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For the lutelligeneur
BY A3LISDA. MCNEAL.
What IS It I see 1 a the azure sky
Shining afar from our home on high 'I
In It a glittering star In beauty given
Or an angel's eye, or a glimpse of heaven'?
I have often dreamed the story told
Of the beautiful robes and the crowns of gold
Of the river and gems of that holy plaee,
Hat the purest gem was the Saviour's face.
I have gazed on 1111• beings pure and bright,
Who lulmbll those boutulless realms of light,
And I've longed to be true from earth's dull
(sires,
mingle my songs of praise with theirs
1 losen seen the Saviour's hien within
And itimost In•ard his "e n due
M imp way lull, lad uhis. unseen
Mere ihe Ilps that told nw
dream
Again In dream, I've been wafted o'er
Byfloutlog slrallik from the other shore,
'llll Joy soul enraptured sought the skies
To 1, n.ne the tousle (Iles,
Nor thought Isitore renehlug the Savlnuem fent
tit' the streliiii to h.• crossed st, dark uuil dee•{t;
1:111. the strains win• hushed as 1 ❑oared din
stream,
IMEES=I
I am willing now to drvern iked welt,
'l'lll the star thr ou gh the open gato
Shall shine, with a hrlght, beam to eller.:
My wavering sight, to Ithere rest In se,:
'l'lll, with out Ntr.drda•.l arms, the angels come
To In.ar ine along to their hoavonly
Tlealall !hal, and lark, I'll cross LI.. stream
hind hea‘en'n lad only a dream.
lo•ntsilfill face, In t hi , n11,11(.111,',
IIII• 4,i, and !war,
W lll,
‘V ,II, 1, 1 ,4 .
TII,Lt. I it'Pl 1,1“
1111 1111111: , .: 1111,111.1.1111141 t
1,1.• low 111 oorld.-1 , •.•p;
I st rettli Illy 11.11 , 141, a c•1:1,:p of
nta the elltpty I,llwly
Aln Illy ithult• 1 1,1.t•11.
'lla•la•'s brow with a ra.liaat .•rawn,
And a 1 . 111,, th, lii.t ;
ry novel. 1,1111,
• 11.. (non
IL,•Ir Inn,wont
vvoll ! 1 , .1.10
tillr_lrl~ liar ..mill r ,rltl
1:11I .111 it stoll).1, 1,1 1.111,
A. II 11.,:its 111 41111shilli. Ihoraill
1.) . V I' I,t t hi. world's great. thrum 4
There', a re:;lool above the,k Ito
A tool I lung In reach Ohs shore,
Voir I I; nine I snail litel illy treasure lliere
The laughing eyes alai alit hoer Italy
tit Ilot hit tol tines tootle lorlttrr.
ictllanco us
Object and Shadon
I=l
I: N' 1N 11 11. N I'll 1
Silent, dreamy, beautiful lay the val
ley or \\'yell il l on till` , fair day in
July, 1778. The inhabitants were calm
ly ;Mout their ticcustonied toil, reposing
in peace, but many of theist doubtless
thinking id' their loved ones far away,
NOW OVell niiw !night be lying in death
in the bloody carnage. And who can
tell how many :1 prayer arose front pure
:Ind humble hearts witch (lout made In
strumental in finding its way to the
heart ()I' many :t poor soldier, battling
for all that makes life worth having,
liberty and right, purifying and inspir
ing it
Etnleiwervil in roses and clambering
vines, the pretty white cottage lay nes
tled in the valley. Upon its portico
stood a young girl, of twenty years, and
an elderly wornan, gazing on the lofty
peaked Allegletnies before their eyes,
where tier above -tier the forest trees
rose in niaiestic grandeur; but the ex
pression of lhcir eyes showed that their
thoughts were absent. The young lady
was very fair, but beautiful in her ever
varying, though tiver-liively expression
lather html in feature, bewitching in
her movements.
I r strong resemblance to the elderly
lady bespoke their relationship.
" Dot, mother," she was saying, "
cannot perceive where 11civeany intim
cili., or how .
can have."
" Every iilject, casts its shadow," re
plied her ini ther. " Thus, though you
can scarcely pereeive the inlluence you
exert, there is an Moi. , something that
emakiates from every one, for good or
evil. Do you lint suppune that you had
some hilluence over Herbert when he
gave you his heart
" Yes," replied the young girl, with tt
" and 1 know that my
influence over him is greater than any
body else's. But he loves me."
" ISM you had :ill inlluence over Lim
Ili mule 111111 love pill. Every one ex
erts an influence noire or less,and Low
11110:4 it 110111)1We 115, litlee the pow
er in more or less degree, to make those
around Its good or bad, miserable or
happy-to use our iffiluenee to the tit
-110,41 I . or good. Or very few can the
Lord say, as he said of the woman who
anointed his head, 'She bath done
what, she could."'
The conversation Wa, here interrupt
ed by the impearanee of the husband
and father, Pale, ghastly, terrible, he
rushed up to his wire mid child.
oiVr sake, wife, Alma, get
into the house, for there's no chance of
running! 0 Inc I ! The Indians
nod Tories are right upon us! Don't
you hear them? —a whole:truly of them;
Butler and Brant at their head, I sup
loos& --the Minds! (!iiine, get into the
House. NI), uo ; you Woll . t be protected
there. Itun up to ItroWn's stone house,
Where they call holt and liar the doors,
and have a safe refuge. It's only a few
steps from here. iiipdl,s gracious! I
don't know what I'm saying! \Ve're all
getting ready to meet the red devils, and
we'll blow them up yet. Conte—go."
'File shouting, yelling army Was in
deed Upon that TOL:I, little Plain'.
The excited old man hurried Mrs.
Ilenange and Alma to a place of refuge,
and himself joined the opposing force.
The massacre :It Wyoming - Valley,
Pennsylvania, is too well known to need
repeating here, even 'four limited space
would allow it. \Ve are informed by
history that nearly four hundred were
slain who came out to oppose the six
teen hundred Tories :owl Indians who
laid waste that peaceful valley, and
I urned to death, in pitiless triumph, the
women ale! ehilarett: - Ainong those
Who were killed wit+ Mr. Penange.
The little slime toms,. to which tie
had e nn•eycd his wino and elkild was
neither a garrison nor a lit . ..prom. As
its stones began to fall, and its timbers
to crack, Alma Ben:Loge, anti her , toothi
er, with the other women iu the house,
rushed to the heir. They hastily re
moved the bolts and liars, with which
they hoped fur refuge and security.—
But, to their horror, the doors were fas
tened on the outside beyond their feeble
strength to force, while the shouts of
the enemy were ❑s distinct us terrible.
l'he names surrounded them. They
Spreall elver the 114)0r. 'l • he timbers tell
shove theta, :11Id several perished front
the injure• received front them and the
names. A beam from above fell on Mrs.
Bentinge's head. tshe dropped insensi
ble to the thaw. Alma sprang to low
side. Iler skull was crushed; blood
covered her pursuit ; her garments were
on tire; her pulse was still. Alma felt
herself scorching and suffocating; the
tlikor was giving way beneath her; lire
around, above, beneath her; her mur
dered mother by her side. She raised
her eyes to heaven, With the spirit of
the persecuted martyr, and prayed:
"Father, forgive the guilty, and save
the innocent in thine own blessed home,
if not here.
