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Noetg.
THE SLEW II RIDE.
Mirth, awake! The day is dylmt,
Rail with Joy the starry hours.
While the frolic colors Hying,
Dash the snow in pearly showers.
Light the augh, the pleasure nameless—
Wrapt in robes from distant plains,
Where the bison, huge and tameless,
Roves the lord of vast do, anis.
High above us swims the crescent,
!gnu p the air and clear Lhe skies,
Circling vapors, Iridescent,
From the glens ~.ud brooks arise.
On the foaming leader dashes.
Swift the sleighers seem to ily,
While Aurora 'lames and thuLlio.s,
Firing .11 the Northern sky.
Through the snow crests In
Over the bare and breezy swells,
Fleet is every steed that follows,
Jingle Jangling all the bells.
Over Ice rifts sharply twanging,
Past tile frowning, fissured height,
Where the pointed pedants hanging,
Silver shimmer in the light.
Underneath the tomtit arch' s,
, float y with the touch of time,
Where the oaks and bending larches,
Jeweled blaze with moonlit rime.
In the dim and tar recesses,
Echo dwells, the banished maid,
Mocking still, she still transgres es,
Flitting through the winding glade.
Front ~ e neath the cracking bridges,
See the struggling waters flow;
Sparkling round the frosted ridges,
Ribbon streaming through the snow
ice! the wood tire, redly Weaning,
On thecheerful w ndow plays,
Lighting roomy halls and beaming
From the tun of other days,
Here, with song, and dance, and chorus
wlttly by the moments run,
"rib We mewl g ruddies o'er us,
Tinted by the rising sun.
Pleasure.; pant. Alas, how fleeting
All our Joys and comforts ire;
Time is like a wave retreating.
Beath* all things bright and fair
Scarce we raise the brimming measure
Scarce the tip:aiding nectar sip,
Ere the counter wave or pleasure
Bears rudely from the Ilp.
littrarm.
llelsthorne Sands
" Ah ! it's a nice thing to be the belle
of the village ; to walk down Lhe street
with a quiet, independent air, and feign
edly unconscious that all the marriage
able girls are looking out with envy, and
all the youths with love ; tripping along
towards the shore, pretending nut to see
Fred. Wilson, the young farmer, as he
half reins in his stout cob to bow as he
passes, and to walk by the retiring waves
tor an hour on the hard firm sand, with
. .
a little coquettish soup plate straw hat
upon the top of those wanton tresses,
floated down and half covering a charm-
ing little figure—every golden nail being
a very chant drugging some poor heart,
at its end.
Not a bad soliloquy that for an old
bachelor of live and forty down by the
seaside for the benefit of his health and
to get his broken wind mended. I had
- just turned out of my lodgings, and was
following in the wake of the fair craft,
Amy Ellis—when at Rome we' must do
as the Romans do; and being in a fish
ing village full of amphibious farmers,
, of course, felt it incumbent upon me
to talk sea slang, which of course I did
very badly and out of place. I was soon
down upon the sands amongst shingle,
dog fish and skate eggs, star fish and
jelly fish, and the stranded eggs of many
a shipwrecked cockle.
Being naturally of a sociable turn of
mind, and having plenty of idle time on
my hands, I had pretty well made my
self known throughout the length and
breadth of Delsthorpe. 1 had been rub
biting with this farmer all amongst the
"sine hills ;" speared eels in the dykes
with that one; shot mews as they
floated lazily overhead ; been slumping,
boating, fishing, marketing, learned to
appreciate hogs—m u tton, hogs beasts,
pigs, turnips, and potatoes, and had
played lon of a night at nearly every
house in the village. I had tree access
to the house of the Ellises, touch to the
disgust of the young farmers, who look
ed bludgeons at me ti.l 1 asked two or
three of them into my rooms, and over
some choice cigars laughed diem out of
their jealous fancies. They were good
friends with me directly, but not so
among themselves, for little Amy Ellis
and her deep blue eyes and ruddy lips
were a perfect apple of d,scord, and no
one could tell to whom the prize would
belong. I had heard iu confidence
several times that the fortunate winner
would be Mark Warren, then Philip
Franks; another week Harry Hender
son would be the ruling favorite, but
only to be supplanted by Fret.
Wilson, until conjecture wearied itself
out in guessing Amy Ellis's future hus
band. Now, being her father's senior
by some years, I considered myself quite
at liberty to 'Agit and chat with the
saucy little maiden, and I soon made up
my . mind that she was what Mrs. Ellis
affectionately called her, " a merry little
hussy," withoutli thought of matrimony
in her pretty little bead. She was far
more ready for a good romp or girlish
bit of merriment than making soft
speeches or listening to them. Fond of
admiration, artless as a child, and with
the poWerful passion of a woman's
nature slumbering in her breast, she
was ready to laugh and flirt with any of
the youths who played with her as a
child, and if coquetry could be innocent,
then decidedly her flirtations were free
from guile. But she was a very fire
brand among the young bachelors of
Delsthorpe, and did more mischief in
one night than Notting Hill boarding
school would in a month, and my ideas
were, that it would have been a blessing
for the village if the little puss had been
- sent out of it.
I was not surprised upon reaching the
shore, to find that Fred Wilson had
made a circuit, and crossing the sand
bank, had reached the spot where Amy
was walking, and was now by her side,
leading her horse by the rein. The
sight put me in mind of a score of years
before, of moonlight walks, of evening
rambles, au,d wild flowergathering, and
I felt rather lonely as I thought ()I years
slipped by, never 1,, return, buried
hopes and ,ears; and looking far uuL to
sea at the pallid rising moon, I had
gone into a deep fit of [nosing, living
the past over again, and wondering as
to the future, when my chain of thought
was broken by the heavy thud, thud, of
Fred Wilson's horse as he cantered up
to me. In a minute he pulled up at
my side, and I was about to have
asked after Amy when I saw the last
flutter of her ribbons and the last wave
of her hair as she stepped lightly through
the gap in the sandbank, called by the
people or that place a " stavver." Some
thing was evidently wrong, for Fred
was looking most fearfully blue. He
was a favorite of mine, for I used to set
Lim down as a Gera ideal of a bluff
young Saxon farmer, and by way of
cheering him up, I pressed him to sup
with Me, perhaps rather selfishly, for it
would help to cheer me up, too.
I could see plainly enough what was
the matter, and 1 had to use a great deal
of persuasion before I could gain his
consent, but I gained my point, and an
hour afterwards we vJere chatting over
the fire, smoking some capital Havanas
which I had brought with me, and
'drinking some brandy and Water, the
essence of which had never paid duty,
and under the influence of which Fred
had become communicative. He was
in love, and Amy was a jilt—a flirt; he
was half mad, he ,said and nothing
would give hun any satisfaction but
breaking the heads of Harry Hender
son and a few others But he would
not do that ; he would leave the place
for good and emigrate, that he wolikl.
