~~~.q~~st~~<'~~~i~~ , gaacec,~ iIYBLIEUELED EVERY Wl/9 33 P 3 9494 BYt . COOPEItirAANbE,SSON . * J. M. Coors, U. 6, 131.5gTEL, AIaITRED SAlipssioir Wzt A liloirrox, TERMS--Two. Dollars per annum, payable all eases in,adyance. 0 FFICE--SOITTHWEST CORNER OF CENTRE 'QUARK. nig-A.ri letters on business should reseed to COOPER, BAB - DEMON & CO. be ad- Xiterani. The Crack in the Wall. A handsome house in an eligible street in Parii, with plenty of showy furni ture the drawing-rooms, and plenty of fine dresses in the wardrobe,but no love, no magnanimity, except in a little back attic, where a charming young girl ten derly ministered to a feeble mother.— The house belonged to Monsieur and Madame Chatelle ; the attic was occu pied by the widow and daughter of Mon sieur's deceased brother, M. Broussaies Chatelle. The widow Chatelle was, at her best, a weak-minded woman, and when suddenly reduced from apparent prosperity to absolute dependence by the death of her husband, she gave way at once, and became morbid, fretful and exacting. Her ill temper injured no body but herself and daughter Rosine ; for her hostess, having permitted her to prepare the back attic with such articles as she had saved from the wreck of her fortune, would not be trouuled further, and contented herself with sending up three scanty meals a day, while she worked Rosine nearly to death in the various departments of governess, laun dress and lady's waiting maid. Final ly discovering that mother and daugh ter must soon be supplied with new gar ments, Monsieur took the matter in hand, and plainly told his unwelcome guests that he could no longer support them, and that they henceforth must look to themselves alone for food and shelter. Poor Madame Chatelle was over whelmed by this blow, but it gave Ito sine courage. From a dependent child she became a self-relying woman, and when she crossed her uncle's threshold for the last time, it was with a resolute step and a cheerful countenance. Her first search was for lodging, of the price of which she knew nothing; and with an aching heart she descended lower and lower in the social scale un til she came upon a vast building, six or seven stories high, thronged to the eaves with a motley and ill-assorted community. It was called " The Folly," because it was done on a grand scale for a private dwelling, and was stopped when half finished for want of means. A front room on the second floor had just been vacated, and Rosine, with sundry misgivings, resolved to take it. A thorough cleaning, with three or four coats of white-wash to the ceilings and walls, which she effected with her own hands, greatly improved its condition ; and although she had been obliged to sell a part of her furniture to supply more needed articles, there was still enough to make it contrast pleasantly with most of the apartments of " The Folly." A bright-colored carpet cov ered the center of the room, and aitaind it stood threz\or four rosewood chairs, a deep, soft louege, and a small table. One of the recesses upon the back side held the bed, screened by long curtains of glazed cambric, and the other held the little cooking stove, with a few little culinary utensils which hung around it. The table furniture was stowed away in a corner cupboard, prettily covered boxes held the fuel and pro visions, and upon the wall were five or six of Rosine's pretty water-color draw ings, and a small case of choice but well-worn books. Rosine had kept up her spirits won derfully until these preparations were completed, for she had no time to think ; but now came theharil task of procuring work. She could draw and color with taste and skill ; she played the piano gracefully and sang charmingly ; and the embroidered neatly and rapidly. Her personal appearance was also in her fa vor. Her figure was elegant and her face possessed a sweetness and purity ; but these points, which interested for the moment those to whom she applied, weighed but little against the fact that she had no references, and that she liv ed in a doubtful, if not positively disre putable quarter. Rosine's gentle beauty, her refined manner, and her loving heart, were good gifts to the lodgers in the crazy old building. To some she rendered services so cordially and so quietly, that the feeling of obligation was sweet rather than painful ; and for all she had the right word, the pleasant smile, or the deferential bow, as she divined the peculiarities of each with the fine tact of a gentlewOman, There was but one inmate whom she could not tamer-ra certain M. Brillian, who, whatever he might have been, was a decided bear.— His long gray hair was always in a tumble, and mingled with his profuse beard, forming a rough frame for the small portion of face visible within it. Of this nothing could -be seen but a long, sharp nose, and a pair of deep, dark, mellow eyes, which were irresisti bly attractive when brightened by a kindly emotion, but which habitally shot forth scornful and ill-natured glances to accompany the sarcastic words which followed the slightest notice of him. His dress was scrupulously neat, bu thread-bare and ill-fitting ; and his figure, so far as could be seen, was badly shaped, and as uncouth as his manners. He had a room on each floor, and passed with slippered fleet from one to the other at all manner of seasons. Rosine often met him, upon which occasion he seldom failed -to accost her with a sar casm bitter in pr portion to the number of listners ; by which means he effctu ally Minded the most inquisitive to his real feelings, and saved both the young lady and himself from an irksome sur veillance. But either his lustrous eyes neutralized the effect of his lance-like wit, or his voice, which could yield the most winning heart-tones, must have given the lie to his sparkling shafts, for Rosine never suffered from them. She even felt drawn toward this powerful, cross-grained man, as if she were safer and stronger for his presence in the dreary building. One of M. Brillian's apartments ad joined that of Madame Chatelle's, and not only was the partition thin, but their was a crack in it which heFped him to a knowledge of much that was going on upon the other side. Madame Chatelle constantly complained of ennui. " It was so dull when Rosine was away ! Not a new novel, not a canary bird, not a cat to purr on her knee, nor even a mignonette on the balcony ! What was the use of front windows when there were no handsome dresses or fine car riages to be seen ! She was starving, too, literally starving. How could Ro sine expect her to live on dry bread and onion soup !" Then the sweet voice of Rosine would be heard, sometimes ex plaining and coaxing, but more fre quently detailing a'little streetincident, relating a pretty anecdote or recalling a 'pleasant reminiscence. Upanelleh occasions, M. Brillian often happened to : sit near ate wall, and even ‘' -- : ''' •'''-. - - ' :-..