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PUBLISH= iiPEICY—WEDNESDAY _
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all cases in advance.
'or CEnimies
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riir'All • lattiirs 'oh.,.businoss 'should • be; ad
.irenstd to OnoreA, ttionnEnsntt & On.
Votttg.
September
Sweet the*Mee that calls
•
• From.babbling waterfalls
In meadows* where the downy seeds are flying
And soft the breezes olow
And eddying corneal:Ago
In faded gardena where the J ose is dying.
- Among the stubbled corn
- The blithe quail pipes•at morn, •
The merry partridge drumsin hidden places,
And glittering insects gleam
Above the reedy stream
Where busy spiders s pin their flimsy laces.
At eve, cool shadows fall
• • ACTOSS the garden wall,
And on the cLus .ered grapes to purple turning,
And pearly vapors lie
Along the eastern Sky
Where the broad harvest moon is redlyburning.
Ah, soon on field and hill
• The winds shairwhlstie chill, -
And patriarch swallows call ;their flocks to
gether .
To fly from frost and snow,
And seek for lands where blow
The fairer blossoms of a balmier weather.
The pollen-dusted bees
Search for the honey-lees
That linger in the lest flowers of September,
While plaintive mourning doves
Coo sadly to their loves
Of the dead Summer they so well renember
The cricket chirps all day,
" 0, fairest Summer, stay!"
The squirrel eyes eskance the chestnuts brown
ing;
The wild-flower fly afar
Above the foamy bar
And hasten Southward ere the skies are frown
ing.
Now comes a fragrant breeze
Through the dark cedar trees
And round about my temples fondly lingers,
In gentle playfulness
Lite the soft caress
Bestowed in happier days by loving lingers.
Yet, though a sense of grief
.Comes with the falling leaf,
And memory makes the Summer doubly
plkasant,
In all my Autumn dreams
A future Summer gleams
Passing the fairest glories of the present
[Harper•s Magaxine.
literaq.
A LESSON FOR PARENTS
Hurting a Child's Heart.
"I don't expect anything of my chil
dren !"
The tone was fretful, with a quantity
of accusation. The face of the speaker
wore an injured look.
A boy between fourteen and fifteen
years of age sat reading. He moved un
easily, as if pain had disturbed him ;
but he dill not lift his eyes from the
pages on which they were resting.
" The harder a mother slaves for her
children the less they care for her."
The boy moved again, almost with a
start, as though the pain.felt an instant
before had suddenly increased.
" All children are thankless!" So the
speaker kept on talking to a friend, yet
really thrusting at the boy.
" Not all," answered the friend. " I
have a mother, but I know my heart in
regard to her. It is full of love and
gratitude, and I cannot remember the
time when it was not so."
There are exceptions to all rules ; and,
besides, there are few women like your
mother. That would be a cold heart,
indeed, into which she did not inspire
love.
"Love begets love ; that is the old trite
story ; and as true to-day as it was a
thousand years ago. If children grow
up cold and thankless towards their pa
rents—if they early separate from them,
going off into the world, and treating
them with neglect the fault in most
cases Pests with the parents. They did
not make themselves lovely in their
children a eyes."
There followed this a dead silence for
some moments. The boy had let his
book fall from before his eyes, and was
listening intently. His mother saw this
and had a quick perception of what was
passing in his mind.
"Edward," said she, " I don't like
boys in my bed-room. Go down stairs."
This was not spoken harshly. The
mother's tone had changed considera
bly.
The boy arose without hesitation and
left the room.
" I don't think it's always good to
talk before children," remarked the lad's
mother as soon as he had retired.
" A proper regard to our language and
conduct before children," was answered,
" is - a theory of the gravest'considera-
tion. They have keen instincts—their
eyes are sharp—they read us and know
us sometimes better than we know our-
selves."
" They are sharp enough, I suppose
but not so sharp as all that," was an
swered. " I .am not one of those tha
make children of so much importance.'
" Our estimation in the case will no
alter the result, my friends. Of that we
may be certain. As we are to our
children so will they be to us Love be
gets love and kindness good will. If we
do not hurt them wantonly, they will
not in turn wound us by neglect."
" Hurt them wantonly ! I am sure
that I get your meaning !"
" Are you surprised much that Tom
Baldwin made his escape from home at
the first good opportunity ?"
" Well, I looked for it, I must con
fess ; but that don't excuse him. He's
proved himself to be an ungrateful boy,
after all his mother Las done for him.
But, as said' a little while ago, all
children are thankless. I don't calcu
late anything from mine. They'll grow
up, and scatter themselves East anti
'West; getting off as far from hope as
- possible, and I'll probably be left to an
asylum or to the poor-house When I get
old and helpless."
"You talk in that way before your
children ?" said the friend.
"They know my sentiments:"
"So I inferred. In that way you
hurt them. You put their future on
trial, and write out a verdict of condem
nation, when it is impossible for them
to vindicate themselves against your
-cruel charges. I saw your boy stand
and writhe a little while ago, under
your sharp thrusts at him. He was no
party to Tom Baldwin's unfilial act ;
and it was a hard thing in you, my
friend, to make Tom's delinquency the
occasion for smiting your own son,
whom you may bind to you, if you will,
' by triple cords of love notto be broken ;
or push away to a distance, where he
can feel no warmth or no attraction.- 2
Take care ! You are on dangerous
ground."
"Oh L you make too much of children,"
was answered, but with a little obstruc
tion in manner.
" They are simply human beings.
They have sensitive souls, quick to re
ceive impressions. Tender to love, but
hard or resentful toward all unkind
ness. They are creatures of feeling
rather than thought, not generally hold
ing malice, but rarely losing the mem
ory of pain from unjust infliction. In
after years this memory is often revived.
It is my opinion that in a large number
of cases,Where children neglect their
parents in old age the pause lies just
here."
" Ail• of which Is simply vindietive r ''
said the lad's mother, " and a pooreorn
' pliment to human nature."
"Human nature doesn't often suffer
L Iwisgy,through hard judgMetit," was
'.` ; Jut I am l nnt..offering an
Apoiggyfor 4igAivateonabligs, 0Wy..1.9(ik
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VOLUME 66.
after the cause. T 6 prevent is better
than to cure. Forewarned, forearnied.
Islt not much the wiser course for us
to,make sure of our, children's love in
future by offering them lovr in the
present?"
"You speak as though I didn't love
my children." A dark stain marked
the woman's cheeks. There were sud
den flashes in her eyes. She was a
woman of quiA temper.
"Every feeling has its sign," was
calmly replied. " Love, anger, dislike
—each expresses itself in a different
way. These signs everybody knows.
Even the babeof one brief summermay
read them. Edward feels that you do
not love him ?"
" Who says that he feels so?" The
mother started. , There was a mingling
of anger with surprise in her face.
"Must it not be that you withhold too
often the signs of love ?"
" I shall get angry at you, if you talk
to me any longer in this strain."