And so days and weeks rolled by, and
my stay had almost reached its fullest
• limits. I had made acquaintance with
every one, even to the revenue men
who practised with the great gun in the
shed; I knew the crew who" manned
the life-boat, and had been well in
structed in all the gear and manage
xuent ; but now that inexorable fellow,
called Conscience, whispered of business
and the world's everyday duties,
and so I was fain to make my few
preparations for departure. Somehow
or other I had grown to be rather an
important person in the place, and fail
ing a better, was looked up to as A,U
oracle. I had been chairman at the
grand annual dinner and inmany ways
haddeference shown the weaker part
.of my nature, so that I might very
A. J. STEINMAN
VOLUME 68.
well have considered myself in the front
rank of the elite of Deisthorpe. The
course of true love was running in its
usual channel, and the lads of the vil-
lage "so merrily" one day were so
drearily the next, and the wise women
of Delsthorpe were as much at fault as
ever as to whom Amy Ellis would
marry. Fred Wilson was merry and
sad by turns, like the rest of the youths.
One day he was in ecstasies and the
next vowing vengeance against his. ri
vals and pursuing them all with homi
cidal glances. I was as much in his con
fidence as in that of his enslaver, and
preserved a prudent silence, leaving
time to work out his own scheme
upon the couple. Everything good, to
be thoroughly enjoyed, must be worked
for, striven for, fought for; the apple
that falls into the lap, dead ripe, bears
no comparison with the sour, acrid,
wooden-fleshed pippin that we knock
ed off the old parson's tree, and after
wards secured by climbing over the
glass-bottled wall; and I dare say if
our little Amy had " thrown herself"
at her admirers they would have called
her a forward chit, and gone mad after
Polly Brown, whose nose was as red as
her cheeks, and whose hands were al
ways rough and chappy. And they
might have done worse than that, for
when they arrived at years of discre
tion, and had got over the romantic
part of their married life, they would
have been as well able to appreciate
Polly's cooking as I was, for I lodged
with Mrs. Brown, and appreciate the
excellences of the tidy little manager,
her daughter. Poor Polly's nose would
not have been noticed then, nor the
roughness of her hands felt, any more
than Amy's beauty would be, when it
had grown " familiar to the eye," as the
moral cowslips used to say.
I had only another day to spend at
Delsthorpe, and felt rather reluctant to
part from the quiet village and the hos
pitable friends I had met with. I felt,
too, that I should regret much the salt
sea breeze which had given me back
my health—richest pearls that the sea
can produce. My last day Was a fete
day—"Delsthorpe Dancing," a day an
nually looked forward to as the reunion
of friends and relations. Probably in
by-gone days there may have been Terp
sichorean exercises carried on upon the
greensward, but now the dancing was
but in name; the generality of those
met together enjoying themselves to the
top of their bent with eating and drink
ing, for which pastime the preparations
during the last few days had been on
an extensive scale, the evident deter
mination of all being to live well upon
that day, even if they fasted afterwards.
The parties in some of the farm houses
mustered rather strongly, and it fell to
my int to be under the same roof as
Amy Ellis and Fred. Wilson. Cross
purposes were rife; flirting was in the
ascendant, and a dark cloud hovered
over Fred's brow, growing blacker as
the evening wore on.
At last, UV of the heated room, I
made my escape to enjoy an evening
walk upon the sands, and had hardly
reached the intervening bank, when I
started us a heavy hand was laid upon
my shoulder, the thick sand having
muilled the footsteps of my follower. I
found, on turning, that it was my young
friend Wilson, and I could just see by
the dusky twilight that he wore any
thing but a pleasant aspect. I knew his
complaint so well that I would not re
vert to it, but pulled out my cigar case,
and lighting up, we climbed to the sea
bank and sut down in silence. It was a
warm, close, heavy autumn night, thick
clouds hung overhead, and the dark
ness was fast closing round. The sullen
wash of the water upon the piles, and
the constant, heavy roll of the waves
upon the shingle added to the gloom
iness of the evening, while a sigh-
ing breeze which , kept coming
in puffs and dying away again,
seemed to my shore-going weather
wisdom to portend a storm. As the
waves broke upon the shore their crests
seemed, as it were, on fire, and the phos
phorescent light wore the appearance of
the tail of some huge rocket rushing
along the sands. Fred.'s thoughts were
evidently with the party we had left,
and he smoked on in silence, while I
watched the peculiar phenomenon be
fore me. At length I broke the silence,
and said : " Is not this very much like'
a storm coming on, Fred?" But before
he could reply a rough voice at my el
bow exclaimed, "Storm it is,
as sure as
guns is guns ; the glass has been going
down ever since one o'clock, and what
with this heavy tide and the blow that's
coining on I reckon we shall have the
bank pretty well shaved before morn
ing."
Our informant was one of the revenue
men, who, with his glass under his arm,
had come up unobserved and given us
the unasked benefit of his opinion on the
weather He touched his hat and walk
ed on, and we could just see that he was
busying himself with striking the top
spar of the signal mast, which stood ou
the highest part of the sandbank.
" Tell you what," said Fred, " there's
a rum one coming on, or else old Snod
gers would never be letting down the
flagstaff, for he doesn't do that for a
capful of wind. It's odd, too, you were
saying you would like to see one of our
storms, and here it is coming the very
night before you leave ' • for come it will,
and that's certain. If old Snodgers
says a storm is brewing, you may de
pend upon seeing the yeast come flying
over the pine hills. "By Jove! what
a puff!" he continued, as a sudden gust
nearly took off his cap.
" Well, really I should like to see one
of the storms you described," said I ;
" not a shipwreck mind, and bodies
washing ashore for days after, but a
storm without injury to life and prop
erty ; indeed, there is something ma
jestic in the warring of the elements;
the-rushing winds, the scudding clouds,
the metal tube like roar of heaven's ar-
- _
tillery, and the vivid flashing of the
arrowy lightning. There is something
to my mind intensely poetical in the
majestic fury of the tempest."
"Yes, very," Said my compah ion
drily ; " very poetical, no doubt ; tql!,
as in this case, intensely damp ; and if
you will take my advice, you will come
with me from amongst these pattering
drops, and try to . tind a little more poetry
indoors."
" Bravo! Fred.," I exclaimed ; "that
is the most sensible speech I have heard
You make lately. I believe you are
turning into the right road again, and
are going to give a manly tone to the
bent of your feelings."
"Ali, well." said the poor fellow,
sighing, " it Is about time, for I have
made a fool of myself, or been made
one of, quite long enough." •
It was no time for further conversa
tion without doors, for the rain was be
ginning to stream down, aud-.the wind
howling in fitful gusts over the water.
I hurried to my home, and after my
customary chocolate and cigar, retired
to my bed-room. Upon opening the
casement I could tell that the storm had
much increased; but the darkness and
the rain proved themselves insuperable
obstacles to my leaving the house to go
storm gazing; besides which, the wind
was not sufficiently high to ereate the
mountain-high waves that would sat
isfy the desire I felt to see a storm on
the sea-coast.
Sleep fell softly on my eyelids—one
of the great blessings of the air that
may be commended to thesleepless. The
wind rushing by the house lulled me to
rest, and I was soon in the laud of
dreams, or rather in that sleep, sound
repose, whose walking banishes the
sleeping workings of the brain. - I must
have slept for some time, when - a
suildeo noise that seemed to my wak
ing senses like thunder, aroused me
with a start, and I listened anxiously
for a repetition of the sound, I looked
towards my window, but everything
seemed of pitchy blankness, and for a
time the startled pulsation of my heart,
with its heavp throb, throb, was all that
1 could hear, beyond the furious wind,
which was now raging fearfully, mak
lug the house rock to its very founda
tion. F.,ver• and anon there would be a
lull, as when T first awoke, and then
again the caseriten, would rattle and
the blast shriek by. SOchilexqy a flash
jllumined my room for an instant, there
was 4 pause for a second or t'o and
tben the loud boom, as of a gun, rover-
berated round thehouse. At first I took
It for thunder ' but my collecting
thoughts told me it was a distress signal.