-..' ±c - '''"' ''..:-. . :::1. , / / , . 1 , .. -:::: : ; . ~..r. - ~. t t tit. ~.":;,; 2','; . : . ".,....-: ' ,: . i.. '. 1. ',, ",-; :. J:=_ :,,# ; .. ,- ..... .... • _,. .... I a. _ ..: !.,....... ....„.,.: 17t . ‘ ,:,..,.................!; . ....„ ..... F.: . ~. t ; 'i • - - /.. ~, .j ~ ' - '‘.' ' J . . , . . . '.... . .. ' , .... ... . , ~ • n t ... ..' . ' • ~ .1...:. ~. vl t, „....,...„..,.„,.....i...,. „i•::.:,.,:.: ... ........, .....•.. . .._ . r • . A.,. • .• .. . . , . " . . . „ . VOLUME 66 to lean his head against it in close pros- imity to the convenient crack. One twilight there was a knock at Madame Chatelle's door, and for - the first time M. Brillian appeared on the threshold. "Had Pompine strayed in Madame's room; Pompine sometimes wandered, but still she had her good points. She was handsome—that no body could dispute—if Madame had ever observed her, she must have perceiv ed that the gray of her coat was of a perfect shade." Madame had never seen the animal, which was not to be wondered at, as she had been smuggled into the house twenty-fours before, and was at that moment securely fastened in the next apartment; but Monsieur's object was accomplished. He had, in a legitimate manner, caught sight of snow-white dinner cloth, and ignoring the presence of Rosine, who stood re spectfully awaiting his departure, he addressed himself to Madame. "How cosy the table looked! He was tired of s tumbled meals, and had forgotten to buy some bread. Might he—just for once—bring in his own dinner, and so picnic with them ?" As he had forseen, while she was en- deavoring to frame a courteous refusal, Madame—alive only to the possibility of a comfortable meal—gave a glad as- sent; and before the young lady had recovered from her surprise and vexa tion, he appeared with a superb cat un der one arm, and bearing a tray with a little silver box of the richest coffee, a cream pitcher minus a nose, but filled with excellent cream, asugar dish with- out a handle, a cracked bowl with a battered spoon, a steel knife and fork, n old chicken on half a platter, a pat of delicious butter on a dish notched at the edge, some delicate tarts and a bot tle of choice wine. As there was no help for it, Rosine made the coffee and cut the bread, her own little share of the repast; while Monsieur sat down by Madame and gave her a pathetic ac count of Lis housekeeping trials. With perfect gravity he asserted that a lady friend had, in spite of his protestations, given him not only the cat, but a canary, a mocking bird, and a parcel of plants in pots, which were really the torment of his life. He couldn't, under the cir cumstances, give away these articles, yet the birds were often hungry and dry, and the plants were dying for want of care. Madame, who didn't once sus pect that this was a pleasant fiction de- vised for the occasion by her guest, sympathized with him so heartily that a new idea then and there - appeared to occur to him. "Might he venture to ask—could she take the trouble of look ing after this inconvenient household? • , - He had no claim, but the temptation was great. He had seeds in abundance for the birds, and the milkman and butcher had orders to leave milk and meat daily for Pompiue. Rosine looked warningly at her mother, but Monsieur did not appear to )erceive it. It was Madame whom he relied on, and she did not fail him. " She should be delighted. It would give her something to think of when Rosine was from home. Rosine was a good girl, but, really, she was out more than appeared necessary or even proper to her. Oh, yes ; she should not be only willing, but happy to oblige him in this way." The call to dinner interrupted the flow of Madame's eloquence. The meal passed pleasantly, Monsieur was playfully protective towards the young 1 lady, but profoundly deferential to the elder one, and his wit was so light, his humor so genial, and his anecdotes so full of fun, that Rosine even forgot her cares, and felt something of her old time gaiety. As the evening drew to a close, M. Brillian hung the bird cages and arranged the flower pots on the balcony. This done, he remembered but one other trouble he need to confide to Madame. He wished to use the ad joining room as a library, but the char woman arrange& it so vilely. If Madame would condescend sometimes to give it a finishing touch, so that he could feel a little at home, she should be welcome to the use of any and all the books which she might find there." There was another warning look on Rosine's face, but Monsieur, fearful of ite effect, lifted the hand of his hostess to his lips, and took his departure with a shower of boo mots which prevented all discussion of the topic. Rosine's dissuasives had no effect up on Madame, who arranged the apart ment which M. Brillian had spoken of, and which she found full of books, pic tures and statuettes, in the utmost dis order. There were excellent novels, works of travel and biography, volumes of exquisite engravings, and all the best French periodicals. These were trea sures indeed, and Madame smiled again. What was still better, Rosine's time was fully occupied by pupils who paid lib erally and in advance. She suspected M. Brillian's influence in all this, but she could not decline to benefit by it, for without it she must starve. Its ac ceptance, too, was entirely unlike the flowers and birds, which she felt per suaded were intended from the first as gifts, and in which she could therefore take no pleasure. For two months M. Brillan was seen but little about the house, and yet great baskets of fruitand lovely bouquets were continually finding their way into the apartments of the Chatelles, and Madame's pocket was never without t , supply of bonbons, of which she was immoderately fond. She pleaded ignor &nee of the giver ; and Rosine, finding lemonstrance unavailing, endured in silence. The cold weather had set Rosine to thinking how she could supply winter clothing and fuel, when M. Brillan again begged permission to dine with Mad ame, picnic fashion. "It was his fete day," he said, " always a melancholy occasion, and he really dreaded to spend the evening alone." Maclaine was as gracious as before. " Monsieur would be most welcome," and Rosine could only make the coffee and lay the table in silence. But this time Monsieur assisted her. He brought in a table for the desert, and unpacked an enormous hamper, containing substantials and delicacies for a week's feasting. For a man with a sorrow, he was certainly very merry, laughing over the want of dishes, making puns, dashing off rhymes and telling stories all in a breath. The room was warm, and M. Brillan, when Rosine's back was turned, slyly filled Madame's glass more than once, so that good lady by and by dropped