"No, my dear friend, you must not
get angry at me. Too many sweet
memories of the past are shared be
tween us. Bear with me, now, as one
who holds you in her heart. Shall I tell
to you an incident that occurred in my
house only yesterday? It is under the
warrant of this incident, that I have
ventured on the plainness of speech
which has disturbed you."
The red spots faded off the mother's
cheeks. The keen light went out of
her eyes.
"Go on," she said, her voice dropping
down from its sharp key.
"Edward had called to see the chil
dren. We always like to have him
come. He is never rude, nor coarse in
his manners, but gentlemanly in his
bearing beyond what is usually seen in
lads of his age. I have more than once
compared him with my oldest son, and
wished that John resembled him in
many things. The two boys were in the
parlor alone. John, lam sorry to say,
is not always to be trusted. He is over
curious, and apt to meddle with things
that should be sacred from his touch.
Recently he has become interested in
insects, and has begun to collect and
preserve them.
There was a' vase of wax flowers on
the mantel-piece, the ingenious maker
of which had placed several imitations
of moth and beetles among the leaves.
The vase was covered with glass. John's
new formed interest in etomology had
given a special attraction to these moths
and beetles; and on this occasion he
went so far as to lift the glass covering,
that he might obtain a closer view. In
venturing to do this, one of those acci
dents that so frequently happen with
children and grown up peoplo when
they are not doing just right, occurred.
The glass shield slipped from John's
hand, and cracked to pieces on the floor.
The noise startled and excited me. I
went hastily to the parlor and saw at a
glance the damage which had been
done, and:also comprehended the cause
of the disaster. Edward looked pale and
frightened ; John flushed and grieved.
Repentance and self-condemnation had
come with accident. Even through my
indignation, which could not be stayed,
I saw that. Hard words were struggling
to come through my lips but I repressed
them. Experience warned me to keep
silence until I could speak calmly, and
under influence of reason.
I stood for a few moments, looking at
the shivered. glass, and then, without
trusting my lips to say anything, went
out for the dust pan and brush. I was
glad that I controlled myself. It is my
experience that scolding always does
harm ; and even when it works cor
rection of bad habits, I am certain that
a different way would have been better.
I was quite self-possessed when I re
turned. As I stopped to gather up the
broken fragments of glass, John came
up close to me. I did not speak to, nor
look at him. Edward had drawn back
to a distant part of the room. Silently
the work of collecting the pieces of glass
went on, John standing near me all the
while. It was done and I was about
rising, when I felt his arm across
my shoulder. " I'm so sorry," he
said in a penitent voice, laying his
face down against mine, which I
had turned ' towards him. "It was
wrong to touch it I know ; but I thought
I would be so careful. I can't tell what
made it slip out of my hand." " Acci
dents are almost sure to happen with us,
my son," I answered, gentle, but seri
ously, " when we are doing what is not
right. Let this disaster stand as a les
son for the future." " You shall take
my money and buy a new case mother,"
he answered, in aspirit of manly justice
that was grateful to my ears. "If this
little experience will make you more
careful about doing right," I returned,
" none of us will very deeply regret the
accident." He put his arms around my
neck and kissed me. I kissed him in
return, and then went out, thanking
God in my heart, that he had helpedlme
toself-control in a moment of trial, when
passion would have hurt my boy_
Not long afterwards I heard the boys
talking together. Edward said, "If it
had been may mother, she would have
scolded at me until I was mad enough
to break everything in the house. Why
didn't your mother scold you?" "Be
cause she loves me, and knows that
scolding wouldn't make me half so sor
ry as what I am." " I wish that my
mother loved me," said Edward, in a
tone of voice so sad and longing that it
brought tears into my eyes."
The mother of Edward caught her
breath atthis. Her lips moved as if she
were about to speak ; but she repressed
what wad' in her thoughts, and kept
silent.
" Of course your mother loves you,"
answered John. So the friend con
tinued. But Edward said, "No I'm
sure she doesn't love me." "Why do
yousay that," questioned John. "Mlle
loved me she wouldn't be always scold
ing me, and hurting me by bad words,
no matter what I do. Oh, John, if I
had such a mother as you, I'd be the
happiest boy alive ! I'd do anything
7or her."
There was a silence for some time. It
was broken by the friend, who said :
" Forgive me having told you this.
The wounds of a friend are better than
the kisses of an enemy. Forgive what
may seem exaltation •of myself above
you. He who knows my heart knows
that in it there is no pride of superiority.
He who knows how weak I am, how of
ten I fall short, how near it was to bear
ing me down yesterday. It was in His
strength, that. I overcame and -helped
my boy instead of hurting him. In His
strength you may overcome also, and
win the,love of a child whose heart is
athirst for your love, as' is the - drooping
flower athirst for the dew and rain;"
The mother of Edward buried hex face
into her hands. -For a little her body.
shook with half choked , sops. Then.
eliqui*ed,, up ut,her friend. ECU eyes
weie-wet, her face pale, her lips curved
with pain and grief. „ •
" You are not, hurt, with me ?."
" No, no," she answered. "Not with,
you, but with myselfz What have
been doing . ? What 'madness has pos
sessed me ? I know that love hegets
love—that in Mrs. Howitt's
. beautiful
words it has readier will than fear. I.
know, also, that hardness begets hard
ness ; that driving is more difficult and
far less certain than leading. And yet,
knowing all this, I have sought to rule
my children by passion and force ; to
drive instead of leading them into the
right ways. No, no. I am not hurt
with you. For all this plain speaking,
Which Iso much heeded, I thank you
frona the depth of my heart. If it is not
better with both me and my children
in future, it will not be my fault. But
it shall be better !"
And it was better. How quickly all
changed under a• new order of home
government. Love and kindness found
swift obedience where anger and harsh
ness had met obstruction. Sunshine
dropped in through a hundred Places,
which had been closely barred against
its sweet influences ; and Edward won
dering at the pleasant change, drew
nearer and nearer to his mother, and
felt that she loved him.
0, love ! sweet to all hearts. Ye who,
should give of its treasures, see to it
that your hand fail not in its dispensa-
tion. It has signs peculiarly its own
which are never mistaken. If you would
win love hang out the sign.
Marriage and Divorce in Poland.
One day .a cousin of Count S-'s
arrived; he and his wife were hardly
seated when another couple were an
nounced. They seemed all to be on
most friendly terms. In the evening,
one of the gentlemen played at cards
with the two ladies, and a third, who
was staying at Ostrowski, when he ar
rived. Countess S- said to me:
"Is it not curious to see my cousin
Alexander playing cards with his three
wives ?"
" His three wives !" I exclaimed,
" surely you jest."
"Not at all," she answered. "Nothing
is more common here. He now regrets
having been divorced from the first; he
liked her best ; but she had also married
again. They are all very friendly and
agreeable to one auether." Countess
8- continued: "You will hardly
meet a person in the country who has
not been married more than once. The
Russians reproach us on our facility for
divorce, as they marry for life ; we, for
as long as we please. It is better than
living together on ill terms."
This seemed very startling to me, but
it is a fact of which I was convinced
from personal observation.