I turned out of bed and hastily dressed,
and on going to the window I could see
that there was a fire on shore. Directly
afar a vivid blue light shore out sea
ward, and by its glare I could discern
some thick black mass in the distance.
It was plain enough to me that a vessel
was on the sands, for they bore but an
ill-repute, and I had heard more than
one tale of their fatality.
On descending the stairs,.l found my
land lady up, and comforting herself
with a cup of coffee, and from her
learned that the whole village was on
the shore, for a large vessel had come on
the sands. Resisting the old lady's
persuasions to have a cup with - her, I
ran down to the beach, and on passing
the opening into the bank, was for a
time dazzled by a large fire upon the
sands, which was blazing up and roar
ing beneath the violence of the wind,
and lighting up the assembled crowd.
Where the vessel lay, all was intensely
black, for the light did not pierce so far;
but the foaming waves, as they rolled
over and tumbled with fearful violence
unUn the beach, seemed to reflect the
fiery beams in vivid flashes.
People were running to and fro, ex
citedly giving'orders, which no one
executed ; the mortar had been tried
again and again, but the men could not
get any communication with their rope
to the vessel, and if they could have
done so, the advantage would have been
very doubtful, as the sea had risen to a
fearful height. Another flash, and a
report from the vessel sent a thrill
through the breasts of those who burned
to render aid but were helpless, and a
chill struck - to my heart as I thought of
the dire straits of my fellow creatures.
An excited crowd on my left then took
my attention, and I reached the spot to
find that the life boat had been brought
down to its truck but could' not be
manned. Most men shrank from en
countering such a sea, and those who
would have dared were dragged back
by wives arrd mothers, half frantic with
fear. It was a scene never to be forgot
ten ; the roar of the cruel waves was
deafening ; and there they threw up
casks, spars or plank, only, as it were,
to pounce upon it and drag it back
within their angry clutches as they
came racing in, chasing one another
till they arched over and broke in cata
racts upon the sands, drenching us with
the spray. The wind came tearing by
with redoubled fury, and as straw, fag
got and driftwood were piled upon the
tire, the sparks and flames rushed in a
stream landward, and blazed up afresh
upon the wild scene. On nearing the
boat I saw Fred. earnestly talking to
the men, and in reply to an inquiring
look, an old man shouted in my ear,
that half the crew were not fit to go
from " the drink," and they wanted
volunteers.
All at once a light form, with stream
ing hair, rushed up to Wilson and clung
wildly to his arm, and as I" stood by his
side, Amy Ellis exclaimed, "But you
will not go, Fred ! Oh, tell me you will
not go, Fred! Oh, tell me you will not
he so mad ! Oh, stop him," she appealed
to the men standing by, " do not let
him go!" Then, turning again to Fred,
she c,ntinued, almost shrieking, for the
wind swept away her words, "Oh, Fred,
stay, stay, for my sake stay!"
But bitterness was in the heart of
Fred Wilson, and with a cold gesture he
loosened her hands from his arm, and
turning to me, made a sicr ' n that I should
remove her. I half led, half carried her
away, and then turning my bead, saw
Fred Wilson climb into the boat, shout
ing, " Now my lads, who dares ?"
Amy was sobbing and wringing her
hands, and begged pathetically that I
would go back and stop him, struggling
to free herself from me.
Two or three of the neighbors relieved
me of my half fainting burden, and I
then turned back towards the life-boat.
To be awakened at any time from a
sound sleep to some scene of excitement
always brings an indescribable feeling of
there being a want of reality in what
passes ; but never did I feel this more
strongly than that fearful night. The
deafening roar of the waves and the
howling wind had a bewildering effect,
with which it was hard to combat, and
I felt as if in some wild, fevered dream,
from which I was anxious to be awake
and be freed. The boat was only three
parts manned, for the men, brave
though they were, dared not ace the
night. Old weatherbeaten fishermen
shook their heads at it and shouted to
one another that "she must bide, for
they never"ll launch her," and I, know
ing the peril of those on board, gnawed
my lips at my own impotence and want
of energy.
All this had occurred in a very few
minutes, and even in this space, the
gale seemed to have increased in fury.
At times it was almost impossible to
stand against it, and, with clothes
drenched with spray, itseemed to numb
and paralyze mind as well as body.—
Another blue light from the vessel
showed where she lay, and we heard or
fancied we heard, the shouts of those on
board, for they were only five or six
hundred yards distant. Every one
present was in a state of greatest excite
ment, and though fresh arrivals were
constantly appearing, all shrank from a
combat with the sea now running.
I appealed to a stout fellow by me, and
pointed to the boat, but he shook his
head as a knot collected round, and he
but acted as the mouthpiece of thegroup
as he said, "It's no use maister. It'ud
be on'y gettin' shut of one's life. She
must go to pieces directly; and as to
Mister Fred there, he couldn't find a
gainer way to the church yard than try
ing to launch that boat."
I found I had only to look at a man
after this for him to turn away, and,
sick at heart, I felt that venture must be
desperate when these men, born and
life-spent upon this spot, dared not make
this attempt.
On looking round I found old Wilson
by my side, a fine old grey-haired
farmer, v, iEti a coil of rope on. his
,houlm r, Ou seeing rue he spoke, aim
I could see the old man was all of a
tremble as in a broken voice he said,
" There's my boy trying to get out the
boat, and I can't go and stop him. I
can't stand here and know some of
God's creatures are choked with the sea
water and howld my lad back from go
ing!, but Lord knows, sir, I shall Le
ready to go down on my knees if they
can't launch her."
If I were asked, and gave a frank re
ply, I should say I was decidedly and
constitutionally a coward. As a boy at
school I dreaded fighting, and it was
only after repeated blows and ill-usage
of various kinds that the pugilistic
spirit was roused within my breast,
which proved a terror to my enemies,
and.drove away Jack Brown, our bully,
who would fight, crying, with the bridge
of his nose badly damaged. And on
this memorable night, surrounded by
the excited crowd, and with Fred. Wil
son appealing 'for volunteers, I felt my
heart flutter within my breast, and a
nervous tremble about my knees—all
the symptoms of cowardice.
Love pf self, thoughts of home and
friends whom I atigbt see no more, the
danger of the enterprisE, the boiling
surf, and the mighty billows chasing
each other madly shoreward, all tended
to increase the feeling ; and then came
a reaction ; another gun made the blood
tingle through my veins, and by the
flash of another rocket I fancied I could
see forms clinging to the rigging of the
dark indistinct mass out on the sands.
I looked at Fred. as he stood at the
boat's head with the blazing fire light
ing up his noble countenance, as he
frowned on the shrinking crowd before
him, and then, with a muttered "God
help me !" I was at his side, followed by
a volley of cheers. The cheers broke
forth again, for my example was fol
lowed, and, two stout young fellows
clime after me. There was a squeeze
of the and from Fred, and then, in a
whirl of excitement, I was in my place,
with a strong ash blade in my band,
ready with my companions in the boat
to battle with the erne/ sea.