asleep. Rosine blushed and grew un easy ; but her guest, without noticing her agitation, drew his chair a little nearer hers, and told her how his child hood had been passed, how its bitter memories had made him amisanthrope, and how her gentle virtues had won him a love and reverence which he . not before deemed possible. Then with a hurried eagerness most unlike his usual manner, he besought her to be come his wife. Rosine liitened in silence. Ever since she had known M. Brillain, life had been easier and brighter to her. Un conscious she had leaned upon him; even when she was blaming herself for accepting favors so quietly conferred that she did not know how to decline or prevent them. Looking back upon his conduct toward her, and seeing it in the new light shed upon it by this avowal,.she felt its delicacy and gener osity, its winning thoughtfulness and grateful trust. The love which had lain latent in her heart waiting.only for an enkindling spark, burst into conscious existence. M. Brillion knew it, and, stooping, received his acceptance in a timid, trembling kiss. " You must remove from this old shell to-morrow, my darling," said M. Brillan ; " we cannot be married from the Folly ;' that indeed, will never do.', " And why not ?" asked Rosine, in astonishment. " Shall we not continue to live here, and shall I not give lessons as now 2" " Probably not; but who do you think you have promised to marry ?" " An elderly man of small means and uo apparent business, living at the Folly,' a dreary and not very respect able lodging liouse in a dirty street in Paris." " We shall see," said M. Brillan, and after a few rapid movements he stood before his betrothed a handsome man of thirty-five, with short, thick chest nut hair, curling closely on his temples, a delicate moustache curling over the clear brown of his cheeks, and a fine figure tastefully habited in the most elegant of the prevailing style. Then he sat down and whispered in her ear the name of one of the most distinguish ed lawyers of the capital. Rosine's blue eyes opened to their ut most capacity, and her lover looked fondly into them as he continued: "There was a great lawsuit pending which involved an immense estate, and I was certain I could secure it for my client if I could obtain some important evidence which had been dexterously concealed. I put myself into the hands of one of those artists whose business it is to perfect disguises, and com menced my search, which finally brought me here. To-day I have gain ed my cause, but my success in Court was nothing to that which I have just achieved. Oh, Rosiue, you have given me love, and faith, and glad, beautiful hopes that reach even unto the Heaven.' " Upon the following New Year's Eve, a pleasant wedding was celebrated in a fashionable street, and then M. and Ma dame de Courtney, and Madame Chat elle drove to a splendid mansion all aglow with lights and scented flowers. There they received their friends and relatives, or at least a portion of them, for although M. and Mad. Antoine Cha telle made the humblest apologies as soon as they learned that their niece was to be retored to society, they did not receive wedding cards. When the guests dispersed the happy husband offered his wife his own espe- cial gift. It was a picture in a frame of gold set with pearls, and represented his library at the "Folly," with a light shining through a crack in the wall. The Rothachilds An amusing adventure is related as having happened to the Bank of Eng land, which had committed the great disrespect of refusing to discount a bill of a large amount, drawn by Anselm Rothschild, of Frankfort, on Nathan Rothschild, of London. The bank had haughtily replied " that they discounted only their own bills, and not those of private persons. "But they had to do with one stronger than the bank. " Private persons!" exclaimed Nathan Rothschild, when they reported to him the fact. " Private persons! I will make these gentlemen see what sort of private persons we are!" Three weeks afterwards, Nathan Rothschild—who had employed the interval in gather ing all the £5 notes he could pro cure in England and on the Continent— presented himself at the Bank. at the opening of the office. He drew from his pocket-book a £•5 note, and they naturally counted out five sovereigns, at the same time looking quite astonish ed that the Baron Rothschild should have personally troubled himself for such a trifle. The Baron examined one by one the coins and put them into a little canvass bag, then drawing out another note, a third, a tenth, a hundredth, he never put the pieces of gold into the bag without scrupulously examining them, and in some instances trying them in the balance, as he said, " the law gave him 1 the right to do." The first pocket-book being emptied, and the first bag full, he passed them to his clerk, and received a second, and thus continued till the close of the Bank. The Baron had em- ployed seven hours to change £21,000. But as he had also nine employees of his own engaged in the same wanner, it re sulted that the house of Rothschild had drawn .E.. 10,000 in gold from the Bank, and that he had so occupied the tellers that no other person could change a single note. Everything which bears the stamp of eccentricity has always pleased the English. They were, therefore, the first day, very much amused atthe little pique of Baron Rothschild. They, how ever, laughed less when they saw him return the next day at the opening of the bank, flanked by his nine clerks and followed this time by many drays, destined to carry away the specie. They laughed no longer, when the king of bankers said with ironic simplicity : " These gentlemen refuse to pay my bills, I have sworn not to keep theirs." At their leisure—only I notify them that I have enough to employ them for two months !" " For two months !" " Eleven mil- lions in gold drawn from the Bank of England which they have never pos sessed I" The Bank took alarm. There was something to be done. The next morning notice appeared in the journals that henceforth the Bank would pay Rothschild's bills the same as their own. How to Cure Thieving " They have a singular way of pun ishing robbery in China," said a mis sionary, who had just returned from the Celestial Empire, to a number of friends who had called in to hear his account of things in that land of mar vels. "Does it cure the offender of his unfortunate propensities?" eagerly in quired a "philanthropist," whose in terest in human beings was in exact ratio with theirvillanousness. " Well," replied the missionary, "I never saw the punishment inflicted but once. I will tell you how it was done, and then you can judge for yourself as to its re claiming and converting powers. They put.the culprit in a large mortar, and then fire him head foremost against a • stone