' Father, rant in thy Bands."
"No radiant pc.arl w111,111.n.5t0.1 l ,, rtnith,
N riSing Stilt ',hat th.• vf.1,111 bourn,
Shines with such lustre:Ls the lour that breaks
For otheri' woo, down W1,1110.11 . :11”Vtly 12111,104,'
Alma was expecting death the next
moment, and trembled not to meet it.
When the massive door fell, she was
caught in the arms of a painted redskin,
and borne away, she knew not where;
for, while she could meet death with an
unquailing heart, she realized that
" The most terrible of terrors
Is mon himself iu his wild wrath
and fainted with terror and agony.
When she recovered sensibility, she
found herself lying on some deerskins
in an Indian wigwam.
"Where inn 1?" she inquired, rising
herself up, and glancing around her.
The face of a notorious Tory gleamed
fiercely upon her
" Poor girl—poor girl !" said the man,
in a tone evidently meant to be sympa
thetic, but in which triumph was ill
concealed; and with the countenance
of a fiend.
My mother! 0 my mother!" mur
mured Alma to herself, in deep agony.
"Your mother," the man went on,
" perished in the names; your father
was slain in foolishly attempting to re
sist ; and Herbert Sinclair was killed in
the last battle."
Alma shed no tear; but her white
white face, bore on its expressive sur
'tilt 3.tattat/0 -$/ittetti-4.znee
VOLUME 71
face woe that would have thrilled with
awe anybody but the man before her.
" Your house is burned ; yourproper
ty is laid waste. Alma Benange, you
are homeless, penniless, an orplum, and
a prisoner. The Indians would have
killed you but for me."
" Why did you not let them? Would
to God they had!"
" Why, Alma, sweet Alma, because I
loved you. In spite of your rejections
your scorn I love you. Consent to be
my wife rind you shall not be desolate."
The expression of extreme repulsion
that flashed across the face of Alma in
terrupted him. She returned :
" It is impossible, Mr. Wilcox. Never
ask me that question again."
" Do you reflect—"
" It is perfectly useless. Mr. Wilcox,
to argue the point."
"It is, eh ? Well, I will resort to
stemless measures, then. Listen, Alma
llenange. Three times you, a poor, un
tutored country girl, have refused the
suit of one whose wealth and position
place hint among the first in rank.—
Thousands of women in my own rank I
might have married before the age of
forty, but you are the only one I ever
loved. From the first moment I gazed
upon you I swore that you should be
wine. I will keep the vow. Before one
month you will he the wife of Douglas
Wilcox."
LWL Y ()Ill)'Li
And thus fipeaklng, he left.
Alma remained for a long time speech
less, moveless, striving to collect
thoughts which threatened to drive her
mad. She finally arose, and asked nu
merous questions relative to her posi
tion. She found herself a closely quar
tered prisoner, and wins soon borne away
from the wigwam to a dreary prison
prepared for her by Wilcox in the house
of a but zealous Briton.
Here she remained fur days half
starved as for food, and with nothing to
feed her mind upon but her own miser
able thoughts.
But she was a religious maiden, and
her soul was comforted by the blessed
Word so well treasured in her memory
by the inbreathings of the Holy Spirit,
which drew the sting of sorrow from
her heart.
Almost every day she was persecuted
with a visit from Major Wilcox. He
was a man of brilliant talents but de
based morals. Alma prayed that she
might show this man, who believed that
Open villains only were honest and all
the rest of the world hypocrites, that
there was something real - in the opposite
sentiments that she professed. She
grew to pity him for the evil passions
that enthralled hint just in proportion
as she detested him. She thought of
the last conversation she had with her
mother. " Every object casts its shad
ow," tier 'wither had said. " There
fore," said she, " though I can scarcely
perceive that I have any in flueuce, to
every act and word and thought there
must be a reflection. I can perceive my
thoughts reflected in my words and acts
noire easily than I can perceive the re
flection of them."
A month passed. Alma waited in
trembling expectation for Mr. Wilcox's
:attempt to force her into marriage, but
fully determined to never say the word
that would make her his wife. Ile al
luded to the subject :
"Alma, consent to be my wife; you
shall not repent it."
" Would you have tile marry you
without love'.'
" Yes; the love will come afterward.
I will make you love me."
" My heart is buried in the grave of
llerhert Sinclair. Its resurrection will
never come till I 'met hint in heaven.
I) Major Wilcox, erase these cruel per
secutions! Why do you seek to distress
me thus? If you tio indeed love me,
show it by speaking my happiness and
not my misery."
" I want my own happiness; I can
not be happy without you. I have
made a vow that you sloth he mine."
" You will fiturhappiness in making
:mother happy at the sacrifice of your
own will Don't you suppose God has
more joy than Satan
" That is a subject which gives me 110
delight to discuss. If I have scented
cruel to you it was because I loved you
80. BLit I want you to love me. For
give my harshness, but I cannot give
you up, I will not, however, attempt
to marry you jumt now."
From that tittle the half-starved girl
was well ledr -- Ir. Wileox's strange gen-
tleness inspired her with surprise and
hope.
Alt! few shall part where ninny meet ;
The snow shall he their winding
Anil every met beneath I heir feet
Shall be :t hepulchr,
"Now yield you, Major Wilcox .'
cried the young revolutionary hero,
standing over that oflicer . protrate
form.
But Wilcox hero fainted front htillled
rage and loss of blood. It had been a
short, sharp skirmish, in which the
Americans were victorious. The Eng
lish made a flying retreat, throwing
away their arms and ammunition, but
Major Wilcox, with two others, were
taken prisoners.'
'the leaders in this brief conflict had
been Major Wilcox on the English side,
and Captain Herbert Sinclair on the
American, forthestory that Wilcox had
told Alma respecting Herbert's death
was false. He had only been slightly
wounded.
Wilcox opened his eyes in a hospital,
and gazed on the youthful and noble
countenance thatbent over "flow
well-mated they would be ! Le could but
confess to himself. Aloud he asked :
o me, for it' I must I have a preparation
) make.''
The Hurgeon hesitated a moment, then
ravely answered :
" I see no hope."
" Tell me," cried Sinclair, "as you
hope for the mercy of the (4),1 to wli . om
you hasten, have you the posse,sion of
Alma?"
" It is of her I would speak," returned
Wilcox, "for I must die. I seized her
from the flames in which her mother
NV:IS consumed, and have since kept her
a close prisoner. Tremble not with in
dignation and horror, for she is safe. I
swore that she should be my wife, but
Grid lifts cut oil my evil designs. She
WaS in my power, but there WaS some
thing in the very atmosphere of her
presence that forbade me to insult her,
that roused memories of other days
when I was not so bad, that inspired
longing for a different heart, for a dif
ferent life. All! what a noble influence
that girl has! I was struggling with
newly-awakened convictions when I fell
into your hands.
He directed llerbert where to !Ind
Alma.
" Find her," said he, "and C;od bless
you both. I hope you can both Lind in
your hearts to forgive me. My !ninutes
now are numbered. Pray Witli me,
Sinclair."