Rushing waters—choking spray—
blinding surf—and the noise of athous
and cataracts in one's ears, and wewere
launched amid the boiling.cauldron and
4 billows. A sharp, short struggle, and
LANCASTER PA. WEDNESDAY MORNING, FEBRUARY 20,1867
we were beaten back and the boat
almost stove in by being dashed upon
the beach. It was quickly upon the
truck, and a hundred yards off, under
the semi-shelter of a row of piles, we
were again launched, and this time with
better success, backing water to the
direction- of our coxswain, and rising
and falling like a cork, upon the mighty
waves which seemed almost to curl over
into the boat. As we receded from the
shore my cowardly feeling fled and. I
felt in a perfect frenzy, strainin'at my
oar with nerves in a state of tension for
the battle with the waters.
At last, after a tremendous struggle
with winds and waves, we were under
the lee of the stranded vessel, And then
it was some time before we could com
municate with her by a rope. Go close
up, we dared not, for the waves made a
clean sweep over her decks, and passen
gers and crew, about thirty in dumber,
had now taken to the rigging, which
sloped over towards us as the vessel lay
upon her beam ends. At length we got
ten in our boat—one poor fellow, numb
ed with the cold, missing his hold of
'the rope, and with pale, agonized face,
disappeared in the hissing waters. An
other struggle with the breakers and
our freight was landed. Brandy was
hurriedly partaken of, and soon we were
again under the vessel's lee, returning
this time with eleven fainting creatures
who slid down the rope of communica
tion. We landed them, and then, half
exhausted we returned for the remain-
der of the crew, who were clinging fast
to the mainmast.
The moon was just sullenly breaking,
and arms were frantically waving as
we neared the vessel, which lifted with
each wave and then came down with a
fearful crash. It was evident she must
soon go to pieces, and we strained every
nerve to new exertions in order to finish
our task.
As we reached them the mast went
by the board, and the drowning wretches
were plunging in the boiling surf. We
were backing water towards the vessel,
and consequently were going stern
foremost, and, in obedience to our cox
swain's warning cry, we pulled forward
to avoid the tangled mass of rigging
close by us. Two men were clinging to
a spar, and we reached them and took
them off, one of them holding with a
deadly grip a submerged body, which
we took in as well'. The others had
disappeared, and we were about rowing
shore Wards when a hand rose from the
water and clutched my oar. Its owner
was dragged in and then, with failing
strength and flagging energies, blinded
and almost fainting, we again' tried to
battle with the surf.
I remember little more, except seeing,
after a quarter of an hour's hard row
ing, the heads of the piles appear for a
moment from amidst theseething waves,
and then there was a crash and a heavy
shock ; the boat was capsized and we
were struggling in the water. Thought
seemed crushed within me ; I knew it
was a struggle for life and death, and I
essayed to swim, but don't recollect of
feeling any particular dread or fear.
How long my struggle lasted I cannot
tell, but it;was ended by my being dashed
upon a pile; and I recollected no more
until I found myself lying upon the
sand, surrounded by a throng of anxious
faces, while by my side, pale and still,
his face gashed across, lay Fred Wilson,
our gallant coxswain.
Sobbing, weeping, and wringing both
her hands, holding his head in her lap,
knelt little Amy, and even in the half
confused state in which I felt, I could
not help something like a grim smile
coming across my face at the sight be
fore me, so perfect an exemplification of
a woman's nature. Rough but willing
hands were pressing "sups" of brandy
upon me, the effect of which was to try
to make me rise, but only to sink back
helpless, for I found I had a dislocated
knee, and, in company with the seem
ingly lifeless body of poor Fred, I was
placed in a donkey-cart and taken to the
W ilsons.
The rest of our party, as I afterwArds
learned, were safe, but anything but in
a sound condition, for bruised—in one
instance maimed—and half drowned,
they had been dragged ashore, by those
awaiting their return. I found myself
in a few days more thought of than
ever, and would gladly have dispensed
with the thanks of those whom wetrad
saVed, for I only played a subordinate
part iu the rescue. However, I had to
receive thanks and deputations, as I
sat in semi-state in old Wilson's parlor.
For at their house f stayed, waiting
for convalescence, and sharing with
Fred in the ministratiop'of little Amy.
Poor Fred was nearly at death's door on
one occasion, for the shock of his blow,
the excitement, and the terrible cut he
received, left him with a wild fever,
from which Le recovered but slowly.
Amy—quiet, subdued, little,. tearful
eyed Amy—came every day, and Fred
seemed in no hurry to get well. I hob
bled about with a crutch and stick, and
one afternoon, when just waking from
my after dinner doze, I heard subdued
voices in the adjoining apartment. In
my half-waking state I cannot be sure of
their import, but they sounded like
" Never tease again, darling."
" Never, dear Fred, oh, never !"
And then followed something like a
sob or a sigh, and a sound that put me
in mind of lying, when a child, in a
little white-covered cot, with a fair,
sweet face bending over me, and a pair
of soft lips part from mine to whisper,
" Clod bless you!"
A Snake in a Stove
We learn that a gentleman residing
in our town some weeks ago purchased
a lot of old condemnedsleepers from the
Railroad Company, for the purpose of
using them as firewood. They were
aecordingly conveyed to his residence
and sawed in suitable lengths for the
stove and were used as fuel, and as such
gave great satisfaction, until one evening
the good wife placed one of the pieces
in the stove, when a very strange and
remarkable occurrence happened.
Shortly after placing the wood in the
stove her attention was attracted by a
singulai . noise in the room, not unlike
the oryin,i,!, of a child or the moaning of
a person iu distress, and upon searching
for the cause of it ascertained tnat the
noise proceeded from the stove,
and becoming somewhat alarmed
called in her husband and acquainted
him of the matter. The gentleman at
once advanced to the stove and upon
opening the door a strange and fearful
sight met his astonished gaze—right in
the very midst of the blazing flames
was a large black snake writhing in
agony, and uttering the piteous noise
which had attracted the attention of the
lady. The snake slowly crawled out of
the stove and dropped on the floor, a
veritable " fiery serpent," and in a few
seconds expired. The snake had doubt
less entered a hollow cavity in the
sleeper in the Fall and relapsing into a
torpid state, was only aroused when en
compassed by the flames.—Hanover
Spectator
The New York Marine Court is at
present lucubrating over the important
question whether hog's lard is a cure for '
rheumatism. A doctor sued for services
rendered, and according to the evidence
it appeared that, like many quacks, he
had agreed to treat his patient for the
cure of rheumatism and not to expect
any payment if a cure was not effected.
The remedy applied was a mixture of
hog's lard rubbed into the skin of the
patient, who discontinued it after some
operations, on the ground that the treat
ment was too severe, and he could not
stand it. The patient says the doctor
has no professional diploma ; but he
states that by his treatment he would
have cured the patient if the latter had
not taken to the use of another nostrum.
The patient's case was that the treat
ment he received 'only increased his
malady, and that, therefore, he was not
liable to the demand made upon him;
and so they continued pleading and re
butting until the Judge took the papers
and said he would reserve his decision.
The world waits for the opinion of the
New York Marine Court as to the effect
of hog's lard pn rheumatism.