One bitterly cold day, when the very
aspect out doors was enough to make
one shudder, Countess S-, Fraulein
Muller and I, were making artificial
flowers ; Anna, who braved I know not
how many degrees of cold, was gone a
sledge excursion with her father. As
we were seated near the window, we
saw a sledge drawn by six horses com
ing up the avenue. We were wonder
ing who the courageous visitor could be,
when the beautiful Cdtintess A ,
near neighbor, was announced. On en
tering, she said to Countess S
"I have not a moment to stay, and
have something very important to say ;
my husband intends proposing for your
daughter; he is an excellent man, so I
beg of you not to let any delicacy of sen
timent on my account be an obstacle to
their union. I have already obtained
my divorce, and am on the eve of con
tracting another marriage. I leave for
Varsovie this evening. Adieu, dear
friend."
So saying she disappeared as quickly
•
as she entered. I own that if athunder
bolt had fallen at my feet, I could - not
have been more surprised. Fraulein
Muller and I, who had stood up to leave
the room, had not time to gain the door
ere the communication was made.
Countess S begged of us to remain,
and as soon as her friend left, observed,
without seeming the least amazed at
what she had heard, that Count A—
was too old for Anna. Undoubtedly he
has a very large fortune, but, athledshe,
" we have almost given ohr word to an
other person." She evidently was no
wise shocked at the strange announce
ment. Accordingly, Count A— did
come next day, made a formal demand,
and was refused, Anna's opinion coin
ciding with that of her parents.
One, of the maids was married one
evening according to the rites of the
Greek Church. 1 remarked that, after
the benediction, the priest, laying the
hand of the bride in that of the bride
groom, bound them together with his
stole; then, taking the other end, led
them round the church. This cere,
mony is symbolical of their being united
for the journey of life. The contrast
between Russian and Polish ideas struck
me forcibly on my return. Entering
the drawing room, I perceived that a
picture had been added to the collection
of family portraits ; the most conspicu
ous is that of an officer in uniform,
holding very ostentatiously in one hand
a snuff box; this, it appears, is a Rus
sian decoration, given by Nicholas to
Countess S 's father, who had
been Marechal de la Noblesse.—
I On one side is the portrait of her
mother, and on the other she has
just placed that of a very stately-look
ing lady. She says it is the portrait of
her father's ; wife, whom she is expect
ing on a visit. She tells me thatduring
lifetime this lady and her husband
frequently spent some time with them,
and it was on one of these occasions
that her father had this portrait taken
and placed beside his own, and that
each time she places it there to please
her. The state of society, so different
from that of other nations, is peculiar to
to that of Poland. It is a matter of the
utmost surprise to strangers, - and most
.difficult to understand how it can be
tolerated.
My neighbor at breakfast, a young
lady they called Countess Marie, fre
quently appears asif she were ready for
the opera or a ball, as far as concerns.
her head-dress. She is rather pretty,
and was to have been married to a per
son she met here last year and accepted;
but when he went to obtain her parents'
consent, instigated by her, they refused,
as she had changed her mind. The
gentleman, furious at being so duped,
as he considered it, deaared that he
would shoot any one who dared propose.
for his fickle lady loNe ; so his rival rer,
tired, as do all admirers as Soon as they,
become aware of the danger tfieye4tose
themselves to. in see,ii - inolle .joung
, lady's hand. I heard 'some oiie say
Countess..4arie will be obliged,
tO,go,Pe Englini4.oget marriedil _The
pngl!a):1 are so origin 1,
onttlipatouigenessef the eltiiika*et
will temiit . „ .
lAN . .OAgTEIi; Pk, WEI*ESPAY
Artemas lirard's Antoblogiaphy
•
NEW YORE, NEAR :SRN ANENOO HOTEL,
3let,
DEATr Bre..—Yrs, into Which you' ask
me tep send -you sum leadin incidetius in
my. .life-so you can, rite my Bogfry for
the papers cum dooly to _band. _I hay
no doubt hist . an article onto'my Are,
grammattycally. jerked and ;properly
punktooated, would be a'addition to the
chaois literatoor of the day. -
To the youth of- Arnetiky it would be
vallyble as showiti how high a pinriikle'
of fame a man' can reach who commenst
his career with a small cauta.s 'that and
a pea-green - ox, which he rubbed it off
while sera,tchin hi:sself agin the center
pole, causin in Rahway, N. T., ardis- .
crimiainating mob to say hiimbugs ,
would not go down in them village.
The ox resumed agricultooral pursoots
shortly afterwards.
I.next tried my hand at given Blind
man concerts ; appearin as the poor
blind man myself. But the infamous
cuss who I hired to lead toe round'town
in the day time to excite sympathy
drank freely of a spirituous liquor un
known to me one day, and while under
them inflooence he • lead me into the
canal. I had to either tear the bandige
from my eyes or tube drowned. I tho't
I'd restore my eyesight.
Iu writin about these things, Mr. Ed
itei, kiner smooth 'em over. Speak of
'em as eccentrissities of gen'us.
My next venture would have bin suc
cess if I hadn't tried to do too much. I
got up a series of wax figgers, and among,
others one of Socrates. I tho't a wax
rigger of Old Sock would be popular
with eddycated peple, but unfortnitly
put a Brown linen duster and a U.
S. Army regulation cap on him,
which people withclassycal eddy cations•
said it was a farce. This enterprise was
unfornit in other respecks. At a certain
town I advertiged a wax rigger of the
Hon'ble A. Perkins. who was a Rail
road President, and a great person in
them parts. But it appeared I had
shown the samefigger fora Pirut named
Gibbs in that town the previs season,
which' created an intense toomult, &
the audience remarked _" shame onto
me," & other statements of the same
similatness. I tried to mollofy 'em. I
told them that any family possessin
children might have my she tiger to
play with half a day, &. I wouldn't
charge 'em a cent, but alas ! it was of no
avail. I was forced to leave, and I in
fer from from an article in the Adver
tiser of that town, in which the Editor
says, " Altho' time has silvered this
man's hed with its frosts, he stills bra
zenly wallows in infamy. Still are his
snakes stuffed, and his wax works un
reliable. We are glad that he has con
cluded to never revisit our town, altho',
incredible as it may appear, the fellow
reelly did contemplate so doing last sum
mer;. when still true to the craven in
stincts of his black heart, he wrote the
hireling knaves of the obscure journal
across the Street to know what they
would charge for 400 small bills, to be
done on yellow paper ! We shall recur
to this matter again."
I say, I infer from this article that a.
prejudiss still exists again me in that.
town.