Never did prayer more sincere and
earnest ascend from Herbert's lips. As
Ike rose from his knees he was struck
with the expression of holy peace that
rested on the countenance of the man
so long known as bold, bad Wilcox.—
He saw that life was fast ebbing away.
Wilcox strove to speak, but blood gush
ed copiously from his wound in the at
tempt, and he uttered no sound. Her
bert gently moved the aching body.
Hark ! Ile bent his ear to listen.
"Tell Alma she has wrought this
change. 0, the change ! Light where
there was darkness! In place of the
misery of toy own evil passions, emo
tions so new, so strange, so rapturous
that I know not how to define them.—
If I could only live to lead a batter
life!"
ais voice sunk to the lowest whisper,
is nerves relaxed—a few miuutes and
ll was over.
The next morning was the earliest
moment that Herbert could obtain leave
of absence. Assuming a disguise, be
went alone, and, after a few tedious de
lays and many hair-breadth escapes (of
which our allotted space does not per
mit us to speak), succeeded in finding
Alma. Her joy may better be imagined
than described—joy mingled with sor
row for the parents so cruelly murdered.
They wore almost beyond the enemy's
lines when they were surprised by meet
ing a scouting party of Indians, who re
cognized Captai n S nelair and demanded
his surrender. Before Herbert could
make the useless resistance that he in
tended, he was bound, and, with Alma,
dragged away.
The sight of Alma's sutrerings—her
helplessness—was almost too much for
the poor youth. It pierced his heart
with thorns—it set a fire raging through
his brain—but he, too, was helpless.
.
As Alma gazed into the countenance
of the Indian who seemed to be the
leader of the dozen, her mind was car
ried back to two years before.
She was walking in her father's field
one day, when she beheld a horse run
ning away with its rider. The man had
fallen from his horse, and was being
dragged senseless over the ground with
one foot in the stirrup. With a heroic
presence of mind Alma sprang before the
horse and stopped him. How she stop
ped him she could not tell herself. We
occasionally hear of a man whose will is
so powerful as to subdue to its mandate
wild, savage, unbroken animals. It was
something of this will that throbbed in
the soul and strung the nerves of Alma
that had its influence on the horse.
She released the insensible, bleeding
form, found the man to be an Indian,
summoned aid, and nursed him at her
father's house until he recovered from
his injury. His gratitude to Alma knew
no bounds, and after despairing of find
ing a way to express it, lie said :
"Whenever the pale-face can think
of a great favor she wants, let her ask
Scarlet, and if within his power lie will
grant it."
The time had now come.
" Scarlet !"
At the sound of the voice the chief s
son (for such he was, half-civilized)
turned, faced, and recognized the pre
server of his life. lie ordered a halt,
and almostatupelied with astonishment,
almost weeping with grateful memories,
spoke to Alma in tones of affection and
regret, bade her ask him now for the
favor he had promised her. Her natural
instinct was to ask for her lover's re
lease. "But, no," thought she, "I will
demand a greater favor, and one that
may procure the release of us both."
Alum, in earnest tones, said:
" Scarlet
i I will not ask of you any
thin, that is impossible for you to grant.
Willyou, therefore, grant me the favor
I shall ask you ?"
"The word of Scarlet has been pledg
ed—the word of a brave. Lt, cannot be
broken:,
" Yes, you have pledged your word
to me. Remember, you' have pledged
your word to me. I ask then—"
" Speak on, pale-face."
"'Phut you give your heart to the
Good Spirit."
Scarlet was unprepared for this. The
cold sweat oozed from every poor of his
body. Ile cried out that she had asked
an impossibility.
"Not so," replied Alma, "fur the
spirit of purity and truth, say that who
soever will come unto loin he will in
nowise east out. Allthings :ire possible
with (kHI."
This and Touch wore did she say,
pleading, in her simple, earliest language
for that heart's allegiance to its God,
praying for the aid of the holy one; she
succeeded.
Scarlet already believed that the (Mod
Spirit had sent a book to men. We can
not relate the wonderful change pro
duced in that Indian—how, fur the re
maining years of his life, he labonal
among his brothers in the forest.
His history would till an interesting
volume, but our story is already too
long. We have endeavored to show in
a few incidents front Alma's fife the
power of influence. We have only en
deavored to show, in a few incidents
from Alma Benange's life, the lower of
influence ; how much the humblest in
fluence, well directed, may accomplish.
Alma had no extraordinary gift ; she
did no more than any one of us may do,
gentle reader. We may not see such re
sults as she did, but slowly and surely
our influence is working its way. How
much it does we do not ourselves know.
When we reflect that for every idle word
we shall give account, we may feel the
importance of improving our talents for
the best use to which we can put them.
I have only to add that the Indian's
newly-aroused conscience allowed him
to release Herbert and Alma, who found
her way back in safety to the American
lines, and were soon after married; and,
alter the dark and trying days of the re
volution had passed, enjoyed peace and
prosperity.
Betrothal of a Grecian Bride
A correspondent of the Interior writes
Prom Greece:
We were watching, with great inter
est, the dances of the peasant girls out
on the level green, and commenting
upon the picturesque dresses of the
maidens and men, when suddenly we
perceived they were all edging their
way quietly oil toward a particular
dwelling that stood near the sea. On
inquiring, we learned that there was to
be a betrothal that afternoon, a cere
mony that, according to customs here,
takes place a few days before marriage.
And we were very pleasantly informed
that it would not be considered at all an
intrusion if we, strangers as we were,
should seek to be present. Of course,
we hurried on with the rest.
As we came out through the - ruins,
standing upon the high slope of the hill,
the spectacle that suddenly flashed upon
us was singularly beautiful. 1 never
saw the water so exquisitely blue as it
was looking toward the Strait of Sala
mis. And right between our outlook
and the beach lay a half mile of rich
greensward, variegated at points with
brown rocks jutting through. The yel
low sunlight lay almost palpitating and
palpable among the grass. More than
sixty or a hundred men and women,
inoqly maidens of the village, in holi
day dresses, were thronging the path
leading to the white dwelling, or al
ready wandering in compact little
groups on the spaces around it. We lost
no time in joining them, and soon reach- '
ed the spot. And before long a most
courteous invitation was brought us,
that we should one and all enter it.
We found ourselves rising a stairway
in the presence of fifty or more guests,
male and female, in a long, narrow
room. We were politely furnished with
chairs, but the others, we observed, sat
on mats around low tables ranged in
two rows along the length of the apart
ment, the men on one side, the women
on the other. They were at the mo
ment partaking of the feast. They
brought us several plates of bread and
meat, and afterward a resinous sort of
wine. It was not only palatable, but
very good. And while we continued
eating, the clatter of Albanian tongues
filling the intervals of the courses ' two
indefatigable musicians, perched high
on a sort of divan, played lively music,
a violin accompanied by a kind of lyre
trimmed ingeniously with a quill or
reed.