Six thousand four hqhartig. and forty-two
emigrants arrived at New York during last
month, and 7,833 up to the 6th inst,
Reftrice Cenci.
Beatrice Cenci seems scarcely to be
long to history. The mind connects
her with the poet and thwirtist. Shelley
and Guido seem to have given her im-
mortality and to have been historians.
The stern facts of reality are thrust
aside, and the ideal romance we mad in
the wondrou's face on the walls of the
Barbarini palace is a fit embodiment of
the beautiful, noble and resigned victim
drawn by the inspired hand of the
English poet.
The life of Beatrice contains elements
sufficient on which to found a romance.
She was bea.utiful, of noble birth, young,
and she suffered death.
The intervening circumstances of her
life history writer with a sterner pen,
and tradition—the Impartial tradition
of her cotemporaries—proves that there
were darker shades In her character,
and that she was,
no matter by what
incentives brought to it, the murderer
of her father.
. .
In the sixteenth century, Raffle, after
a long succession of depraved Popes,
had grown to be the most lawless and
depraved city in Europe. The ancient
vices of the Caesars, the lawless violence
of the Borgias, were united in the man
ners of those times. The Roman Pon-
tiffgoverned only the poor and wretched,
who were but slaves and beggars, whilst
every noble in the holy city held a court
of his own, obeying no will but his
own, submitting to no authority, and
prepared to resist all invasion of his
prerogative, hiving an army of retain
ers about him who shared his fortunes
and fought his battles without scruple
or anxiety as to the justice of the quar
rel.
Amongst the nobles of that day in
Rome, the most conspicuous for lawless
violence, extravagance and debauchery,
was Nicola Cenci. His cruelties had
startled even the seared imagination of
all accustomed to lawless deeds. Young
girls were snatched from their homes,
carried into the Cenci palace and never
heard of again. Peaceful citizens were
arrested by the followers of the Cenci
and robbed of their money, glad to
escape with life, whilst the usurers and
jewellers were often compelled to save
their lives by forced contributions to the
fierce and relentless nobleman.
This Nicola Cenci was one of the
handsomest men of his day. He had
married in early life, and was the father
of a numerous family, the two youngest
children being Beatrice his only daugh
ter, and Bernardo, but a year younger
than his sister.
Notwithstanding his evil reputation
and his being advanced in years, Nicola
Cenci, when he became a widower,
found a young and beautiful woman,
who consented to be his wife.
Donna Lucrezia was, however, not
the woman to have undertaken such a
task. She possessed the Italian listless
ness and love of luxury, but no energy.
She was voluptuous without passion,
and had married Nicola without one
serious reflection of what her fate would
be, excepting that she would lead a
listless Etnd idle life.
The elder sons of the Cenci had all
followed in their father's footsteps,
faithful to the lessons he had given
them. Often they were away from the
palace, returning to it with some
wretched victim, whose cries thrilled
all who heard them, but who dared not
interfere. Scenes of horrible violence
and bloodshed would follow the noisy
banquets, and it was no unusual thing
for two or three of the guests to be
thrown dead into the street from the
portals of the palace.
Donna Lucrezia found consolation and
support only in the society of her hus
band's daughter, Beatrice.
Between these two women there sprung
up a fastfriendship. Lucrezia, although
the elder by ten years and by her posi
tion calculated to be the protector, was,
however, the weakest of the two.
Young Beatrice Cenci, brought up in
the midst of all this vice and carnage,
imbued naturally with a woman's puri
ty, high-souled and high-minded, had
escaped corruption. But her heart had
grown stern and bitter; her soul was
steeled to any deed of endurance and
courage. She it was who sustained,
consoled and cherished her stepmother,
giving her power to endure the life of
continual apprehension the Cenci and
his habits made for them.
He seems to have cared little for Lu
crezia, for, after the first year of his
marriage, he neglected her, nay, seem
ed wholly to have forgotten her, leaving
her for days and weeks in the retired
apartments in which Beatrice had taken
refuge. Bernardo, the youngest son, a
timid, gentle boy, was their only society,
and this period passed with her brother
and her stepmother, their employment
music, poetry, and the tapestry work
in which Lucrezia excelled, seems to
have been the only happy period of her
i fe.
But an unlucky expression of ad
miration from one of Cenci's compan
ions, as heobtained aglimpse of Beatrice
passing along the galleries of the palace
changed all.
Nicola Cenci himself for the first time
looked at his daughter, and saw that
she had grown up into a girl of extraor
dinary beauty. He deter mined that she
should grace his festivals, and issued his
commands that she should deck herself
in magnificent garments and appear
among his guests.
Beatrice and Donna Lucrezia remon
strated. They both knew full well that
the banquets were orgies at which a
modest woman was exposed to foulest
insult, but Cenci imperative. Donna
Lucrezia wept and trembled, but Bea
trice peremptorily refused to obey her
father.
Then began the struggle between the
father and daughter—a struggle for
supremacy between two Cencls could
not but lead to misery and to death.
Donna Lucrezia advised submission,
but Beatrice, the more she was opposed
the more resolute she became.
She barricaded herself in her chamber,
whence her father would have dragged
her with violence, and amid the threats
and \ells of tier father and her brat her,
preserved Ler courage and serenity.
Bernardo, her young brother, alone
defended her, bringing on himself
ill
usage and violence, even to blows from
his father and brothers.
-
Sometimes, however, in the interest
of some lawless incursion, or during the
wassail of some deep orgies, these vic
tims of tyranny would be forgotten.
Then they would sit listening to the
shouts of the drunken crew with a
stolid despair in their hearts, wonder
ing when liberty would come, think
ing, no doubt, often of Nicola's great
age, and trusting that death might one
day free them.
But Nicola and his party one wild
night exceeded even the license of the
times. There was a public outcry
against him even in degraded Rome,
and the Pope advised him to retire for
some time—lo leave the city.
Nicola had a desolate stronghold in
the darkest gorge of the Sabine Hills.
To this he resolved to go, taking with
him Lucrezia, Bernardo, and Beatrice,
whose spirit he had determined to
subdue.
But hard was the task that hehad
set himself: Beatrice who had defied
him in his palace in Rome surrounded
by his followers, now utterly set his
authority at uaught.
The life he made for these two poor
women was full of terrors and torture,
and it is here that Beatrice and Lucre
zia formed the plan to free themselves
from their tyrant,
The Sabine Hills were the refuge of
bravos and desperadoes too obscure and
indigent to purchase immunity from
the police of Rome. Many of them
claimed the hospitality of the Castle of
Petrella.
Watching their opportunity- Beatrice
and Lucrezia fixed upon two bravi on
whom they thought they could rely.
Donna Lucrezia possessed jewels of
great value, with these she tempted the
bravi, and a plan was conceived for the
murder of the ruthless Nicola. - Of the
existence of this plot tradition, well au
thenticated in the Papal archives, has
left no doubt. The plot failed, owing
to the beauty of the two women. The
bravi, knowing the ilesperate straight
In which thpy were,. preimpled to insist
on another reward beside the jewels.
Beatrice and Lucrezia had inspired
them with a lawless passion, but the
Roman ladies, forgetful of their com
plicity with these wretches in crime,
treated them with the utmost contempt.
The bravi revenged themselves by
betraying all to Nicola Cenci.
