~~~.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." _