Before long the bride came in, and
was sedately conducted to a place at the
head of the company, where she re
mained standing. It is ungracious to
say she was not ;handsome ; but then
they scent to have a most absurd custom
of keeping the young woman, who is in
her most interesting situation, entirely
silent. She is actually not allowed to
speak a word for several days, and it is
not modest even to lift her eyes. Hence
the attitude in which she was retained
was not advantageous, and I am bound
to say she looked a little demoralized
among so many unchecked maidens
gracing her presence. After a little, one
of the young men arose from his place
to bestow his bridal gift. Ile had two
or three silver coins strung on a ribbon;
ho came up bashfully and tied them
around her neck. Then lie offered his
hand, the back of which she bent to
touch with her forehead, kissed it with
out looking up, and he retired. So they
all came, each in turn, quietly but kind
, ly leaving their coins, tying them on the
I first which hung dependent on her
breast. She made not the slightest ges
ture of help, though one or two fumbled
a good deal. But a most vivacious little
woman at her ; side did the honors in
her behalf, and was of essential aid
whenever an awkwardness became im
minent. We watched this most inter
esting ceremony for a while, thinking
how much more sensible it is to give
brides presents in cash ; then I was
commissioned to bear the:benedictions
of our party to her. Among the coins
which her husband received, he no doubt
discovered the napoleon these fingers
tied on; and among the various remark
able memorials this right hand will
evermore bear is that of the kiss an Al
banian bride delivered, about two inches
below the ring finger knuckle.
Salting IllichCows
Wm. Egger, of Lowville, Lewis coun
ty, N. Y., a Swiss dairyman of expe
rience, gives the method practised in
Switzerland by the best stock keepers,
for salting stock. He says that cows
should be salted early every morning,
and if they are fed in the stable, the
salt should be given before foddering.—
Salting in this way improves their ap
petite ; they drink with more regulari
ty, are kept in better health, and give
more milk than when salted in the usual
way, as practised by dairymen in
America - . He thinks it is very injur
ious to salt milch cows only once or
twice a week, as they will lick too much
salt at one time, and drink too much
water for the day. To have stock do
well, they must be fed with regularity
every day alike, and never given too
much of anything at one time.
LANCASTER, PA., WEDNESDAY MORNING JULY 13, 1870
Call Man
Any one who is disposed to try a
laugh, will do well to read on.
John Jackson was a very industrious,
hard working man, of twenty-three
years. Being the eldest child, and only
son, he had always remained at home,
assisting his father upon the farm.—
John was much respected by every one
in the neighborhood and many a bright
eyed girl had secretly thought she would
like to change her name to Mrs. John
Jackson. But John was no "ladies'
man." The fact was, John was very
bashful. He would rather hoe potatoes
all day, then undergo the ceremony of
an introduction to a young lady. Not
that John disliked the dear creatures—
far from it. We believe that he, in
common with all bashful well meaning
men, entertained the very highest re
spect and admiration fur them. And
this, nu doubt, was the principal cause
of his bashfulness. He felt that they
were superior beings, and that he was
unworthy to associate with them upon
terms of equality. But we cannot stop
to moralize.
Nancy Clark was the daughter of a
respectable farmer, whose lands adjoin
ed the Jackson ;arm. Nancy was a
pretty, saucy little wench, and she liked
John Jackson. When they were chil
dren they attended the same school, and
he was few years her senior, was usual
ly her companion in the childish dis
putes that arose and her companion in
going and returning. At last, John
became so much of a young man as to
be kept front school, as she had been in
past years. John discovered, too, that
be had been growing in stature, and
that he had been growing out of shape.
His feet and legs appeared very awk
ward ; he didn't know what to with his
hands; his face pained hint, and taken
all in all, he was inclined to think ho
was not more than half put together.
Now the truth was, John Jackson was
really a fine looking young man, and
nothing but his admiration for Nancy
could have suggested any such foolish
thoughts above himself.
As the novelist say, it was a lovely
day in August. The heavens were
clear, serene and beautiful ; the trees
were laden with golden fruit, and the
beautiful birds twittered their songs of
love in the branches. Earth there,
we've slid down to the earth once more
such lofty flights, they make our head
dizzy.—We were about to say that
"earth had yielded her bountiful har
vest of a year's grass, and clover, and
honeysuckles, which the noble yeo
manry of Chesterville had garnered
within their -storehouse"—but, upon
second thought, have concluded to
word it thus "The farmers of Chester
vil le fust done haying."
John Jackson's sister had a quilting
that afternoon. His father had gone to
" Keith's Mill" to get some wheat
ground, and John was left to repair
some tools, to be ready to commence
mowing the meadow grass.—Suddenly
it occurred to John that if he remained
about the house in the afternoon, he
would be called in at tea time and re
quired to du the honors of the table.
To avoid this, he quietly shouldered his
scythe and stole away to the meadow,
half a mile distant, fully resolved
that he would not leave the
meadow until it was so dark that he
could not see to mow, and thus avoid
seeing the girls.
The meadow was surrounded on all
sides by a thick forest, which effectually
shut out what little breeze there might
be stirring. 'the Sun poured its rays
as though the little meadow was the
focus point where the heat was concen
trated. John mowed and sweat—sweat
and mowed, until he was obliged to sit
down and cool nth'. Then it occurred to
John that if he took oft' his pants he
might be much more comfortable.—
There could be no impropriety in it for
lie was entirely concealed from observa
tion, and there was not the slightest
reason to suppose that he could be seen
by any person.
So John stripped oil, and with no
cover save his linen—commonly called
a shirt—lie resumed his work. He was
just congratulating himself upon the
good time he was having, and the lucky
escape he had made from meeting the
girls, When he chanced to disturb a huge
black snake, a genuine twister, with a
white ring, around his neck.
John was no coward, but he was mor
tally afraid of a snake. "Self preserva
tion" was the first " passage " that
dashed upon John's mind, and " legs
take care of the body " was the next.
Dropping his scythe, and spinning
round like a top, he was ready to strike
a 2:40 gait, when at that moment the
snake was near enough to hock his
MEMBEEKEZEIMMEMI
above the hem. With a treMendous
spring, he started oil with the speed ofa
locomotive. His first jump took the
snake clear from the ground, and as
John stole a hasty glance over his
shoulders, he was horrified to find the
reptile securely fastened to the extrem
ity of his garment ; while the speed with
which he rushed forward kept the ser
pent extended at all angle of ninety de
grees wtih his body.
Here was a quandary. If he stopped,
the snake woul coil about his body and
squeeze him to death; if he continued
the race he'd soon fall from sheer ex
haustion. On he flew, scarce daring to
think how his dreadful race would end.
Instinctively he had taken the direction
of home. Suddenly flashed across his
mind the true state of anirs—his father
gone—the quilting—and worst of all, the
girls ."f his new horror sent the blood
Lack curdling about his neck, and he
came to a dead halt. The next moment
he felt the body of the cold, clammy
monster in contact with his bare legs,
his tail creeping around them in a sort
of oozing way, as though his snakeship
only meditated a little fun, by way of
tickling John upon the knees.
'This was too much for human endu
rance. With a yell, such as a man never
utters save when in mortal terror, poor
John again set forward at break neck
pace, and once more had the pleasure of
seeing the snake resume his horizontal
position, somewhat after the fashion of
On, on lie flew! John n)rgot the quilt-
Eg, forgot the girls, forgot everything
ut the snake.
1 Lis active exercises (lie paid partieu
lar attention to his running,) together
with the excessive heat, had brought on
the nose-bleed, and as he ran, ears erect
and head thrown back) his chin, throat
and shirt bosom were stained with the
Hawing stream.