Then in that dark, isolated keep in
the hills, where the human voice found
no response but the wailing echo, adeed
of horror was perpetrated at which
nature itself shudders.
Nicola Cenci sought his daughter in
the dead of night, struck Bernardo
from her threshold, expelled Lucrezia
from her chamber, and then barring her
door, swore that he would conquer her
or kill her at his feet.
What the deadly struggle was, not
even Beatrice in her confession revealed,
though she accused her father of an at
tempt from which our very nature
shrinks.
Certain, however, it is that the tremb
ling woman and the half-fainting boy
who watched, beheld at length the door
open and Beatrice, pale, her Wondrous
golden her streaming over her, come
forth alone.
On her bed lay Nicola Cenci with a
dagger in his heart—dead.
TrglAtlon and poetry have firmly be
lieve4 4. the outrage offered by Nicola
to his dfitikriter as the justification of
her deed ; but nothing has confirmed
her confession, and this horrible crime
was probably invented by the defenders
of Beatrice when a petition for pardon
was presented to Clement VIII.
Beatrice, Lucrezia and Bernardo were
all arrested and taken to Rome. They
had attempted no flight, and offered no
resistance,
Now that Nicola was dead his vices
were all forgotten in the great crime of
parricide, which Beatrice had commit
ted.
She bore herself with calmness and
dignity. Her great beauty and serenity
astonishing the judges. She submitted
without a murmur of pain to the ap
plication of the torture, weeping only
when the sufferings and condemnation
of her young brother were made known
to her.
Unmoved she heard her sentence of
death.
" lou can but take away my life, and
what baa life been to me?"
Her youth, her beauty, her high
birth, however, at last infused some in
terest among the Roman nobility. A
mitigation of the sentence was asked
for from Clement VIII., but he refused
it, and Beatrice was condemned to the
scaffold.
Guido Reni, then painting in the
Vatican, was, fortunately for posterity,
present at her trial, and struck with her
extraordinary beauty, asked permission
of the Pope to paint her portrait.
He was admitted to the cell, and pro
duced that portrait whose wondrous
eyes look down on us, now with depths
of courage, sadness and resignation, that
tell her history at one glance. The
stranye heavy drapery Guido has
wound about the head was a portion of
the white penetential garment worn by
parricides at the scaffold. He has throw n
it from the shoulders over the head
evidently to display the hair like burn.
ished gold, for which Beatrice was re
nowned. The picture is in the Bar
barini Palace- at Rome, but is popular
everywhere, from the frequent copies
made of it in all forms.
On the 15th of September, 1599, Bea
trice Cenci was led to the scaffold—a
mere block of wood where her head was
to be literally chopped off by the Man
uals, or butcher's axe.
She was not only serene, but cheerful.
The world had nothing in it for her to
mourn. No love bad ever made her
heart beat; even the natural affections
had been denied her. She had lived
idst strife, bloodshed, vice, and vio
lence ; and lived amodg it with a pure
sensitive nature capable of feeling all
the horrors ofsuch a' life.
No wonder that she smiled a smile of
scorn on earth, and looked up with
gleaming eyes to the world above her.
She trusted in God ;
but even had she
not possessed that faith, the utter repose
of the grave was preferable to the fate
she had endured while living.
They bound her hands, and the exe
cutioner's axe glittered beside her.
Then turning to the two sbirri who
were tying her hands, she exclaimed :
"You bind my body for destruction.
but you give to my soul immortality."
These were the last words of the
beautiful, heroic and unhappy Beatrice
Cenci.
8=!
When the Legislature of Nebraska
has complied with the condition pre
scribed by the act of Congress for its
admission, by formally providing that
neither the elective franchise nor any
other right shall be denied by reason of
race or color, she will be proclaimed as in
the Union, and will constitute the thirty
seventh State. Nebraska wasorganized
as,a Territory in the year 1854, under the
Kansas and Nebraska act, and at one
time embraced a vast region of unre
claimed country, formerly a part of the
original Louisiana purchase, out of
which, up to the present time, six sepa
rate States have been formed. She then
had 335,822 square miles, (but is now re
duced to an area of 65,000 square miles,)
with a length, from north to south, of
640 miles, and a breadth of 540 miles.
The State lies west of lowa and nearly
in the same latitude, and is yet larger
than any State east of the Mississippi.
It is bounded on the west by Dakota and
Colorado, and the Missouri river sepa
rates it from lowa and Missouri. The
eastern portion of the soil, fora breadth of
from one hundred to one hundred and
fifty miles, is very fertile, partaking of
the gen eral ctiaracter of the prairies. Her
products in 1865, as estimated in the
agricultural report for that year, indi
cate a large average yield per acre in
the cultivated portions of the eastern
counties, to which mainly, if not exclu
sively, her arable agriculture was con
fined. About two—thirds of her whole
area is covered by the plains which lie
east of the Rocky Mountains, and pos-
-ess p,q•uliarities of soil and climate
differm4 widely from those of any pur
tion of our cogp try east of ths
It is estimated that on the plains only
fifteen inches of rain and (melted) snow
fall during each year, while the fall of
moisture at Baltimore exceeds forty
inches, and there are very few portions
of our country receiving less than thirty
inches. Forts Kearney and Laramie
are within the State, this arid region
intervening, the former in the southern
and the latter in the extreme western
part, several hundred miles apart. The
elevation of Fort Kearney above the
level of the sea, which is 2,380 feet, is
increased by slow but regular grada
tions, until at Fort Laramie it reaches
4,519 feet. For the present the civilized
population of Nebraska is confided to
her eastern counties and the settlements
along the line of travel which connects
the Missouri with the Rocky Mountain
settlements and the Pacific coast. The
northern branch of the Pacific railroad
is being rapidly substituted for the old
stage and wagon road, and the Missouri
is navigable for a great distance above
the northeastern boundary of the new
State. At the election in June, 1866,
the State constitution was adopted by a
majority of 100 in a vote of 7,778, and
David Butler, republican, was elected
Governor, receiving 4,093 votes, while
his democratic competitor, J. S. Brooke,
received 3,948. At an election held in
October, 1868 , the vote polled for mem
ber of the Fortieth Congress was as fol
lows : John Tare, rep., 4,820 A. S.
Paddock, conservative rep., 3,072;
George Francis Train 30—total vote,
8,920. The State is destined perhaps to
reasonably rapid growth, hereafter.
Population of Philadelphia
The PresB says: The population of Phila
delphia is now greater than that of any
European oily, except London, Paris and
perhaps Constantinople. The other prom
inent and populous European cities rank
as follows: Berlin, in 1881, 548,571; St.
Petersburg, in 1858, 520,131 ; Vienna, in
1867, 476,222; Liverpool, in 1866, 484,337;
Naples, in 1862, 447,465; Grlassgow, in 1866,
432,265. Philadelphia contained, in 1860,
565,529, and this has since, no, doubt, been
increased to upwards of 760,000, and may
now reach pciAkil, me populatiop of Lon..
don, according to tile oenaus taken !net year, ,
was 3,037,991, and of Paris, according to the
French census of 1860, 1,825,274.
NUMBER 7.