wall. LANCASTER, PA., WEDNESDAY MORNING, NOVEMBER 22, 1865. Beamed by a Dog A Tale of the Kinnesota Indian ittaassere. In the early part of the late Indian outbreak and massacre in Minnesota, a family named Holton was living on the frontier, about sixty miles west by north of the German town of New Ulm. The family consisted of Mr. and Mrs. Hol ton, and a son, John, about eleven years old, and Susan and Mary, two daugh ters, of the respective ages of eight and five years. Bolton had pre-empted, or squatted, on a farm something like a year before the outbreak, and had got pretty well under way, o having a snug log house with fair out-buildings, and about forty acres fenced and under cut-, tivat ion. The principal features of the establish ment, however, were the boy John and his dog Boase, s cross of the mastiff and greyhound, fleet of foot and powerful muscle, and possessing unusual intelli gence. John was a 'lad of precocious developement both of body and mind, and might have passed for a boy of fourteen. He and Boase were inseparable companions ; and the boy had taught the dog about all that he knew himself, excepting only as he was wont to say, such things as required speech. We are thus particular in our mention of these things, because this story hinges on the courage and sagacity of John and the fidelity and intelligence of Boase. The first knowledge which the Hol tons obtained of the Indian outbreak was communicated by a band of about twenty Sioux who came upon their dwelling just after daylight oue morn ing, killed and scalped Holton before the eyes of his horrified family, shot the cattle, burned the house and barn, and carried off captive Mrs. Holton, John, Susan and Mary. Whither they were being taken the captives knew not. Mrs. Holton and the two little girls were so overcome with fright and horror that they seemed bereft of their senses; but John, though at first stunned by the terrible scenes of which he had been a witness, soon re covered self-possession, and with a char acteristic courage began to cast about in his mind for means of escape and re venge. "If Bosse only knew where I was," he thought, "he would come and help me to get away." The squad of Savages having the cap tives in charge, dwindled down to only two in the course of the day ; parties of from three to six having successively I left, as they came within striking dis tance of opportunities for massacre and rapine. About dusk they entered an oak opening, which gradually changed to a dense, bushy thicket, wherein the savages at last came to a halt for the night. They made no fire, and after partaking of a frugal meal of parched corn and dried meat, they prepared to pass the night by binding the captives, hands and fdet, and laying them close together and stretching themselves on each side of them. John was lying next to the savage on one side, his thoughts busy with plan ning some mode of escape. He had no ticed that each Indian had laid...WS gun by his side, and had a tomahawk and knife in his belt ; and mere boy though he was, he felt that if he could get pos session of their weapons as they slept, he would yet be able to free himself and his mother and sisters from their de tested mastership. But hot to do this, he could not imagine, unless Boase should come to his aid, as his hands and feet were securely tied. After remaining perfectly quiet for hour after hour, until notonly his moth er and sistersslept in spite of their fears, but also until the watchfulness of the savages was quenched in slumber, as he supposed, John ventured to raise him self to a sitting posture and, peer about him. He first satisfied himself that the savages actually slept, and then he work ed his arms and legs to overcome the pain and almost paralysiS which had been occasioned by their remaining so long bound in one position; all the time keeping as sharp a lookout in every di rection as the prevailing obscurity would permit. As he sat thus peering into the brush he at lastsaw some object slowly moving towards him. Nearer and nearer it came, but with perfect stillness, and oc casionally stopped as if to listen. When it had got within a short distance of him, it stopped and gave a low, plain tive whine. John's heart almost abound ed into his mouth, for in that whine he recognized the tones of his faithful Boase; and in the exuberance of his joy he called the dog by name and held up his hands towards him. Boase im mediately crept forward, but John, be coming alarmed at his own rashness, lay down again by the side of the savage lest the latter should awake and detect the presence of the dog. But the Indian slept on ; and after a short time John again cautiously raised himself to a sitting posture ; and to his great satisfaction he found Boase crouch ng at his feet. He caressed the brave fellow with his bound hands, and then holding them up so Boase could see the leathern thong with which they were tied, he told him to gnaw it in two. Boase seemed to comprehend the case at once, for he instantly set to work and soon set his young master's bands at liberty. What to do next was now the ques tion. John was so overcome for a time at the terrible task before him that he forget that his feet were still bound un til he attempted to rise. Then he was reminded of that fact. Should he let Boase gnaw them loose, or should he withdraw the Indian's knife from his belt and cut the thong? Deciding upon the latter course he gently possessed himself the knife, cut the thong, and then, cautiously drawing the tomahawk from the savage's belt, he rose to his feet. He had decided upon his course. Pointing to the sleeping savage, he patted Boase on the head and whispered him to seize the Indian the moment he stirred ; then taking the Indian's gun, he cautiously cocked it, placed the muz zle to the heart of the other savage and fired, killing him instantly. As the surviving savage, aroused by the report of the gun, attempted to spring to his feet, Boase, with a howl of vengeance, dashed at his throat, and with a few ter rible tearings and crushings killed the bloody wretch outright. Mrs. Holston, Susan and Mary were awakened by the noise of the gun, and hearing the brief but horrid struggle be tween Boase and the Indian, set up a series of terrified screams, which ittook poor John some time to quiet. When, at last, the assuring voice of John, the severing of their bonds, the gambols and caresses of Boase, and the lifeless bodies of the Indians, enabled Mrs: Holston and the little girls to understand what had actnallytranspired, theirjoy was be yond expression, and was at last mani fested by their all crashing into a'com6 pact pile, the chief elements of which were John and Boase mellewed by hugs and kisses. As soon as calmness was restored, Mrs. Holton tand John resolved to set out on their return, piloted by