His first wild shriek had started the
quitters, and forth they rushed, wonder
ing if some mail Indian was not prowl
ing about. By this time John was with
in a few rods of the barn, still running
at the top of his speed, his head turned
so that lie could keep one eye on the
snake, and with the other observe what
course he must take. The friendly barn
concealed him from the sight of the
girls. Lie knew they were in the yard,
having, caught a glimpse of them as they
rushed from the house. A few more
bounds and he would be in their midst.
For a moment modesty overcome fear,
and he once more halted. The snake,
evidently pleased with his rapid trans
portation, manifested his gratitude by
attempting - to enfold tho legs of our hero
within his embrace.
With an explosive " ouch !" and urg
ed forward by " circumstances over
which he had no control," poor John
bounded on. The next moment he was
in full view of the girls, and as he turn
ed the corner of the barn, the snake
came around with a whiz, something
after the fashion of a coach whip.
Having reached the barn yard, to his
dismay he found the bars up • but time
was too precious to be wasted in letting
down bars. Gathering all his strength
he bounded into the air—snake ditto—
and as he alighted on the other side, his
suakeship's tail cracked across the up
per bar, snapping like an India cracker.
Again John set forward, now utterly
regardless of the presence of the girls,
for the extra tick of the snake's tail as
lie leaped the bars, banished all his
bashfulness and modesty, and again he
had the pleasure of finding the snake in
a straight line, drawing steadily at the
hem of his solitary garment.
The house now became the centre of
attraction, and around it he revolved
with the speed of thought. Four times
in each revolution as ho turned the
corner, his snakeship came around with
a whiz that was quite refreshing.
" While describing the third circle, as
lie came near the group of wonder
struck girls, without removing his gaze
from the snake he managed to cry out :
"CALL A MAN!"
The nest moment he whisked out o
sight, and, as quick as thought, reap
peared on the other side of the house—
" CALL A MAN !"
And away he whirled again turning
the corner so rapidly that the whiz of
snake sounded half-way between a
whistle and the repeated pronunciation
of double-e.
Before either of the girls had stirred
from their tracks, he had performed an
other revolution—
" CALI. A MAN !"
Away he flew, but his strength was
rapidly failing. Nancy Clark was the
first to recover her presence of mind and
seizing a hoop-pole, she took her station
near the corner of the house, and as
John re-appeared she brought it down
upon the snake with a force that broke
his back and his hold upon John's
nether garment at the same time.
John rushed into the house and to
his room, and at tea time appeared in
his best Sunday suit, but little the worse
for the race, and toall appearance cured
of bashfulness. That night he walked
home with Nancy Clark. The New
Year they were married, and now,
whenever John feels inclined to laugh
at his wife's hoop, or any other peculi
arity, she has only to say, "Call a man,"
when he instantly sobers down.
Shaking hands
Many people read character by the
shape of the skull; almost everybody
intuitively and instinctively reads it in
the countenance; some affect to be able
to discover it in the handwriting of per
sons whom they have never seen ; while
a few are of opinion that it may be as
certained by the manner in which a
man shakes hands. Of all these modes
of studying character that of physiog
nomy is the most to be depended upon.
Nevertheless—as an aid to, and not a
substitute for physiognomy—there is
much to be said for hand-shaking, as a
means of deciding whether he or she
who offers or accepts this act of friendly
courtesy, is cold or warm-hearted, in
different or cordial, sincere or hypocrit
ical, or whether he is really glad to in
terchange courtesies with you, or only
iretends to be so.
How did people first get into the habit.
of shaking hands': The answer is not
far to seek. In early and barbarous
times, when every savage or semi-savage
was his own lawgiver, judge, soldier,
and policeman, and had to watch over
his own safety, in default of all other
protection, two friends or acquaintances,
or two strangers desiring to be, when
they chanced to meet offered, each other
the right hand—the hand alike of offence
and defence, the hand that wields the
sword, the dagger, the club, the toma
hawk, or other weapon of war. Each
did this to show that the hand was
empty, and that neither war nor treach
ery was intended. A man cannot well
stab another while he is in the act of
shaking hands with him, unless he be a
double-dyed traitor and villain and
strives to ahn a cowardly blow with the
left, while giving the right and pretend
ing to be on good terms with his victim.
The custom of hand-shaking prevails,
more or less, among all civilized nations,
and it is the tacit avowal of friendship
and good-will, just as the kiss is of a
warmer passion.
Ladies, as every one must have re
marked, seldom or never shako hands
with the cordiality of gentlemen, un
less it be with each other. The reason
is obvious. It is for them to receive
homage, not to give it. They cannot
be expected to show to persons of the
other sex a warmth of greeting, which
might be misinterpreted ; unless such
persons are very closely related to them
by family or affection ; in which cases
hand-shaking is not needed, mid the
lips do more agreeable duty.
Every man shakes hands according to
his nature, whether it be timid or ag
gressive, proud or humble, courteous or
churlish, vulgar ur relined, sincere or
hypocritical, enthusiastic or indifferent.
The nicest refinements and idiosynera
cies of character may not perhaps be dis
coverable in this fashion, but the more
salient points of temperament and in
dividuality may doubtless be made clear
to the understanding of most people by
a better study of what I shall call the
physiology or philosophy of hand llak-
ng.
80111 e people are too '• robustious" to
be altogether pleasant. They take the
ollbred hand with the grasp of a vice,
and as if they had, with malice prepense
resolved to squeeze all the delicate little
bones of your knuckles into pulp or
mince meat. And while the tears of ag
ony come into your eyes and run down
your cheeks, they smile at you benig
nantly, like gentle giants unconscious of
their strength, and of the tyranny with
which they exercise it. Many of them
are truly good fellows, and mean all the
cordiality of which their awful squeeze
is :the manifestation. They would
exertall their strength that goes to waste
in such hand-shaking in rescuing you
from danger, if you were in it, or doing
hard battle against your enemies if you
were assailed by superior numbers. Yet
when such seemingly cordial good fel
lows manifest the same cordiality toward
people whom they met for the first time
yesterday, and towards those with whom
they may have been intimate for a half
or a quarter of a century, it is impos
sible to avoid a suspicion that they act
from habit rather than from the ebulli
tion of heart. But of all the men to be
avoided, lie who squeezes your hand
in this excruciating fashion, on a false
pretence, is the worst. He dislocates
your joints to convince you that he loves
you very dearly, and as soon as you are
out of sight forgets you, or thinks that
you are no " great shakes" after all, or,
worse still, abuses you behind your back
to the next acquaintance whom he
meet , . Him, in his turn, he serves in
the same manlier, and gradually estab
lishes for himself the character, which
lie well deserves, of being a snob and a
humbug of a particular offensive type.
Another, and even more odious kind
of handshaker, is he who offer you his
hand, but will not permit you to got a
fair hold of it; one of whom it has been
sung:
\VIOI - finger tips he eondencend4
To Couch the lingers 14 Ins friends,
At If he feared thplr palms might bnind
SOlllOlllOllll stigma to his hand.