The New Orleans Riot
The Committeeappointed by the Rad
icals in Congress to make a report on the
New Orleans Riot, have finished their
work. They have done exactly what
they were expected to do. They only
heard witnesses on one side, and only
reported such evidence as suited their
views. , Mr. Boyer, a Democratic mem
ber from this State, and an honest and
upright man, has made a minority re
port, which can be received as true in
all respects. He, after a faithful, full
and impartial examination of all the
facts, dissents from the conclusion of his
colleagues, and says that the avowed
object of ttip Convention was an amend
ment of the existing Constitution of
Louisiana in such a manner as to se
cure their party the absolute con
trol of the offices in. the State, ne
gro suffrage, and the disfranchise
ment of a sufficient number of those
who had been. connected with the late
rebellion. These were the leading
measures by which the desired ascend
ancy was to be obtained. Mr. Boyer
proceeds to show the illegality of the
Convention, saying, the Government,
which was in force in Louisiana under
the Constitution of 1864, was on the3Oth
of July, 1866, even from the Radical
standpoint, by that acquiescence and
the consent of Congess, a State de jure,
as well as a Government de facto, and
binding as such upon all persons within
its jurisdiction. The Conventionists
counted upon Congress's co-operation.
Under ordinary circumstances, a small
body of men assembling for the purpose
of changing the government of a State,
with so little color of law, might be
treated as a harmless body, and be re
garded as entitled to but little public
notice. But in this case the time and
circumstances were extraordinary, and
well calculated to excite serious appre
hension. A Judge of the Supreme
Court was at the head of it, and the Gov
ernor of the State encouraged it. It was
given out that Congress had been con
,,ulted and would lend its assistance.
Preceding the action of the Convention,
Judge Howell proceeded to Washington
to consult in person with the leading
members of Congress. He informed the
Committee that he consulted with
members of Congress, and named the
Hon. Messrs. Boutwell, Stevens, Kelly,
Banks, Grinnell, Morris, Paine, and
others. The result was that he returned
to New-Orleans, and went on with the
movement. The encouragement which
Howell testified he received at Wash
ington was made known to the friends
of the Convention, perhaps with exag
geration, and on the 24th of July, six
days before the meeting, a telegram was
sent from New-Orleans to the Wash
ington correspondent of The New York
Times, stating, among other things,
that Howell had returned with assur
ances that Congress would support the
Convention, &c. The indorsement and
support of Congress appears to have
been the common topic of conversation
among the Conventionists before the
30th of July.
Mr. Boyer, in reviewing the origin of
the riots, said the Conventionists ap
pealed to the negroes to arouse them
and their active co-operation was in
vited. "It will be remembered," he
says, " that these demonstrations were
made in the heart of the city, yet the
speakers were not interrupted nor the
meeting disturbed. After the harangues
were over a procession of between 2,000
and 3,000 colored persons, between 10
and 11 o'clock at night, appeared with
d eott
torch-lights, hurrahing and s Ling
through several of the pi inci streets
to the City Hall. There the rowd was
addressed by Dr. Dostie, an exhorted
to go home peaceably, but to kill any
who might assail them. After this no
disturbance took place and the crowd
peaceably dispersed. Yet no soldiers
were engaged and no policemen came
to interfere." "May npt," he asks,
" these acts be cited as a striking evi•
dence of the toleration of free speech in
the City of New Orleans ?" The causes
of the riot might be sought for else
where. It was the acts and the de
clared intention of the Conventionists,
and the illegal and violent character of
their proceedings, which produced the
excitement and brought about the col
lision. The . character and antecedents
of the Conventionists were not such as
to make them the accepted standard
of Unionism and loyalty in that locality.
The proscription threatened by such
men through the action of the Conven
tion, must have been peculiarly galling
to those to be affected by their proceed
ings. It had already been shown that
no interference was made with free
speech, but incendiary appeals and acts
of revolution could not be pursued with
impunity, and arrest the progress of
such affairs. Mr. Boyer does not agree
with the majority that the riot was de
liberately planned by Mayor Monroe,
and refers to the evidence to show that
the first shots fired were by a negro at a
policeman. To Lieut.-Gov. Voorhees,
ex-Rebel, belongs, the credit of having
supplied the place of his official superior
in originating timely precautionary
measures, which, it carried out, would
have prevented the riot, and which
failed from no fault of his.
In reviewing the comments of the
majority of the Committee on the course
of the President, Mr. Boyer says : The
President needed no vindication. If it
were not on account of the partisan
slanders with which he had been so
unscrupulously assailed during the late
election, it:might justly be deemed an
offense against good taste to name him
in this connection. His acts, so far as
they bad any bearing upon' the circum
stances investigated by the Committee,
exhibited him in no other light than as
a Chief Magistrate actuated by a sincere
desire to preserve the public peace, and
to uphold the law. Mr. Boyer contro
verts the views of the majority that the
riot is to be attributed to those who are
charged with hostility to the Union
and with proscribing those from busi
ness who are loyal to the country. Mr
Boyer submits the following conclu
sions:
First, That the riot of the 30th of
July was a local disturbance, originat-
ing in local circumstances of great
provocation, and in nowise the result of
any hostility or disaffection on the part
of the community of New Orleans
toward the Federal Government. It
was not in any just or fair sense of the
term, a vestige or outcropping of the
Rebellion, nor can it be said to be any
indication even in the remotest degree
of a disposition on the part of the peo
ple of the City of New Orleans, or those
of the State of Louisiana, to renew hos
tilities in any form with the established
authorities, either State or Federal.
Second, It would be monstrous injus
tice to hold the people of the State of
Louisiana accountable for the acts of
those engaged in a riot confined to a
small portion of the City of New Or
leans; and, for that cause, to abro_ ate
by any act of Congress the Civil Gov
ernment of that State now in peaceful
and successful operation, would be a
usurpation of power not warranted by
the Constitution, and a gross outrage
upon the principles of free government.
Third. The riot was provoked by the
incendiary speeches, revolutionary acts,
and threatened violence of the Conven
tionists, such as under similar circum
stances would probably have led to a
riot in any city in the Union.
Fourth. To provoke an attack on the
colored population, which was expected
to be suppressed by the military before
it had seriously endangered the white
leaders, appears to have been partof the
plan of the Conventionists. This would
afford an excuse for Congressional in
vestigation, resulting in Congressional
legislation, favoring the ultimate design
of the conspirators, namely : the 'de
struction of the existing civil govern
ment of Louisiana.
Fifth. As respects that part of the
resolution of the House which makes it
a subject of investigation by the Com
mittee, "whether and to what extent
those acts were participated in by mem
bers of the organisation claiming to be
the government of Louisiana," the fol
lowing conclusion is submitted : In no
proper sense of the term and in no de
gree whatever is the riot of the 30th of
July attributable to the Government of
Louisiana. If there be any members of
the Government of Louisiana in whose
RAT= ADVlEWriarlia..
ISMODINI2II ADVERTurmixigTIN, $l2 a year Der
square of ten tines; Se per year frir each ad
ditional square. •
WAAL MrrATz, PERSONAL PROTIOIT7,III2d GIN.
za4 l . AProrP 11 3 1 . e. 7 cents • line Ar the
SPEOLLL NOTICES lIISSIUNI 1n Longa Column;
_ 15 cents plc line,
Braaten NOTICES preceding marriages and
deaths, 10 cents - per line for cunt insertion.
and 5 cents for every subsequent insertion.