Bosse, without delay; and taking the weapons of the dead warriors, they started on their toilsome journey. They proceeded slowly, as little Mary had often to be carried, and the way through the brush was difficult. But day soon dawned, and in crossing the prairie during the forenooon, they were overtaken by a large number of settlers who were fleeing from the murderous wrath of the savages, and with them they at last reached Mankato in safety. From thence they came east to Massachusetts, where their former home was, and where they will reside, Boase and all. The Science of Traveling. "And in what may that consist?" asks curiously one of our readers. "It certainly can't require much science to merely enter a car or a steamer, and be carried to one's destination. A child can do that. Nonsense!" Softly, dear reader. In a measure you are right, and in a greater measure you are wrong. We used to reason the same way once, but a bitter experienceof twelve or four teen years travel over our principal roads has taught us the fallacy of so doing. To be sure it doesn't make so much difference in half a day's ride or where one journeys but once -a year, but in these days of migration, when our roads are swarming with travelers whose routes frequently extend over thousands of miles, people should be properly educated and fully posted in what we have denominated the "sci- ence" of getting along. You don't un derstand? Welli let us see. Suppose, some fine afternoon iu a ple- thoric state of pocket and an unsettled mind, you resolve, for the time being, to " change your base." You have a maiden aunt—a great many people have maiden aunts, and you are just as likely as any body else to be blest in that re spect—living several hundred miles away, whom you have often promised to visit when you could " get round to it." That time has now come, and you resolve on the journey. It's just as easy to suppose this as any thing, and, be- sides, there is a strong air of probability about it. Your baggage is taken to the depot by an obese Hibernian, who in sists that he has expended a dollar's worth of muscular strength in so doing. You pay it, for you're not used to these things. In your trunk, carefully pack ed away, you remember are some deli cate articles of glass or dhina ware, in tended to open the heart of the old lady, and to more firmly settle you in her good graces. This fact is brought more vividly to your mind, as, waiting for the train to start, you see your baggage, which you have so carefully marked in big letters, " Handle with care," pitched into the car with a violence which makes you shudder. You can't help it, however, and you take your seat with au uncom fortable feeling that you might as well have staid at home. Suddenly a horrid thought strikes you—your baggage is unchecked. In your haste you have forgotten it. , Too late now, however. At the next station a man with a very red face and very fat hands gets into the car, and with difficulty squeezes himself into the seat beside you. His breath is fragrant, and there is a diffi culty in his respiration which makes his proximity exceedingly disagreeable. He has likewise a very pleasant and familiar way of leaning against you to expel his tobacco juice from the win dow—an operation which is repeated with alarming frequency. You have been very careful to pro vide yourself against contingencies, as the umbrella, carpet-bag, hat-box and two paracels, which you have brought into the car with you, abundantly testify. You have also in no way neglected to provide yourself with a satisfactory amount of lunch, which by dint of hard crowding, you have Inan aged to get into your coat pocket. A small boy who is busily engaged on a e very large doughnut, directly in front of you, reminds you of this fact, and you investigate. You now understand a certain feeling of moistness which has been forcing itself upon your atten tion for the last half hour. Your fat man has done the business for your eatables'', which are crushed to au in finitesimal thickness, or thinness. In disgust you request him to rise, that your garments may be disengaged, in which endeavor he manages, by some movement of his elephantine foot to destroy the symmetry of your hatbox. At the same time you discover a huge stain of saliva upon your immaculate umbrella. Human nature is proverbi ally weak, and you feel you cannit stand it any longer, so you move. Tired of sit ting, at the next station you ask, " How longdo westop here?" "Ten minutes" you get for an answer. A good deal can be seen in ten minutes, so you leave the car for a short stroll. In thirty second's time, and when you are a dozen yards away, the bell rings. By dint of sharp running you manage to barely save yourself, and in due time get back to your seat, only to find that your 'umbrella, together with one of your parcels, has mysteriously disappeared. You bow with resignation, for you can do no better, and the cars thunder on. You Wax hungry after a time, and the announcement of a station by the con ductor, coupled with words " Stop for dinner," is hailed with delight. Out you go, this time securing your parcels, and you make a rush for the table. A girl with red hair and dirty finger nails, takes your order and disappears, returning just before the bell rings, care ful to collect the sum due on the delive ry of the eatables, and prone to consider five cent scrip in giving change of equal value with ten's. Before you can scarce ly test the quality of what, is set before you, "all aboard!" sounds and you are obliged to make a nasty move for the cars, swearing internally, and resolving to never leave home again. And so we might go on page after page, showing the tribulations to be ex perienced, the miseries to be endured, and the enormous amount of swindling to be put up with on the part of the un fortunate being, who, wise in his own conceit, sets out to travel without post ing himself beforehand. And yet, per haps, it is better that one should learn all this from experience. This lesson will last longer. We can't help, how ever, offering a little advice, to learn the wisdom of which has cost us a great deal of money, a good many anathemas, and, once or twice, a little rough hand ling. - First. Always agree on your hack fare before you start. As a rule, it's just half what it would otherwise: be. 2eoondly. Purchase your ticket be- fore entering the cars, and seeyourbag, gage properly checked. Thirdly. Never, under the strength of any temptation, carry an umbrella or parcel - with you. They are inven tions of the devil in car traveling. Fourthly. Always make it a point to carry a revolver with you—unloaded, Of course. It is an excellent plaything in case you get a disagreeable companion on the same seat. Disagreeable people, nine out of ten, are timid. We have tried that often, and