To be treated with the cool contempt,
or supercilious scorn which such a mode
of salutation implies, is worse than not
to be saluted at all. Better a foeman,
with whom you feel on the terms of
eqality, than an acquaintance-he cannot
be culled a friend—who looks down upon
you as if he were a superior being, and
will not affinit your social equality with
out a drawback and a discount. It sonic- p
times happens, however, that this re
sult is due to the diffidence of the skakee
rather than to the pride of the shaker.
If a timid man will not hold his hand
out far enough to enable another to grasp
it fairly, it is his own fault, and betrays
a weakness in his own character, and not
a defect in that of him who would be
friendly with him.
Another handshaker whose method is
intolerable, and with whom it is next to ,
impossible to remain on friendly terms,
is the one who offers you one finger in
stead of the tips of the whole five, as
much as to say, I am either too pre
occupied in myself, or think too little of
you, to give you my whole hand. With
such a man the interchange of any but
the barest and scantiest courtesy is ren
dered difficult by any one who has a par
ticle of self-respect.
To present the left hand for the pur
pose of a friendly greeting is a piece of
discourtesy and an act that no true gen
tleman will commit. There is no reason
why it should be considered more dis
courteous than it would be to kiss the
left cheek instead of the right; but
doubtless, the custom that makes the
right hand imperitive in all sincere
salutation dates from those early times
when handshaking first began ; and the
hand that shook ur was shaken in
friendship was of necessity weaponless.
The poor left hand that one would think
ought to be of as much value and
strength as the right, just as the left foot
or leg is as strong as the right foot or
leg, because they are both used equally,
has fallen into disrepute, as well as into
comparative disuse, until it has become
an accepted phrase to say of any pro
ceeding that is inauspicious, artful, sly,
or secretly malicious, that it is " sinis
ter "—that is, left-handed.
To shake hands withoutremoving the
glove is an act of discourtesy, which, if
unintentional and thoughtless, re-quires
an apology for the hurry or madvert
ance which led to it. This idea would
also seem to be an occult remnant of the
old notion that the glove might conceal
a weapon. Hence true courtesy and
friendship required that the hand should
be naked as a proof of bona-fides.
To refuse pointedly to shake hands
with one who offers you the opportunity
in a friendly manner amounts to a de
claration of hostility. And after a quar
rel—or act of open hostility—the accept
ance of the hand offered is alike the sign
and the ratification of peace.
The nations of continental Europe
are scarcely so much addicted to hand
shaking as the English, while the Eng
lish in this respect are far less demon
strative and apparently cordial than the
Americans, who shake hands with one
another from morning to night, if even
the slightest excuse or opportunity
The Machinery of Congress
libw Rills are Introduced, Referred. i
and Parrett in the noose of
Reprieeeldtatives.
Of the thousands of people through
out the country who daily read the pro
ceedings of Congress in the newspapers
with the interest i❑ public affairs which
is felt by every good American citizen,
excepting the small number who have
been members of legislative bodies.
there are few who are not often puzzled
to understand the methods by which
bills are passed, and business transact
ed. They find on one occasion that the
objection of a single member prevents
a bill from passing, while perhaps the
next day fifty men are powerless
hinder the passage of the same measure,
and they are ready to exclaim, in the
language of Artemus Ward, " Why is
this thus.."' They do not know the
meaning of many terms used in legisla
tive proceedings. The " morning hour,"
which sometimes occurs late in the af
ternoon, is a mystery to them. The
" regular order" appears to be anything
but regular. They do not know how
businesa.gets upon the " Speaker's ta
ble," or how it gets off, and they are
ignorant of the workings of that mighty
engine, the "previous question." They
would like to know how and why the
rules are suspended, what becomes of
bills that are laid upon the table, sonic,- I
thing of the workings of Committees,
and their powers and duties, and many
other things that would give them a
fuller understanding of the talking
and voting in Congress.
At the suggestion of a reader of the
Tribune, I will give a brief account inthis
letter of how bills:originate, are referred
reported, considered, and passed in the
House of Representatives, explaining
the usual course of proceeding. It would
not be possible in a. newspaper letter to
describe the method of legislative pro
ceeding under all circumstances, for the
rules of the House alone make a vol
ume of respectable size, and the prece
dents and decisions, which have the
force of rules, are even more volumin
ous. Three rules have been the growth
ofcenturies of parliamentary experience.
They might, in the words which Judge
Bingham is so fond of applying to the
commou law, be styled, " the gathered
wisdom of a thousand years," and pro
bably little, if any, improvement could
be made upon them.
Let us suppose a member, whom we
will call Mr. Smith, is desirous of secur
ing the passage of a bill. He must first
introduce it, and this he can do in two
ways. On every alternate Monday, in •
the "morning hour," the States are
called in order for the introduction of
bills for reference, and our member can,
when his:State is called, present his bill,
and have it sent to the appropriate
Committee, or lie can offer it, by unan
imous consent, before the regular order
has been demanded in the morning, or
just before the adjournment,7and have
it referred if he can get the floor for the
purpose, but the objection of a single
member will prevent its reception. In
either ease the bill is considered to have
been " read a first and second time," but
inflict nothing but the title will have been
read. Any member can demand the read
ing of the bill in full, but this is so seldom
done that the first and second readings
may be considered as legislative fictions.
After the bill leaves tire member's hands
it is taken possession of first by the
Journal Clerk, who makes a note of it,
and next by the Printing Clerk, if it is
ordered to be printed, who sends it to
the Congressional Printing Office. It
comes back in a day or two, and is then
taken by another clerk to the room of
the Committee to whom it is referred,
and is entered by its title upon their
docket. The member who introduced
it has now no further control over it, and
its fate depends upon the Committee.—
A committee is a legislative body in
minature, with a chairman and clerk,
and from five to fifteen members, the
usual number being nine. Committees
are of two kinds, standing and select,
the former being regularly appointed at
the beginning of each Congress under a
standing rule of the House, while the
latter are created for special purposes by
resolution, and expire with the Congress
in which they are raised. Some com
mittees meet every day, others once,
twice, or three times a week, while
others of little importance meet only
when called together by their chair
men.
Mr. Smith's bill, the course of which
we are tracing, will in due time be con
sidered by the Committee to which it
has been referred. The chances are that
it will be speedily "pigeon-holed" and
forgotten, for not one-tenth of all the
bills introduced merit any serious atten
tion, or even see the light after they arc
first referred. lost of them are intro
duced solely for buncombe by members
who want to make their constituents
think they are taking a prominent part
in the work of legislation. Sometimes
half a dozen men will introduce bills on
the same subject. A great many bills,
and perhaps a majority, are not drawn
by members at all, but are gotten up by
outsiders, who have somescheme,
job, land grant, or some species of ax
grind, and who look about until they
find a member willing to father their
bills and send them to a Committee.
Let us suppose, however, that Mr.
Smith's bill is of sonic importance.—
It will, in that ease, be first re
ferred by the Chairman of the
Committee to some member for
examination, and will usually in a
week or two be reported back for action,
when Mr. Smith will be given an op
portunity to explain and advocate it
before the Committee, and attorneys,
deputations, or other persons interested
will perhaps have the saute privilege.
The Committee may amend the bill,
or substitute a new bill of their own
for it, may agree to report it favorably
to the House, or adversely, or not to
report it all, and have, in short, full
control over it, unless, as happens in
rare instances, the House instructs them
to report it back. They may or may
not submit a written report upon it.