NCSIMISS SLEDS, or ten lines or less,
one 10
Business Cards, five Humor leek one
LEGAL AND OTIF".1. NOTICES—
Executors' 2.00
Administrators' 2.00
Assignees' ZOD
Auditors'
Other "Notioes," ten lines, or less,
three times,— —..—..---. 1.50
official or personal acts the remotest
cause of. the riot are to be traced, the
chief among them are : Judge R. R.
Howell, who as the usurping President
of the minority of an extinct Conven
tion, headed the conspiracy to over
throw the State Constitution, which, as
Judge of the Supreme Court, he had
sworn to support, and Gov. J. Madison
Wells, who lent to the conspiracy his
official sanction, but on the day of dan
ger deserted his post without an effort
to preserve the public peace. And if
there be any members of the Federal
Government who are indirectly respon
sible for the bloody result, they are
those members of the present Congress,
whoever they may be, who encouraged
these men by their counsels and prom
ised to them their individual and offi
cial support.
The Stables of New York
From the New York Evening Gazette, Jan. 4
The granite Baptist Church, with a
neat iron railing In front, which stands
on Amity street, between Greene and
Wooster, is now used by Mr. A. T.
Stewart as a stable for the horses which
he employs in his dry goods trade.
They are known as express or dray
horses, and do all the work, delivering
the goods as well as hauling them to and
from the store. A number of churches
in the lower regions of the city have
been transformed into stables, while
some are occupied for more ignoble pur
poses. The basement or Sunday School
room of the Baptist Church is used as a
store-room for the drays and express
wagons; the second floor of the church,
where the congregation used to meet, Is
filled with hay and straw. A cutting
machine stands where the pulpit
used to, and immense bins for meal,
oats, etc., have been arranged around
the sides of the room. Of course, the
chandelier, the choir and the pulpit
have been taken down ; the pews,
prayer-books, and carpets removed, but
everything else remains as before.
A large brick building for the horses,
and stalls, has been added to the rear
end of the church. The sunshine is ad
mitted through skylights, many of
which are arranged to open with cords
and pulleys fur the purpose of ventila
tion. This stable for work horses Is
considered a model oue, and is pro
nounced one of the best, if not the best
in New York. When we remember,
hocethoroughly, and with What good
taste, Mr. Stewart has built his stores
and dwelling house, which are the pride
and the admiration of the city, we may
be sure that neither expense nor art
have been spared to make this stable as
healthy, convenient and perfect as pos
sible.
The stalls are arranged in sets of four
each, placed each side of a broad aisle
much like pews in a church. The floor
of the stalls is of wood, and inclines at
a slight angle from the head of the stall
to the entrance. The rest of the floor is
paved with brick. There are thirty-two
stalls in the room, a force of this num
ber of horses being required by Mr.
Stewart to carry on file business. About
twenty of thesp are employed at the
wholesale or down town store, and six
at the up town or retail store. They
are sometimes kept out until ten o'clock
at night delivering packages. Poor
Miss Flora McFlimsey has nothing to
wear! Six horses running until ten
o'clock P. M., to deliver silks, laces,
shawls and kid gloves.
The stables are lit with gas ; and a
large trough of Croton water is, - in the
room, from which the ho ~drink.
The room is very lofty, anctlvhen all
the horses are in, and ther'windows
closed, the temperature rapidly rises.
A small room opening out of the stable
is used for a harness room, and is kept
warm by a coal fire. One man is em
ployed to keep the harness in order,
mending and oiling them. The horses
have no fixed time for their work, but
come into the stable when there is
nothing further to be done ; a groom is
always in attendance to rub them down
and blanket them. Each stall contains
a small trough lined with zinc for oats,
meal and liquid food, also a large trough
for bran.
All the: hay eaten by the horses is
cut, salted:4Pd mixed with oat and corn
meal. Ektihorse is fed sixteen quarts
of oats per day. The cutting machine
was spoken of as a "bully one," and the
name of E. H. Raner&Co., of 85 Water
street, was painted upon the sides, a
fact which may.be of some interest to
other stable keepers. Slides for the
hay, oats and_MeSl run from thechurch
to the stable, 'Which is on the ground
floor.
These horses are of a large size, stout
and healthy. Their pedigree is traced
back no farther than Bull's Head mar
ket, where they are purchased. A man
attends the sales, selects such and as
many horses as are wanted, and takes
them to the stable on a week's trial.
At the end of that time they have
proved their soundness and working
qualities, and are kept or sent back ac
cordingly. The prices paid for them
varies from $.508 to $l,OOO. Some of the
horses have been in M. Stewart's em
ploy for eight years. When a good one
is found it is kept as long as it is able to
work.
THE STABLES. OF CORNELIUS VANDER•
At Nos. 23 and 24 Fourth street, are
the brown stone stables of Mr. Vander
bilt. The principal rooms are on the
ground floor, and consist of a carriage
room and a small trotting park or train
ing course. The trotting park is an im
mense room, lighted from above and
paved with cobbles. The course is
covered several inches deep with saw
dust. The horses are walked about this
course twice each day, during the win
ter, to keep them in training. Mr.
Vanderbilt keeps a stud of nine horses,
and nine different styles of wagon. At
present two of his best horses are out
of town in the hands of their former
owners for training.
His celebrated fourteen thousand dol
lar horse, Mountain Boy, is at New
burgh, on the Hudson, and Post Boy is
at New Hamburg. The Boston Girl,
which cost six thousand three hundred
dollars, is also out, but her mate, the
St. Lawrence Maid, is in the stable.
Mr. Vanderbilt's pet names for these
two horses are Noye and Maggie.
_The
stud mare Rosy, which trots a mare in
three minutes, is also in the stable. A
new colt, called Fenian Bill, which has
not yet been "brought out into society,"
rills one of the stalls.
Mr. Vanderbilt pays but little atten
tion to the carriage horses, although
Madame rides after a span of tine blacks.
The stalls are arranged along the sides
of what is known as a cellar stable,
being seven feet below the surface of
the street. Great attention is paid to
ventilation, each stall having a venti
lator besides a general passage for fresn
air and light which rubs from the centre
of the room up to the roof. No little
attention is paid to this subject of fresh
air for horses ; at the same time a com
fortable temperature is preserved. In
this stable it is impossible for foul air to
remain.
It was remarked that nearly every
horse which came into that stable hada
cold, or some disease of the nose or
chest, but after remaining a while it
entirely recovered, and was never heard
to neigh. The horses enter this stable
by going down a flight of gradually de
scending stone steps thickly covered
with saw dust.
There is a great difference in the
management of different horses, the
work horses of Mr. Stewart being able
to bear more food of a different quality
than the fancy trotting horses of Mr.
Vanderbilt. " They differ the same as
men and women in theirgrub," said the
groom, and that explains the whole
matter. If this fact is recognized by the
keeper then each horse is a law unto
itself, and eats that which is best suited
to its constitution. In thesummer time
when a trotting team is at work each
day, they have but nine quarts of oats
each.
They are " mashed off" or fed with
meal but twice a week. Most of the hay
they eat Is uncut. The upper or second
story of these stables is used. for hay or
grain, with sides which communicate
with the cellar. The harnesses of this
establishment are kept in excellent.
order and displayed in a glass show case..