I will not speak of my once being in
straitened circumstances in a sertin
town, and of my, endeavoring to accoo
mulate welth by lettin myself to Sab
bath school pic-nics, to sing ballads.
adapted to the understandins of hale
children, accompanyin myself on a clai
ronett,--which I forgot where I was one
day, singin instead of "Oh, how pleasant
to be alittle child,"
" Rip, snap—set 'em np!again,
aight in the middle ei a three cent pie,"
which mistake, added to the fact that I
couldn't play onto the claironett except.
making it howl dismal, broke up the
pit-nit, and children said in Voices cho
ked with sobs and emotions where was
their home and where was their Pa?
and I said be quiet dear children, I ant
your Pa, which made a young woman
with two twins by her side say very an-- .
gryly, "Good heavens,forbid you should '
ever be the Pa of any of these innocent
ones unless it is much desirable for
them to expire igminyusly up to a mur
derer's gallus!"
I say I will not speak of this. Let it.
be Berrid into Oblivyon.
In your article, Mr. Editor, please
tell 'em what sort of a man. I am.
If you see fit to kriticise my Show
speak your mind freely. I do not ob
ject to kriticism. Tell the public, in a.
candid and graceful article, that my
Show abounds in moral and startlin
curiosities - , any one of whom is wuth
dubble the price of admission.
I have thus far spoke of myself ex
cloosivly as an ex hibiter.
I was born in the State of Maine of
parents. As an infant I attracted much
attention. The sabers would stand
over my cradle for hours and say, "How
bright that little face looks! How much
it nose !" The young ladies would car
ry me around in their arms, sayin
was "mozzer's bezzidarlin and asweety
'eety ittle ting." It was nice tho'
wasn't old enuff to properly appreciate
it. lam a healthy old darlin' now.
I have allers sustained a good moral.
character. I was never a railroad direc
tor in my life.
Altho' in early life I did not inva' bly
confine myself to truth in my small.
bills, I hay bin gradooally growin re
spectabler ev'ry year. I lovemy chil
dren and mistake another man's wife
for my own. I'm not a member of any
meetin house, but firmly - b'lieve in
meetin houses, and shouldn't feel safe
to take a dose of laudnum and lay down
in the street of avillage that hadn't any
with a thousand dollars in my vest.
pocket.
My temperament is billious, altho' I
don't owe a dollar in the world.
I am a early riser, my wife is a Pres
byterian. I may add that I am also
bald-heded. I keep two cows.
I liv in Baldinsville4ndiany. My
next door nabor is Old Steve,Billins.
I'll tell you alittle story about Old Steve
that will make you larf. He jined the
Church last Spring, and the minister
said, " You must go home now, Brother
Billins, and erect a family altar in your
own house," whereupon the egrejis old
ass went home and builta reg'lar Pulpit
in his setting room. .He had-the jiners
in his house over four days.
I am 56 (56) years of age. Time, with
its relentless scythe, is very busy. The
Old Sexton gathers them in, he gathers.
them in ! I keep a pig this year.
I don't think of anything more, Mr.
Ed'ter.
If you should giv' my portrait in con.-
nection with my Bogfry, please have
me ingraved in a languishin' attitood,
leaning on a marble pillar, leaving my
batik hair as it is now.
Trooly yours, ARTEMUS WARD.
A missionary stationed in Greenland
wrote some years ago : "In the house
of a helper-brother, with whom I stay
ed over night, on one of my visits to
the out-dwellers, I saw two violins
hanging on the wall. I took one of
them, which was small and neatly
made, and found that it had a very
sweet tone: "Where did you get this
violin?" I asked. "My son made it,"
was the reply. The boy is only four
teen years old. I took the other - from
the wall, and supposed it had, been im
ported from. Europe, becauSe it ,was
heautifiilly finished, and had a very
good tone.
I asked again, "but where did you buy
this' one ?", "Buy said the helper ;
"I made it myself." Whilel still keep
my eyes fixed on hint astenishment,
he took the violin out'of MY hand; and
played, very: e,orreetly, some of oar
hymn tunes. When I expressed my
pleasure am:L.B' p4Se, he complained of
having no • more intr:for.. his blur; for
'Oar he, "my wife will hot part with any
naore, : "arieindeed I have •clepriied her
of ; err Much, that she is•deterrnined to
- keep:the' littlnthat Thus his
wifehad Wi,th I:Wr fprli
bim — tid theSOWWith. stri.hp fpr
- • ::-11
BY lELICSELF
The Greenland Violins
gitiocellattiono.
Beer is. Tea. " '
The libndon Telegraph, in an article
on the taxes,, takes 9ceasibA,to§ay,soinc , •:
thing abbut 'beer; (of which the F.,ng
lislirnark-1S so fond,) and 'compares it
with tea, tie duty of which has latelt
been rcduceff, The writer says:
WhereNier the Modern 13"riton goes,
he carries with him, as a kind of liquid
talisman, his bottled beer. He has been
known to take it to the. Arctic regions,
_
and, when it became frozen, to, serve it
out alniostlY the scinare inch; and he
is particularly fond of it in Bengal,'
where' the imprisoned beverage strives
tdescape froth the repre,esing cork with
the impietnositY of a•gtiyhotind -strain
ing at the leash. - •
With an impartial ea.tholitity of pal
ate, the - votary of the amber ale loves to
see its " beaded bubbles winking at the
brim," and yet is never forgetful of the
darker (Alarms possessed by porter or
stout. Boating men—whenever they
are'not wader strict training—cricketers
and the ntiole of the. many English
sporting congiMunity, are sensible alike
to the charrns of the long; thin, narrow
glass, the simpleand unassuming tumb
ler, and the thorough-going - pewter
pot. The prudent and industrious me
chanic prefers the wholesome brew of
native malt and bops to the fiery, for
eign distillations that madden the brain
and shatter the nerireQ.
The statistics of beer drinking are
simply stupendous. Mr. Gladstone, af
ter making all ,the deductions that oc
curred even to his peculiarly exact and
analytical intellect; computed that every
adult male in England consumed the
astounding quantity of six hundred
quarts per annum. .Our beer drinking,
indeed, is like our national debt—at
once a shame and a glory. No other
European people owes so much as Great
Britain, and yet no other nation pays
its way so honorably.; no other could
swallow so much malt Liquor, and go on
with its work so soberly. Trilly, beef
and beer are great, and have had a great
deal to do with our success. Despite all
the arguments and invectives of the
agitators who advocate what is paradox
ically described as a " permissive bill"
on account of itS - prohibitory character,
we adhere to our faith that sound, hon
est, malt liquor does far more, good than
harm; nor should we dreath of oppos
ing any system of financial legislation
which would make it cheaper without
inflicting an extra burden upon the
community.
The Chancellor of the Exchequer, in
deed, maintained that the rich drank
very little ; but the statement cah only .
apply to the rich who have attained a
certain age, and the honorable gentle
man would simply have to go down to
the grand University which he repre
sents, to see that " in life's morning
march, when the spirit is young"—be
fore the muscles have grown flacid,
before the digestion is impaired, before
melancholy and dyspepsia havemarked
the victim for their own—the sinewy
undergraduate retains his traditional
liking for malt liquor. But if beer is
beautiful and beneficial in its way, what,
shall be said of tea'? Were Mr. Mill's
idea of woman suffrage to be carried into
effect, we should like to know what au
dacious legislator would dare to tax the
Chinese plant? By all means, let pater
familias, that n oble being, enjoy his glass
of ale, and let the boys preserve in their
sensible allegiance to Bath, and Allsop,
and Barclay ; but hath not Congou its
claims 1 Is Souchong to be slighted,
Ilyson to be exorbiantly taxed?