The Cominittees are the real powers
that control the action of the House
and shape legislation. It would be hn
possible for any member to find time
to investigate and understand a tenth
part of the great number of subjects em
braced in the range of Congressional
action, so that without Committees to
digest and prepare business and select
the important front the unimportant,
intelligent legislation would be out of
the question.
We next conic to the manner in which
a committee brings its business before
the House and secures action upon it.
Four out of the 52 committees camunder
the rules, report at any lime. These are
Elections, Appropriations, Ways and
Means, and the Select Committee on
Reconstruction—the first because it is
important to decide questions affecting
the rights of members to their seats as
speedily as possible, and the second and
third on account of the necessity of
prompt action on measures to raise rev
enue and appropriate money to carry on
the Government. This privilege was
accorded to the Reconstruction Com
mittee for political and not legislative
reasons, arid ought not to be longer con
tinued. This power of reporting at any
time does not enable these committees
to force the House to consider their busi
ness when reported. The question of
consideration can be raised, and a ma
jority can refuse to take up the business.
It is customary for these privileged com
mittees, when reporting a bill, to get a
day fixed for its consideration, when it
will run front day to day until disposed
of.
All other Committees report In turn
when called in the "morning hour."
The morning-hour, except on Mondays,
is set apart for reports of Committees,
and commences immediately after the
House meets and the journal has been
read, unless delayed by some privileged
or by unfinished business the day be
fore. Each Committee is entitled when
its turn comes to two successive morn
ing hours, but at the end of the second,
if it has a bill pending, it goes over, and
holds the hour from day to day until
disposed of. Two different calls of Com
mittees are constantly progressing, for
private business, on Fridays and Satur
days, and for general business, on Tues
days, Wednesdays, and Thursdays—
private business meaning measures af
fecting individuals, such as claims, pen
sions, &c. During a long session, like
the present, a Committee will usually
be called about four times.
Let us suppose Mr. Smith's bill to
have been agreed to by the committee
having it in charge, and that the-chair
man of the committee has presented it
to the House in ono of the morning
hour's to which his committee Is anti-
tied. The member reporting the bill is
entitled to the floor for one hour before
and one hour after the previous ques
tion is ordered, and may yield to others
giving a few minutes to one man or al
lowing another to offer an amendment.
He must demand the previous question
as soon as at the end of the hour, or he
looses the floor. When he demands the
previous question, debate ceases, and
the Speakers says, " Is there a second,"
and proceeds to count the House. If a
majority vote by rising, or by tellers, to
second thedemand, the Speaker says,
" there is a second; shall the main
question be now put ?" This see
outl vote may be taken by . yeas
and nays, but the first cannot.
If a majority vote in the affirmative the
wain question isordered, and the House
proceeds to vote, without debate, first
on the amendments, if any are pending,
and then on ordering the bill to be en
grossed and read a third time, which is
usually a matter of form only. If the
yeas have it, the bill is considered to he
engrossed, and the reading goes, no fur
ther than the title. The next vote Is
directly on the bill aS amended, if any
:imendmenLs have been adopted, and
finally, if it passes, a motion to recon
sider the vote by which the bill was
passed, and to lay the motion to recon
sider on the table, is always made,
which, when agreed to, clinches the
matter, and prevents uny future recon
sideration of the bill. if the previous
questiou should not lie seconded and the
train question ordered, the debate is
continued.
The usual way to defeat a bill is to
move to lay it on the table, which it is
always in order to do, and if the motion
prevails the bill is killed. A motion to
strike out the enacting clause has the
same effect. A bill is often recommitted
to the Committee reporting it, some
times with instructions to modify it,
and often without instructions, which
is a way of expressing the disapproval
of the House in a milder form than by
laying it on the table • and occasionally
the friends of the bill will have it re
committed to save it front defeat, hoping
that the House will be better disposed
toward it on some future occasion.
When a bill passes the House, it is
engrossed and taken to the Senate. If
the Senate lays it on the table, or in
any way tails to pass it, the action of
the House goes for nothing. If it is
amended in the Senate, it goes back to
the I louse with a polite request for the
concurrence of that body. If the House
concurs, the bill is finally passed; but if
not, then a Committee of Conference,
composed of three members of each
House, is appointed to compromise the
difference. If they cannot agree, a new
Conference Committee is appointed, and
sometimes a third and fourth. -What
ever a conference agrees to must be re
ported to ;mil ratified by both Houses to
have any effect. When a bill is finally
passed, it comes back to the body in
which it originated, where it is enrolled
on parchment, signed by the Vice Pres
ident and Speaker, and taken to the
President for his approval. It is now
an act of Congress, and ends it career
in the State Department, where it is
filed away to rest undisturbed.—Wash
ington Correspondence of the Nut. York
Peruvian Ladies at Home
We will visit the family of one of
Lima's aristocracy—the father a lead
ing Senator, and formerly Minister of
War under Prado ; the lovely daughters,
patterns of fashion, models of beauty,
and of the very elite of Lima society.—
We open one of the many glass doors
and find ourselves in an inner hall, the
floor set in mosaic, marble; a little Cholo
boy, asleep on a mat collies to us, and
presenting our card, we are ushered
across the hall, through other ground
glass doors, into a drawing-room. Here
we sit iu French chairs or sofas of gilt
and yellow satin upholstery, until the
senora or mother enters. She comes
in smoking, if no later than 2P. and
with her black silk skirt, and her mag
nificent hair braided down her back in
long plaits. She may wear asacqueof red
or blue cashmere. Advancing to you,she
removes her cigar (spits on the carpet, al
though it is a white velvet tapestry
ground), and folds you in both hands to
her matronly bosom, putting your head
on her shoulder and patting you softly on
the back. If you are a young man, you
at first feel embarrassed, but her perfect
suavity of mariner snort gets you at ease.
Clapping her hands, a servant brings
in native fruits and a bottle of native
wine, and you are expected to partake
of some of them. If the daughter de
lays coming, she opens the piano and
plays you some of those old national
dances—brilliant, yet sad; minor, yet
I so exciting, that our lamented Gott
schalk so admirably imitated in "Ojos
Creoltos," lee. The daughters never
keep you long, but appear in white'
wrappers and hair braided as the mother.
If you converse, they can speak a little
French, isomeof them), but their knowl
edge of history and geography is all con
fined to Peru. They know nothing else,
believing in nothing else and can seldom
more than read and write. Yet while
they maintain "that other lands nary be
beautiful, but give Me Peril—other cities
famous and great, But I care for none
but: Lima," you are charmed by their
polished manner, the hearty embrace
they give you on entering, the reception
and welcome they bestow upon you,
the hospitality and absence of apology,
and the charming freedom and inno
cence of their address. They all play,
from ear mostly), and well, and with
out urging. They dance as gracefully
and naturally as possible, and they urge
you to repeat your call or visit, with the
most sincere expressions of pleasure at
your coming. The sott, languid black
eye,, the clear, olive complexion, the
straight, black hair—all growing upoh
their heads in such wonderful profusion
—the liquid, Spanish accent, the per
fect ease of their manner, all serve to
fascinate you, and you fail to observe
that they are perfectly illiterate and ig
norant; that their :hands are often din
gy, though covered with diamonds ;
and that the tiny foot peeping from the
trailing white wrapper has often no
stocking, (or a very dirty one), and a
torn old slipper.
