor
age. Faint, half conscious, disrobed
as she was. in the sweet, delicate
features, the cerve of the lip and the
raven trusses clothed in seaweed, he
recognized the Creole belle of last
night,s hop. He cheered and encour
aged her, [minting out that the storm
Mas abating, had abated. It could
not l>e long until search-boats came
and M-liile he had strength to live she
should share it. It proY'cd true.
Generous and hardy fishers and
shijis had come at once to the scene
of disaster and were busy picking up j
the feM- spared by Mind and Mave.
They found the two clinging togeth
er and to that slight bush and thev
took them off, wrapping them in
ready, rough fishermen's coats. The
reader can see the end of that story.
A meeting so appointed had its pre
destined end in a love-match. So
M e leave it and them; the rest of
their HYCS belongs to them, not
to us.
The pair found bv our fishin^.
* •> O I
smack Mere a wealthy planter and
his M ife. For nine days of starva
tion and danger they had clung to
gether. When 1 think of the hus
band's manly care in thus abiding
by the M-ife. I find it hard to recon
cile it with the fact that he only
valued his life and her at a few dol-:
lars—not enough to compensate the
traveler for the loss incurred as de
murrage to the fishermen.
Now Last Island is bat a low
sandy reef, on which a few strag
gling fruit trees try to keep the re-
8. F. Hamilton,
$1.75 A YEAR
membrance of its by-gono beauty.
It is as bare and desolate as the
bones cf those who fillet! its halls
in the cataclysm of that dreadful
night—bones which now waste to
whiteness on sterile shores or are
wrought into coral in the undersea.
—Lippincolfs Magazine.
From Use New York Herald.
Sketch of Jesse R. Grant.
Jesse R. Grant, the father ot Ulys
ses S. Grant, President of the United
States, was a plain, hard working,
earnest and honest man and enjoyed
in his declining years the great con
solation of having seen his son re-
ceive and administer the highest hon
or and authority which the people of
the American nation can confer 011
man. and this by almost unanimous
repetition on two different occa
The family of Jesse K. Grant de
scended from Noah Grant, who came
over io America from Scotland at an
early period, but its authenticated
record begins with Captain Noah
Grant. He entered the United States
service as Captain in 1775 and was
killed in battle on the 20th of Sep
teinber, 1756. He was the great
grandfather of General Grant. His
son, Noah Grant, was born at Wind
sor, Conn., July 4, 1744. He served
through most of the Revolutionary
War, rising to the rank of captain.
He lived for a time in New London
county, it is believed, but he is known
to have resided in Coventry. After
the death of hrs first wife he emigrat
ed from that place to Western Penn
sylvania, where he married again.
The father of General Grant, now de
ceased. was born of this marriage in
January, 1794, in Westmoreland
| county, Pa. He was named Jesse
Root Grant, after Judge Jesse Root,
of Connecticut, with whom his father
claimed relationship. The family
moved to Ohio in 1799. At that
time schools were almost entirely
unknown in that country, and the
only education Root Grant ob
tained was derived from a few
months' schooling when he was
about fifteen years of age. His father
although tolerably well educated
himself, took little interest in in
structing his children, and the family
could not well afford to seek abroad
for the advantages which they lacked
at home. Young Grant had a matter
of fact turn of mind, and seeing that
he was destined to obtain bis living
by the Sweat of his brow, be cast
about for some remunerative employ
ment. He finally selected the tan
ning business. In 1820 he removed
to Point Pleasant, a small village,
twenty-five miles from Cincinnati.
Here he became acquainted with his
future wife. This lady, Miss Hannah
Simpson, was born in November,
1798, in Montgomery county, Pcnn.,
where she was brought up and edu
cated. In 1818, she. with her father's
family, emigrated to Ohio and set
tled in Clarmont county. In June,
i" 21, Mr. Jesse 11. Grant and Miss
Simpson married and settled at Point
Pleasant. On the 27tli of April, 1522,
their first child was born. As is not
unfrequently the ease in such circum
stances, there was no little discussion
on the subject of naming the illustri
ous stranger. Finally, the following
method was adopted of solving the
difficulty. The various names which
had been suggested were placed in a
hat and shaken together, and it was
agreed that the first one drawn out
should be adopted. That name was
••Ulysses." and the future Lieutenant
General was calle 1 Ulysses Simpson
Grant, receiving for his middle name
the maiden name of his mother.
About a year after the birth of the
General Mr. Jesse R. Grant removed
to Georgetown, the couuty seat of
Brown county, where he settled him
self permanently in the tanning busi
ness. Here five other children were
born to him. Mr. Grant, Sr., profit
ed by his own early experience and
gave all his children a good educa
tion. Indeed, he did rather moro
than that, for we find him writing to
a friend, a very few years, since that
he had "divided $120,000 among his
four children, leaving enough for the
support of himself and wife. He did
not include the General iu this divi
sion, as he was then in the receipt of
a large salary from the Government.
Bt i<atient in well-doing.