In answer to the Shakespearean query,
"Dust thou think, because thou art
virtuous, there shall be no more cakes.
and ale ?" the women of England may
fairly ask, " Dust thou think, because
thou art not particularly virtuous, and
requirest cakes and ale, there shall be
no more buns and bohea?" Out upon
the unchivalric finance that would not
confess the justice of the feminine ap
peal! The teacup, after all, is even
more important than the pewter pot;
and there is one great fact to be borne in
mind, namely, Ilhat redncing the tea
duty we really do cheapen the price of
the commodity to a degree that renders
the boon of practical benefit both to rich
and poor, whilst,thereyisioii of the malt
tax would confer,even upon ,the thirst
iest of " thirsty souls" a newly intinites
simal advantage.
Courting in lowa.
The following circumstances happen
ed in Cedar county, lowa :
A certain young man being out on a
courting expedition, same late. on Sun
day evening, and inorder to keep his
secret from his young acquaintances de
termined to be at home bright and early
Monday morning. Moanted on his
horse, dressed in his fine white summer
pants and other fixings, in proportion,
he arrived at the residence of his ina
morata, where he was kindly received
and his horse properly cared for—being
turned into pasture. The night ‘passed
away and three o'clock in the
morning arrived.
Three o'clock was the time for him to'
depart, so. that he might arrive at home
before his comrades were stirring. He
sallied forth to the, pasture to catch his
horse, •but there was a difficulty—the
grass was high and loaded with dew.
To venture in with white pantaloons
on, would rather take the starch out of
theni and lead to his detection. It would
not do to go in with his white unmen
tionables, so he quickly „made his re
solve. He carefully disrobed himself of
his valuable whites and placed them
safely on the fence, while he gave chase
with unscreened pedal through the wet
grass after his horse.
Returning to the fence where he had
safely suspended his lily unmentiona
bles, 0, 'hOrrible dietu what a sight met
his eyes! The field into which his
horse had been turned was not only a
horse, but a calf pasture too, and the
naughty calves, attracted by the white
flag on the fence, had betaken them
selves to it, and, calf-like, had eaten
them up! Only a few well-chewed
fragments of this once valuable portion
of the wardrobe remained—only a few
threads—just sufficient to indicate what
they once had been ! What a pickle
was this for a nice young man to be in!
It was now daylight, and the farmers
were up, and our hero far from home
with no covering for his "travelling ap-,
paratus." It would not do to go back
to the house of his lady-love, neither to
go to town in that plight. There was
only one resource left to him; that was
to secret himself in the bushes forsome
time, and it may be imagined that his
feelings toward the calf kind were not
of the most friendly character incon
sequence. But, ere long, his seclusion
was destined to be intruded upon. By
and by the boys, who had been out to
feed the calves, returned with the rem
nants of the I denticarw. hite garment
which had adorned the lower life of
their late visitor.
They were mangled and torn to
shreds!! An inquest was immediately
held over them. Sonde awful fate had
befallen the man. The neighbors were
Summoned to searoh for the mangled
corpse, rand the.-posse, with dogs and
arms, set out with all speed. The pas
ture was thrOughly scoured, and then
the adjacent thickets, when lo ! our
hero was driven from his lair by the
keen. -seent of the dogs, all, safe and
sound, minus the linen.
An explanation then ensued at the
expense of cinr hero, but he was success
ful in the ond and married the lady, and
is now lying:comfortably in one of the.
flourishing, towns_ of lowa.
AN orator, in appealing to the "bone
and sinew," said :
"Myfriends, I am proud to see around
me to-xiight.the hard yeomanry of the,
'land,. for I love the nkriculthral
eats of the Country, and well may I love'
them, fellow-citizens,.l for I , was born ai
farmer—the happiest- days of my yOuth
were spent in the peaceful avocations at
a sqn of the soil. If x may be allowed
to Use afigi#ativeerpreasion, rnyfriends
I • friayi'say fi= was raised -between- two
• remi acorn; ;. : 03 ;
tumßis,bai by Okipder vzobdiur
ekcal/liAlel?,PE l 4, (l eOP Jost 4 -11 t Pf #49
_TLe god C9itnnonn In ring
•
Many r.ePeLOOtr,
ton loan in England avoided the reCent,
meeting in igondon, evidently, for : fear
of an-exposure of .their individual com
plicity in therebellious,transaCticM. ,
the _Louden. journals, therefore seein
be at a Jossto , inow ,who the hippy,
speocilatomare, t:hey will be enlighteaed
by. theJoßowing list, of some, of the
British subjects who have thus invested,
with an es,titnate of the losses sustained
by them respectively :--
Sir Henry de Houghton, Bart
Isaac Campbell:it Co., of '4l.- Jermynst.,
London, army contractors __. 150,000
Thomas sterling Bigbee, 51' Mansion -
Haase place, ; London, 140,000
The blarquis of Balls . .500/0
James pence, LiverpoOr,Correspondent .
of the 2imes (under fopoo
Mr. Besford d ope 40,000
George. Edward Seymour, stock broker,
Throgmorton street, 40 , 00 U
Messrs. Fernic 000
Alexander Collie and partners...—...-.... 20,000
Fleetwood, Patten Wilson, L. Schuster,
directors of Union Bank, London, (to- •
&ether). 20,000
W. S. Lindsey 20,000
W.
Sir Coutiti Lindsey, Baronet . . 20,00).
John Laird, M. P., Birkenhead 20 ,
M. B. Sampson, city - editor, Times • 15-000
John Thaddeus Delano, editor, Times.... . . 40,000
Lady Georgians Time, (sistr of ,Lor
Westmoreland) 15,00
J. S. (=Mist. Director of Bank of Eng-
land
D. Forbes Campbell, 45 Dover street,
Picadilly, London 80,000
George Peacock., M. P .. 5,000
Lord Wharneliffe 30.10
W. H. Gregory. M. P 4000
W. J. Ridout, proprietor London .31ora-
...........
Edward Ackeroyd...
Lord Campbt II
Lord Donoughmore
Lord Richard Grosvenor
Hon. Evelyn Ashley, son of Lord Shut
tesburY, and private Secretary to Lord
Palmerston soo
Right Hon. Win. Ey rat, Great Western'. '2,000
The:Attitude of the United States. Gov
erument on the subject is plainly se
forth in the following gificial letter :
MR. SEWARD To MR. ADAMS.
DEPARTMENT OF STATE, t
WASHINGTON, March 12, 1865.
CHARLES FRANCIS ADAMS, Est!. :
Sin : An impression is understood to
prevail in Europe, especially among the
holders of the insurgent loan, for which cot
ton was pledged us security, that in the
event of the restoration of peace in this
country this government will assume the
publio debt referred to. It is believed,
however, that no impression could be more
erroneous. There is no likelihood that any
part of that debt will be assumed or recog
nized by the United States 6-over/intent. It
is proper and advisable, therefore, that by
any proper means at your command yon
should authoritatively undeceive the public
in England on this point
I am, your obedient servant,
WILLIAM H.. SEWARD.