always with suc cess. Fifthly. Never leave the cars till you arrive at your destination. Don't ask any one for information about stoppages at stations, excepting the conductor, and it isn't safe to believe him - Zy Sixthly. Never pay for anything at a refreshment room until you have swal lowed it. Nine times out of ten it isn't worth eating ; but it's hardly the thing to pay for it and then not get it. Finally, there are a hundred other vexations, annoyances and attempts to swindle, too numerous to be recounted, 'and against which your only protection is the exercise of shrewdness and a free display of that inestimable gift to man, "cheek." Armed with these, corpora tions, conductors, hackman and saloon keepers are always_at par, and a man may ride from the Atlantic to the Pa cific with at least a fair chance of corn ing out with a whole suit of clothes and serene temper at the end. A Bank-Note Story Dr. Mounsey, an intimate friend of Sir Robert Walpole, itseems was always infatuated with a fear of insecurity of the public fUnds, and was frequently anxious, in his apartments, for a place of safety iu which to deposit his cash and notes. Going on a journey in the hot weather of July, he chose the fire place of his sitting-room for his treas ury, and placed bank-notes and cash to a considerable amount in one corner, under the cinders and shavings. On his return to Chelsea, after a month's absence, he found his housekeeper pre paring to treat some friends with a cup of tea, and by way of showing respect to her guests, the parlor fire-place was chosen to make the ket tle boil, and the fire had not been long lighted when the doctor arrived. When he entered the room the company had scarcely begun tea. Mounsey ran across the room like a madman, saying, "Hang it, you htive ruined me forever you have burned all my bank notes." First went the contents of the slop-basin, then the tea-pot ; then lie rushed to the pump in the kitchen, and brought a pail of water, which he threw partly over the fire and partly over the com pany, who, in the utmost consternation got out of the way as speedily as possi ble. His housekeeper cried out, " For mercy's sake, take care, sir, or you will spoil the stove!" "Confound the stove !" replied the doctor, " you have ruined me—you've burned my bank notes !" "La, sir!",said the half-drowned woman, "who'd think of putting bank notes in a stove where the fire is already laid?" "And, retorted he, "who would think of making a fire in summer time, where there has not been one for several months?" He then pulled out the coals and cinders, and at one corner found the remains of his bank notes, and one quarterof them entire and legible. Next day Dr. Mounsey called upon Lord Go dolphin, the high treasurer, and told him the story. His lordship said " that he would go with him to the bank, next day, and get the cash for him through his influence." He accordingly ordered his carriage, and agreed to meet Moun sey at the room in the bank, where some of the directors daily attended. The doctor, being obliged to go to the Horse Guards on business, took water at Whitehall for the city. In going down the river, hepulled out hispocket book to see if the remains of his notes were safe, when a sudden puff of wind blew them out of his pocket-book into the river. "Pull back, you scoun drel!" said the doctor, " my bank notes are overboard." He was instantly obeyed, and the doctor took his hat and dipped it into the river, enclosing the notes in a hat of water. In this state he put it under his arm, and desired to be set on shore immediately. On landing, he walked to the bank, and was shown into the room where Lord Godolphin had just arrived. " What have you under your arm?" said his lordship " The infernal bank-notes," replied the doctor, throw ing down his hat, with the contents, on the table, with such a force as to scatter the water into the faces of all who were standing near . it. " There," said the doctor, " take the remainder of your notes, for neither fire nor water will consume them." Grandfat hers I often wish that Shakespeare had not put that speech picture of life into the mouth of Jacques. Jacques was a mel ancholy man, and took a melancholy view of things. If he had not been a mis anthrope, a baby might have presented itself to his mind as chuckling and crow ing in his nurse's arms, and not as mul ignand puking. In like mannerhe might have drawn a pleasant picture of a green and happy old age, instead of insisting ' so much on leanness and slippers and shrunken shanks. The seven ages, as Jacques depicts them, may be in accord: ante with a certain rule of life ; but for my part, I have met with very many beautiful exceptions, and I love to dwell upon them. It has been my good for tune to know many old men, who, after the toil and strife of life, retained all the original innocence and simplicity . of their earliest childhood. I have seen them—and can see them now—sitting in their easy chairs, there gums as in nocent of teeth, and their heads as in nocent of hair as when they lay on their I mother's laps—sitting their biding the Lord's good time patiently and cheer j fully, while sons and daughters and grandsons and granddaughters hovered about them, and patted them and smoothed their pillows, and spoke to . them in those simple words which seem as well adapted to the old man as to the child. There is a purifying influence in old age which we all recognize. We may know that the old man has led a wicked life, but when old age comes upon him, wrinkling his brow, bleach ing his hair, and bowing him to the earth, it seems as if he had been redeem ed and purified by time. I can under stand how the patriarchs prayed so fre quently and so earnestly for length of days ; prayed for life until the passions and vanities of human nature should have passed over like a cloud, leaving the heart to beat its last throb on the peaceful shore of eternity. It always seems to me that at fourscore, a man is neither in this world nor in the next, but that he is in a position between the two, and can look calmly upon both. 