SEV.'ARD TO MR. ADAMS.
PEPARTMENT OF STATE,
WiSIIINWON, August 10, 1865.
CHARLES ,FliAticiis ADAMS, Esq., &c.:
Sin—l have the henor to acknowledge the
receipt of your despate,h, No. 1,022, together.
with papers which eqp.tain an iuterloctury
decree which has been }wide by the Vice
Chancellor in the snit of the United States
against , Prioleau and others, .triaich suit was
instituted for the recovery of Liao 4ousand
three hundred and tiny-six bales .o 4 cotton.
A copy of the Vice Chancellor's reasons ftir
the interlocutory is found among the saane
papers. The Vice Chancellor is under
stood to have affirmed the title of the United
States to the property in question. It is
with the judgment of the Vice Chancellor,
and not with the reasons he assigns for such
judgment that the United States are con
cerned. .1 - n this view of the subject, it might
seem proper for this government to leave
the subject unnoticed. The frankness, how
ever which ought to be practised in the pro
(peelings of States, requires an explanation
of the views which this government has
taken of the questions which the Vice Chan
cellor has discussed in his reasons before
mentioned. The United States do not
admit that the combination of disloyal citi
zens, who have raised the standard of insur
rection, is now or has at any previous time
been a government de facto, or in any sense
a political power, capable of taking, hold
ing, giving, assenting or maintaining cor
poraterights in any form, whether munici
pal or u)klernational. It is true a different
view of tlw i eharacter of the insurgents has
seemed tp i ffn.O. favor with some portions of
the British nap,:iti and even with the British
government. dt )nust be remembered,
however, that as cotiiiias that antagonistical
opinion has been advoiced by her Britan
nic Majesty's government in its intercourse
with the United States; itaa.cas been as firmly,
though, as we trust,.at denied.
The United States C4iitiotent and deny the
declaration of the Vice Chaaielbor that they
'are "successors" Of the rebel:110 ; and, on
the contrary they maintain tliqt they are
now and during all the time of flumidiellion.
have been' just what they word Vetere the .
rebellion began—a sovereign StatOibsolute
ly entitled to the regulation and colitzel of
all property and persons within the United
Suites, subject only to the limitations of
their own constitution. It need hardly
be said that the United States will
hold themselves under, no obligation,
whatever to accept of or to so
conform their proceedings to the condi
tions which the Court of Chancery, or any
other municipal Courtof Great. Britain, may
hie fbe,nresumption to dictate or prescribe
in the pfe'sent orany otherlitigation. They
claim and insist upon the restoration of the
cotton now in question ' and while they are
content to receive it through the decree of
the municipal tribunals of Great Britain'
they insist upon their absolute right to the
swine through the action of ner Britannic;,
Majesty's government. You may instruct,
the counsel who are acting in bthalf of the
United. States the views herein expressed.
Her Majesty's government have not in any
way made themselves responsible for the
positions assumed by the Vice Claineellbr,
mud therefore it, would seem not only nnuee
esEary but even improper to bring, at the
present time, the subjects herein discussed
to the attention of Earl Russell. If,howev
er, you should discover Mather Majesty's
miniscers are laboring under any misappre
hension of the ,views of this government
which should seem to Deed correction, you
will supplyßuch correction upon a proper
occasion, and in a friendly and courteous
'mintier. I am, sir, your obedient servant,
WILLIAM H. SEWARD.
The Ravages or tbe., Cinders in Constant
ntyple.
A correspondent .01 the, New York
Tribune, writin_g - rna...", Constantinople,
under date of the_August, says that
in fifty days the det.ths by cholera
amounted to not less ttkan 50,000. Some
days the deaths averog.Athree thousand
a day. The authorities did not publish
the wholenumber of desalts on any oc
casion. More than one Winched thous
and people have fled the elsy. The city,
instead of being a mart of trade, is avast
hospital. At certain points : tit:did bodies;
in some cases uncoil:ied haid naked,
have been literally piled up by scores
waiting transportation to the burial
places. One of the cholera hospitals on
the old city wall next the sea had rt.slide
arranged down - which the dead bodies
were shot into boats to be buried in the
sea.
Only one death has ooeurred in .the
little American colony here. Theyoung
est son of the Rev. Mr. Washburne died
two weeks ago, afters, few hours' illness.
The American missionaries have de
voted themselves tot he care of the siek
and. dying among the poorer classes.,
and under their treatment hundreds of
lives have been saved. While the aver=
age mortality in the city has been about
sixty-five per cent. of those attacked,
under the treatment of the American
missionaries the mortality has not ex
ceeded five per cent., or setting: aside all
those lighter cases which might be class
ed as cholerine.
The cholera has not • followed any
known laws in its progress here. It has
• been supposed that it avoided high slid
. airy localities,. but here-it has raged with
the greatest severity in some of the high-!-:
. est, best ventilated; and most cleanly
quarters of the city, - while in previous,.
epideinicsnot a single case had' occurred.'
Another singular fact is that the mor
tality among the Europeans -has been
much greater since the decline .of the
disease.than it Was when it was at . ita
height. . - •
• Another"fact:is -that those who have
fle.d::fro - m • infected . districts, in. 'perfect'
health, have generally. been attacked
. with disease. as .soon as they reached
I their new and before that healthy place
:Oliefuge. •
• —"lmournfor nay b eedingeonntry,
• said • a• :certain - army , Woltractor to Gen-
oral Sheridan. • , • • I
4;13p yew .ouglit,,yog oppptAripj, 4 • •rer,
Alo!,1
.131:0#dipi t " r for,Ropo . dy,_ 1 ?1-0,
Utz' *bre than yOtt;" • s
14 , ,NVKBEK..3B.
, .
Caldnel, ,
BiTlVPOSt4lOn'Darlag'the War--
,
How he Is MisrepreSented. -
The Abolition newspaperpress of this
State is' new engaged in "most shame=
fully misrepresenting not only the Tip
sitiori of the Democratic party; but our
candidates. • The latter are abundantly
able to take ciare : Or themselves if they
Copia have a fair chance of being heard.
Colonel Davis has some' advantage in
this respect. In his paper, the Doyles
town Democrat, of this week we find the
following article
Mr. Darlington in the last week's In
telligencer, Made aVonderful display of
two editorials that. appeared in the
Doylestown f Democrat on the 23d and
30th Of August, 1864. While he does
not say it in'so Many wcirds, he leaves
the impits.sion on the public mind that
they were written by us. Mr. Darling
ton knows that when they were pub
lished we were not, connected with the
Domocrat as editor or publisher. What
ever is objectionable or acceptable in the
articles must rest with Dr. Mendenhall,
who was both editor and publisher."'We
did not edit the paper nor control it rom
the time we left home with our regi
ment in the fall of 1861, until our agree
ment with Dr. Mendenhall terminated,
the close of December, 1864. W e simply
protest against tieing misrepresented—
we are willing to bear our own sins,
but not those of other people. As Mr.
Darlington is BO exceedingly anxious
to tell the public what somebody else
said, and hold us responsible for it, we
wonder if he's equally willing to pub
lish what we did say and for which we
are responsible.
If he or anybody else wants to know
our opinion on the terms we were will.
ing to grant the rebels, it will be found
below, an in extract from a letter we
wrote from camp and published over
our own signature : •
From the newspapers we occasion- I
ally receive from the North, we learn
that in some quarters there is a cry of
peace. Peace that follows the over
throw of the rebellion, and the submis
sion of the rebels to the constituted
authorities is wished for by all, and by
none more ardently than the officers
and soldiers in the field ; but we will
not consent to any other. I noticed
that the legislatures of some of the loyal
States have before themresolutions ask
ing a suspension of arms, that negotia
tions may be opened with the rebels.
How joyously would we all hail a re
union of the States, but this road will
neverreach it. Such ameasure will only
prove a disgraceful failure. The rebels
will scorn every proposition that does
not yield their unconditional independ
ence—and who is prepared for this—
until they are whipped and compelled to
give up the contest? They have staked
their all upon the issue, and no honeyed
words can shake their determination.
Without doubt, many honest, patriotic
men favor the plan of a National Con
vention, where delegates from all the
States will assemble and settle our
troubles by negotiation, upon the basis
"of reunion. But they were never more
in error; and if they but knew it, are
favoring a permanent division of the
country. I do no believe politicians can
ever settle our difficulties, for they had
too nuinh hand in bringing them upon
us. The hest negotiators are powder
and ball. There is but one sentiment
upon this subject in the army, which
is, no t erns, or any act which ap
proaches terms with the rebels until they
lay down their arms. If the soldiers
who face danger in the field can afford
to wait for this time to come, certainly
those who are safe at home ought to be
able to do it. It is to be hoped that the
Legislature of Pennsylvania will make
no humiliating proposition upon the
subject of peace, while the rebels are in
arms against us. The contest can only
be settled by the sword. No honest
minded, patriotic man should favor any
course of action that does not have for
its object the overthrow of the wicked
men who are banded together to destroy
our Government."
While we were supporting the Gov
ernment in the field, and the editors of
the Intelligencer enjoying the comforts
of their home, their attacks upon us
were so bitter and persistent that in
November, 1863, we addressed them a
public letter in reply. In this was the
following paragraph about our responsi
bility for what was published in the
Democrat :
" Whatever you may think wrong in
that paper rests with. Dr. Mendenhall,
its editor and publisher, except what
has appeared over my own signature.
It has not been my organ, nor spoken
for me, since I left it, more than two
years ago. You, as an editor, know
that in leaving my paper in the charge
of a gentleman in whom I had confl
deride, I was bound, in good faith, to
Thine its management entirely in his
hands, since I expected to be so far re
moved that my interference might
prove an injury rather than a benefit,
while in no way relieving him of the
responsibility be assumed. Though
owner of the paper, with the exception
of my right to the profits, for- all practi
cal purposes it passed out of my hands.
*
",1. do not know a political newspaper
anywhere wlifch is conducted just to
my notions, and for whose sentiments
I should like to bb held responsible."
We were • a Democtat when we went
into the war, and expected to remain
one through all. the changes of the con
flict. When,volunteds Were called for
in 1861, it was not then announced that
it was necessary to change ode's politics
to become a soldier, but it seems this
was expected before the war was half
over. The ,Democrat support - ed'',Mr.
Lincoln's policy until he changed it to
suit the radicals, when it combatted
them. Although his new policy did not
square with our ideas, we did not let,
that interfere with our duty to the
country, and we remained in service.—
The Intelligencer ought to tell its read
ers that the Democrat was one of the
first newspapers in Pennsylvania to
combat the doctrine of secession ; and
when this dogma assumed the shape of
rebellion we were among the first to
take up arms to enforce our doctrine.—
They were content with engaging in a
paper warfare, remote from the scene of
danger.
We ask no favor from the Intelligencer
or anybody else. Give us - a clear track
4 and fair play, and we will take care of
ourself. We think the editor of that
paper ought to be modest under the cir
d cumstances.
in •
4,000
1000
,
1,000
1,1100
The Snake-Bite Case in Connection
The Litchfield Sentinel gives the par
ticulars of the biting of Dwight, son of
Marvin S. Todd, of Bethlehem, on the
Ist inst. He was sowing rye on the
farm of Horace Cowles, and being thirs
ty, started for, a spring of water, as he
jumped over a fence a copperhead or
schunkhead" snake fastened to his leg
and .refused to let go his hold until the
Tiung man pulled his body in twain.
m youth, not thinking anything
stout- the poisonous qualities of the
snake, paid no attention to its bite until
be-hag,an to grow dizzy. Having a few
days revious read in a newspaper that
alcohul was an antidote to the bite of a
poisoncess snake he started immediately
for. the =house of Mr. Cowles,
about a
mile.dietant, where he knew there was
fourth-proof cider brandy (unconscious
lycarrying the tail of the reptile with
him);but before reaching the house his
tongue twsirce so swollen that he had
to breathe through his nostrils, and his
strength gave nut so that he could not
walk, and for several rods he crawled
on his b.an,ds and knees. He succeeded
in reaching tbe,house, however, but un
fortunately the family was absent. He
crawled azolind the house until he found
the cider brandy and drank about two
quarta of it. This VI he lives) saved his
.life. He was attended by Drs. Davis, of
Bethlehem, and Webb, of Woodbury, is
n - otv - doltig - well; and strong hopes are
entertained of bia recovery. It is sup
posed that when Todd sprang over the
fence he jumped upon the snake.
••=The-President is still overwhelmed by
pardon-seekers. :People l• - who ettll nporl
lint for :other purPoses :complain, that the
pardon-14mters molloPeliP 4. 13:0 1
•
and. the seekers themselves do, not make
- tertle4eadway. ' " • •- •
lkilmag% coo4.l,lurtfle.4°,*
frao E a
LIZAILADYX O3I774 ). 7 conts44 Ibr_thO
nisi, and cents, for. oinli.sarlioeLo l 44 l
%ion. , .
, keincrer Itlzorcursti and other sdneer_by tno
- column :
One entered:4l• •
Halt eoltatusa.ritri...4.::::;;,. 80
Third colenni; 40 ..
• 8P,A43=001....'B P , A43=001....' •
1713.12i7238 (7k7U" often throb or ices;
one' year
7.AZGAE'AND
Exodritenn * notices ..
Administrators . notices,„: ,
Assignees' notices,:
Auditors , notices, ...
Other...Notices,.' t en
three times,
Muscular •Chriatiiittity•---k, Moll; •Story
of Bishop- Selwyn.
(Correspondence of the 75Ianahcster Flrstm ner.)