'think it mat be pleasant to sit-upon NUMBER 46. the last shore thus and wait for the boat, not impatient for, neither dreading its coming ; pleasant to hear the splash of the oars and the distant song of the rowers as they come to bear you away to that golden land where youth is eternal. I should find it difficult to talk of old grandfathers otherwise than in this strain, for I have never known an old grandfather who, whatever his previous life, did not wear an aspect of innocence. Age is not altogether un kind. While it withers the beauty it also expunges the traces of the evil passions. The film that comes over the eyes is a veil to hide the glare of anger, the wrinkles that score the brow are strokes of Time's pen designed to ob- literate the frown and the scowl that Passion has written there so boldly. I can recall many grandfathers who were a practical testimony to the soundness of the theory which I have just broached with regard to the purifying influence of age. I remember one, a little feeble, cheery, merry-ttearted:old fellow, who had been a terrible Turk in his young days. He had been passion ate, imperious, violent, a constant source of trouble to his wife, and a terror to his children. When he became an old grandfather he was transformed into the most docile creature imagina ble. His own little grandchildren could rule him and make him do just as they asked. "Do you remember, grandfather," one of them would say, " when you used to give it to your boys all around with the horsewhip?" " No, no, my dear," he would answer, " I hope I never did that." " Oh, but you did, grandfather, and grandmother says - you used to get drunk and break the chim ney ornaments." " Oh, fie, fie, no, my dear," says the old man, "it couldn't have been me, it must have been some body else." And granny strikes in and affirms that he did the deed, completely smashing two china shepherdesses, that had been in the family for a century.— Which relation sends the old man into a fit of laughter so hearty and good hu mored that you cannot conceive he could ever have been capable of the violent conduct imputed to him. I dare say he can scarcely believe it himself now, when age has cast the devil out of him. Death of the Richest Man In uhio Simeon Jennings, of Wellsville, Ohio, died suddenly, while sitting in his chair, last week. He possessed enormous wealth, mostly in the shape of real es tate and mortgages on the same. He also owned large interests in a number of Ohio banks. He was noted for his extreme penuriousness and intense de votion to money-making. Though worth millions, when traveling on the cars he would carry a lunch in his pocket to save the expense of a dinner at an eating house. He bought a plain brick residence below Wellsville, on the Virginia side of the Ohio river, and made that his home, to escape paying taxes in Ohio on nis mortgages, judg ment notes and money. He always managed some how to avoid paying a large share of the taxes justly due from him. The heavy Federal income tax nearly broke his heart. He was very obese and gross looking, and for several years drank whisky in large quantities. He was probably the richest man in Ohio. He leaves no direct issue—dying childless. He has several collateral heirs, however, but leaves property enough to bestow a large fortune on each of them. We have not heard that he left any bequests to benevolent ob 'ects. The Cleveland Leader adds the fol owing : The droll old gentleman who inform ed us of the death of this rich man en tertained the party by giving some rem iniscences of Mr. Jennings. One story was told him with great relish by the real estate owner himself, and is briefly as follows: A few years since Mr. Jen nings took occasion to ride out in a bug gy to his extensive - uncultivated lands in a certain county in Northern Ohio. His hundreds of acres there were cov ered with virgin forest and afforded the best possible opportunity for making maple sugar. On approaching his estate, one early spring day, he saw a' company of rough looking men busily engaged in making sugar. They had not only tapped his fine maples, but even girdled them, so as to be sure to drain the last drop of saccharine. Of course the girdling was fatal to the trees, and the sight of the " vandalism" stirred the blood of the owner, but he smothered his wrath, be ing intent on getting data for prosecu ting the robbers and destroyers. He approached, and, personal stranger that he was, blandly told them that they ought not to girdle the trees, and inqui red whose property they were. " Oh, they belong to that old skin flint Sim Jennings • haven't you heard of the d—d old cutthroat?" Whereup- on they enlarged upon his "merits," thunder-scarring the said S. J. all over with scathigg expletives, which we would rather not repeat. The stranger having heard them go over his own bi ography, inquired as to the amount of sugar they had made. They took him into a rough, improvised shed and show ed him some three or four hogsheads and several barrels full of sugar. He alp ascertained the names and resi dence of the parties, and then drove on to the county seat, and took immediate steps to prosecute the whole gang. He made them sweat immensely, and to his last days he told with glee the story of his sweet revenge. Our informant said he • had an inter view with Mr. Jennings, a year or two since, when the subject of the final dis position of his wealth came up. He had never made his will, he said, but he often wondered what he should do with his property. His guest administered truth to him in rough, electric shocks, telling him that every one hated him, even his own relatives, who longed to see the day of his death, when they would seize on his effects. After his death his memory would rot. He ad vised him to make such disposition of his riches as to ensure him fame and "immortality," and cited the example of Girard. He seems to have urged the case with eloquence, for Mr. Jennings was much taken with the idea of build ing himself up in some charitable insti tution and said, " Well, really, I never thought of that," and often, in subse quent conversation, recurred to the sub ject, as if the ashes had been suddenly blown off from the embers of his smouldering imagination, revealing that he had yet a little warmth of human sympathy and benevolence. But the old nature or wrapping, of habit was never sloughed ; the glow of mingled ambition and charity died out, and the old man dropped dead off his chair, the other Sabbath day, and lives in no mon umental asylum, college or charitable institution of any sort. Salat a Cheval. There recently lived at Palermo, Sici ly, an old priest who had passed for a little cracked—un poco motto, as the Italians say. His name was Don Lib eratore. He had an odd whim. When ever a carriage passed by him he would bow profoundly. The idle young fel lows would laugh, and say : "Don Lib eratore, you have strangely aristocratic acquaintances for a man of your station suscarso - $1.2 a Year 'TP. square of ten llayear, nes;_ton per. t, ' inoresselbr: fractions of • Bu, Reis PsonsoarAzpaometr, ;ondlikizt-r saes AIIMEIMEIrNia s 7 image a line Bo the Ihnt,and4 cents for - each sulxmloant finer. PATE= iinoltanS and Mbar advent by tae One ool= / Half column, 1 yesm.••••...-.-- fD Third column, a mu untt4 2o %olumn,...... . 80 Canna, of tan llnea or las, one year_, 10 Business cards,. —"miss jive lines or one LEGAL A.ND r ' Fhceontors'2.oo Administrators' 2.00 Assignees' notices, 2.00 Auditors' notices,..._. 