In the autumn. of 18E0 apent a few
days in a country parsohage, arid' on the
Sunday morning, at breakfacit r the
pastor's wife received a, lette4Whieh her
tittering told us must be a tit-bit. "Ha,
uncle,"
exclaimed she, " here are cleri
cal doings exactly to your taste." The '
writer, a lady in a distant county, nar
rated that tbere had l4tely comeinto - the
next parish anew ; vicar—a very fine
young man, who at sphool had no super
ior either in Greek .orin hoxipgLand,
who at the university won honors for
his classics and silver cups for his boat
ing. He was beginning in.' earnest
the work of an evangelist among a
long-neglected, .vicious, and brutal
people. He had a plan, and a will; but
many worthy folks were fearing ; hat his
zeal was without knowledge—or wis
dom, at any rate. One of his first meas
ures was to open a school in a remote
part of the parish, and get the room .
tensed for week-day preaching. But
all the drunkards rose against such un
heard-of proceedings.- They would run
after him, cursing and hooting, and dis
charging volleys of sods and other mis
siles. Finding remonstrance vain, he
adopted another course on the Wednes
day evening in the week before I heard
'the story. Making a stand in the mid
dle of the road, at the en trance of the ham
let, just as the storm arose, and looking
the savages in the face, he addressed them
thus, in a firm, quiet voice which com
manded their attention : "My good fel
lows, I have borne this patiently for
some time, but now I must put a stop .
to it, and I'll do it in your own way.
Choose your best man, and we'll fight
it out. If I beat, you'll give up, you
know." They looked at him unbe
lievingly ; but, throwing his coat on a
bush, he added, " I am in earnest ; send
your man." The ruffians laid their
heads together, and then a burly giant
stepped forth and• stripped, and made a
furious dash at his reverend challenger,
who quietly parried the unskillful blows.
and played with them for afew seconds.
But, then, a fist was planted in the
peasant's chest, and he lay at full length
on the ground. Quickly gathering him
self up, however, he skulked away, to
his companions. "Now send your next
best, and I'll go through the lot of you."
Again their heads drew together, and
another threw down his jacket, going to
work, however, with a more cautious
energy. But at' once a stomacher
stretched him on the road. "Your
next." Once more a conglomerate of
dense pates was formed. " Bill, thee teck
him." Bill eyed the hero askance, and
shook his head. "Thee, Jim." A
shake of the head from Jim also.
"Dick, thee'll teck th' parson." A
shake more decided, and a stiff"
Nay,
nay, I'se see thee hung fust." And
now the first one who was vanquished
stood forward, and - like a brave man
called out, "I say, parson, yo're a
rare young un, yo are. I'se tell thee
what: we're going to hear you preach."
And they all followed him along the
little street, said the writer, and heard
the Word quietly, adding, it remains to
be seen what will become of the fight
What did come of it ? I heard, as long
time afterward, that from that day the
men doffed their hats and the women
curtsied and the children looked awe
stricken when they met or passed him ;
that the church and schools were filled;
that the beer-houses were nearly all
shut up ; and that a great moral and
religious reformation was in progress.
That gentleman had previously been
the instrument' of a like change in an
equally demoralized parish. Imay add
that a few years hack he was deemed
the fittest clergyman in the Church to
go out as bishop to a scene of great per
sonal danger in a heathen country.
Luxury of the Ancients.
Gatignant's Messenger of August 6
has the following :
"The excavations at Pompeii are
going on with an activity, stimulated
by the important discoveries made at al
most ever, step, and the quantities of
gold and silver found, which more than
suffices to cover the cost of the works.
Near the temple of Juno, of which an
account was recently given, has just
been brought to light a house, no doubt
belonging to some millionaire of the
time, as the furniture is of ivory, bronze
and marble. The couches of the tri
clinium or dining-room, are especially of
extreme richness. The flooring con
sists of an immense mosaic, well pre
served in parts, and of which the centre
represents a table laid out for a grand
dinner. In the middle, on a large dish,
may be seen a splendid peacock,
with its tail spread out, and placed
back to back with another bird
also of elegant plumage. Around them
are arranged lobsters, one which holds
a blue egg in its claws, a second an oys
ter, which appears to be tricased as it is
open and covered with herbs; a third,
a rat farci, and a fourth, a small vase
filled with fried grasshoppers. Next
comes a circle of dishes of fish, inter
spersed with others of partridges, hares
and squirrels, which all have their heads
placed between their fore feet. Then
comes a row of sausages of all forms,
supported by one of eggs, oysters and
olives, which in its turn is surrounded
by a double circle of peaches, cherries,
melons, and other fruits and vegetables.
The walls of the triclinium are covered
.with fresco paintings of birds, fruits,'
flowers, game, and fish of all kinds, the
whole interspersed with drawings yvhich
lend a charm to the whole not easy to
describe. On a table of rare wood'efirv
ing and inlaid with gold, marble, agate,
and lapis luzuli, were found amphoras
still containing wine, and some goblets
to onyx."
The Counterfeit Compound Interest
A careful scrutiny of the new coun
terfeit one - hnndred dollar compound
interest note by all the experts at the
Treasury Department has convinced
them that the note was printed from
the original dies or bed pieces which
were engraved outside.of the Treasury
at the commencement of the greenback
manufacture. By the terms with the - first
engravers of the greenback plates the
dies were to be given up to the Treasury..
Department when it chose to take the
manufacture of currency into its own
hands, Secretaries Chase and Fessenden
each made demands for the plates during
their term of office •, but neither suc
ceeded in getting hold of all the stock,
and of Mr. McCulloch to the Secretary
ship the engravers made a demand upon ,
him for payment, alleging that they had
delivered all the stock. The allegation
was denied in a counter report from the
Printing bureau, although by some chi
canery the report never fell under the
eye of the Secretary, and all transac- I
tions between outside engravers and the
Treasury Department were closed and
settled by the payment of the claim...
The back of the new counterfeit note is
made up from the back of a five per
cent. interest note of the same denomi
nation. The scroll and lathe work is
alike, with the exception of the central
portion where the interest is computed.
The lettering of the computation is
counterfeited. The balance of the back,
it is believed, has beenprinted from the
missingportions of the stock, which has
somehow come: into the possession of
the former. This opinion is shared by
all experts in the Treasury save one,
who thinks the spurious plate may have
been obtained by the Appleton, process
of transferring. At all events, the one
hundred dollar compound interest coun
terfeit is a dangerous one, being as good
looking in most parts as those of our
uncle's own make:
'Captain Welles, of the army, a son of
Gideon Welles, and another loyal offi
cer, are.under arrest in Detroit, for en
tern:lg the room where lodged two ladies
connected with the English Opera
troupe then in that' city, and attempt
ing to violate the ladies and all rules of
decency at-the' same time.. There is
much:that is eyil.evert in the God and
morality pot/ that even thoSe heaven
ly advocates known its republican news
papers do not - ;condemn. Yea, verily.
This . Var . has =not improved people or
bettered their condition one :
High Wood!