1.50 Other "Notices;' ten lines, or - less, three times, of life. Where in the deuce did you make the acquaintance of all those lords ?" "Bless your heart, child, I don't salute the lords; I salute their horses." "Their horses? And pray whydo you salute their horses?" "In the first place, child, because I think it very good-natured to drag about people as they do ; in the second place, be cause I feel I am under personal obli gation to the horses, therefore I tender them my thanks; because, ifthose arts tocratic people had not horses to drag them about, they would take you and me." pioratutouo. Interesting Old Document. The Fredericksburg (Va.) Ledger con• tains the will of the mother of Wash ington, as written by herself, and record ed in the Clerk's office of Spottsylvania county. We publish below this rare and curious document. The original is in possession ofMr. J. J. Chew, Esq., of Fredericksburg : In the name of God. Amen. I, Mary Washington, of Fredericksburg, in the county of Spottsylvania, being in good health, but calling to mind the uncer tainty of this life, and willing to dis pose of what remains of my worldly estate, do make and publish this my last will, recommending my soul into the hands of my Creator, hoping for a remission of all my sins, through the merits and mediation of Jesus Christ, the Saviour of mankind, I dispose of all my worldly estates as follows : Imprimis—l give to my son General George Washington, all my lands on Accokeek run, in the county of Stafford, and also my negro boy George, to him and his heirs forever ; also my beat bed, bedstead and Virginia cloth curtains (the same that stands in my best room, my quilted blue and white quilt, an my best dressing glass. Item—l give and devise to my son Charles Washington, my negro man Tom, to him and his assigns forever. Item—l give and devise to my daugh ter )3etty Lewis, my phaeton and bay horse. Item—l give and devise to my daugh ter-in-law, Hannah Washington, my purple cloth cloak-lined with shag. Item—l give and devise to my grand son, Corbin Washington, my negro wench, old Bet, my riding chair, and two black horses, to him and his assigns forever 6 Item—l give and devise to my grand- son, Fielding Lewis, my negro man Frederick, to him and his assigns for ever ; also, eight silver table opoona, half my crockery ware, and the blue and white tea china, walnut book case, oval table, one bed, one bed spread, one pair of sheets, one pair blankets, and white cotton counterpane, twcr table ;, cloths, six red leather chairs, half of my pewter, one half of my iron kitchen furniture. Item—l. give and devise to my grand son, Lawrence Lewis, my negro wench Lydia, to him and his assigns forever. Item—l give and devise to my grand daughter Bettie Carter, my negro woman, little Bet, and her future in crease, to her and her assigns forever; also, my largest looking-glass, my wal nut writing desk with dra.wers, a equare dining-table, one bed, bedstead, bolster, one pillow, one blanket and pair sheets, white Virginia cloth counterpane and purple curtains, my red and white tea china, tea-spoons, and the other half of pewter, crockery ware, and the remain der of my kitchen furniture. Item—l give to my grandson, George Washington, my next best dressing glass, one bedstead, bed, bolster, one pillow, one pair sheets, one blanketand counterpane. Item—l devise all my wearing ap parel to be equally divided between my grand-daughters, Betty Carter, Fanny . Ball and Milly Washington ; butshould my daughter Betty Lewis fancy any one, two or three articles thereof, she is to have them before a division thereof. Lastly—l nominate and appoint my said son, General George Washington, executor of this my will, and as I owe few or no debts, I direct my executor to give no security, nor to appraise my es tate; but desire the same may be alotted to my devisees with as little trouble and dely as may be, desiringa their accept ance thereof as all the token I now have to give them of my love to them. In witness whereof I have hereunto set my hand and seal this 20th day of May, 1788. [Seal.] MARY WASHINGTON. Signed and sealed and published in our presence and signed by us in the presence of the said Mary Washington, at her desire. (JAMES MERCER, iFitnesses . JOSEPH WALKER. JOHN FERNEYHJTUGH. It Began to Dorn on Him Some time ago the Government had a Quartermaster in New Orleans who, it was feared, did himself a great many good turns. He had, in fact, suddenly become rich, and showed his riches in his purchases and mode of living. So the War Department set a trap to catch him, and find how much he made by " commissions" paid by contractors.— One fine morning a detective called on the quartermaster and was anxious to furnish certain supplies for the army.— The quartermaster thought at once that he saw before him " a liberal minded" contractor, and concluded he could do a "good thing" with him. After a long conversation on prices and other points of interest, butin which the detective utterly failed to pin sus picion to the quartermaster's skirts, the following conversation closect'the con ference : Quartermaster—" Do you know what our Savior said to Zaeeheus when he was in the sycamore tree ?" Detective—" No, I do not, lam not familiar with the Scriptures. What di he say ?" Quartermaster—" He said, Zaceheus, make haste and come down P " The hint to " come down," supplied the ground of suspicion that the detec tive was looking for. It " Dorn'd" on him, and in a few days the quartermaster was dismissed the service. Didn't Know the Ropes. Western officers were proverbial for shocking bad uniforms ; and, in a ma jority of instances, it was rather difficult to distinguish them from privates. Among this class was a brigadier gener al named James Morgan, who looked more like a wagon master than a soldier. On a certain occasion, a new recruit, just arrived in camp, had lost a few ar ticles and was inquiring around among the " vets," in 'hope of finding them. An old soldier, fond of sport, told the recruit the only thief in our brigade was in Jim Morgan'stent; so he immediate ly started for "Jim's" quarters, and po king his head in, asked— " Does Jim Morgan live here P" " Yes," was the reply. "My name is James Morgan." "Then I want you to hand over those books you stole from me!" "I have none of your books, my man." "It's an infernal lie," indignantly ez.. claimed the recruit. " The boys say you're the only thief in the camp; so turn out them books, or I'll grind your carcass into apple sass." The general relished the joke mush'; but, seeing the sinewy recruit peeling • off his coat, he informed him of his re lationship with the brigade, when the , recruit walked off, merely remark. n " " Wall, blast me if I'd take you for a brigadier.' • Fseuee me, general I don't know the ropes yet." _
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