Wine Drinking In Germany
An American traveler in Germany
writes that the wine is harsh, thin
. and
sour; but the people care very little for
wine by comparison with their cherish
ed beer. In summer one sees 1,200 and
1,800 people seated in a beer garden in
Dresden, every one absorbing the
prevailing liquid. Elegant young girls
whose gloved hands show that they
have never done work, and whose mari
ners show the best breeding, sit around
the tables on which shine the amber
liquid and drink it con amore. At
the concerts along the Elbe's
banks, iu the summer evenings,
whole families—women and children
hardly big enough to sit on a
tall chair, discuss the inevitable beer.
Beer is to a German baby what wine is
to a French ono ; he knows more about
it than about mother's milk, rind all
about one almost as early as the other.
The Saxon women are beautiful, and by
no means gross. Their material life has
not made them too material in appear
ance. One may see as many beautiful
faces at the Belvidere in Dresden, as at
the Sirauss concert in Vienna, or the
opera in London.
Beauty abounds both among men and
women, and the young officers of the
Saxon army are semi-Adonises.
The Best Place for a Horse
" Gossipper," in the Rural World,
says: " Winter or summer, except in
a stormy time, there is no place so com
fortable for colts or tired work horses,
as a good pasture lot. To tie up a tired
horse at night in a narrow cell, with a
plank floor to stand on, is a species of
cruelty that civilization ought to be
ashamed of. If the poor animal must
be confined like a convict in a dungeon,
for pity's sake let him have his head,
and give hint atlea.st twelve feet square,
with a soft dry floor to stand or lie ou.
"In the large cities land is worth
more in money than horses ; but on the
farm there is no excuse for any such
wicked economy. Ask the horse what
he wants, and he will tell you that a
place where he can walk around, lie
down and stretch his tired limbs and
roll over from one side to the other,
gives him more ease and comfort, after
a day of hard work, than the most costly
plank stalls, with all the accompani
ments of curry-combs, stiff bristle
brushes, rubber cloths and dexterous
hostlers that can be produced.
At Boston, on Tuesday night, Nettie
Nelson, aged eighteen, committed sui
cide in her mother's house, by shooting
herself. The cause is said to be betray
al by a young man, named Geo. Jones,
who is under arrest.
NUMBER '2B
The Curate's Engagement,
And boar It Was BrOUCIII off.
He was theshyest—the most painfully
modest—man I ever knew ; and he of
tentimes suffered in consequence most
cruelly. He WAS the one who went
most out of his way to avoid hurting
people's feelings, and for the sake of de
licacy ; and, as it usually happens, he
was treading on people's mental toes
continually. When he first came among
us, and was furnishing his cottage, and
getting introduced to his future parish
ioners, I remember calling him (on our
way to the market town) upon a man
who had a club foot. It was not long
before poor Flush, who was not aware
of this, and was very near sighted, ob
served with a smile that our host seem
ed to take excellent care to keep himself
out of the dirt among the lanes.
" What ascii:tilde hoot that Is of yours,
Mr. Layman; why, It's treble soled!"
And before lie had recovered himself
front the dame of blushes into which he
burst on the discovery of this mistake
he informed Mrs. Layman and her four
daughters that the object of our expedi
tion into the town was to ;pr sure him
(Peony Flush) a pair of comfortable
drawers, meaning the! eby a chest, I
suppose, but sending the whole com
pany into shrieks of laughter, and sof
fusing himself from top to toe with a
beautiful ruse color. 'l'h es , sort of
things, lie confessed to me, annoyed
Linn for months afterward. oppressing
him like sins; and I could not forbear
remarking :
" Why, Flush, how will you ever
have the face to propose to the future
rs. P. F. t'
. .
He rose colored in ,oell manner at
this, that I said :
"Conte, Peony, tell us all ab o ut it at
once, do," which accordingly, alter 11
little pressing, he did.
I was indeed, he began, once engaged
to be married, I believe; how I went
so for as that is a marvel to me still, hilt
an incident of so frightful a character
took place as to put the matter entirely
out of the question. I wll, a young - der - graduate, spending the summer
with a reading party at the Irish lakes,
when I met with—with Luce, and got,
iu short, to be accepted. She was re
siding with her mother, in the same
lintel in Killarney as ourselves and we
all met every day. \\ - c boated cm the
lake together, and fished and sang and
read. We landed on the wooded islands
in the soft summer evenings, to take our
tea in gypsy fashion, and to sketch ; but
she and I mostly whispered—not :Lout
love at all, as I remember, but of lie
weather and the rubric —only it seemed
so sweet to sink our voices and speak
low and soft.
Once, in a party over tin moors while
I was leading her pony over sonic bog
gy ground, caught her hand by mis
take, instead of the bridle, and she did
not snatch it away. It was the heyday
and the prime of may life, my friend, and
that youth of the spirit which no power
can evermore renew. I knew what she
felt, and what would please her, as soon
as the feeling and the wish themselves
were born. Our thought—my thought
at least, " leapt out with thought to
wed, ere thought could wed with
speech."
She took a fancy to a huge mastiffilog
belonging to a fisherman ; and I bought
it for her at once, although it was "ter
ribly savage," and except for Lucy's
liking it, not either good or beautiful.
It's name, also—the only one it would
answer to, and sometimes it would not
answer to that—was Towser, not a mune
for a lady's pet, after all, and searcely
gentleman's. There was a littleseclud
ed field hedged in by a coppice, which
sloped into the lake, about a mile from
the hotel ; and there Lucy agreed (for
the first time) to meet me alone. I was
to be there before breakfast, at eight
o'clock in the morning, awl you may be
sure that I was there at six—with Tow
ser. Perhaps I was never happier than
at that particular time. The universal
nature scented in harmony With my
feelings. The sun shone out bright
and clear, so that the fresh morning
breeze could scarcely cool the pleasant
throbbing of my blood. But the blue
rippling waves of the lake looked irre
pressibly tempting, and I could not re
sist a swim. Just a plunge in and out
' again, thought I ; for though I had
plenty of time to spare I determined to
lie dressed and ready for the interview
an hour at least before the appointed
time. Lucy might, like myself, be a
little earlier; and, at all events, with
such an awful consequence in possible
apprehension, I could not run s rhadow
of a risk.
" Anna my clothes. mind them," said
I to Towser (who Look his seat thereon
at once, sagaciously enough) for I had
heard of such things 14S clothes being
stole from unconscious dippers then,
with results not to be thought of ; and
1 went. I remember the delight of that
bath with them even to this day ; the
glow, the freshness, the luxurious sof t-
Hess of every particular wave, just as the
last view which his eyes rested on is
painted on the memory of one who has
been stricken blind, or the last-heard
melody is treasured in that of a man
stunned by a fall ; it was my last perfect
pleasure, and succeeded by a shock that
shall never, I tlduk, quite get over.—
When I had bathed as long as I had
judged to be prudent, I landed and ad
vanced toward the spot where my gar
ments and Towser lily. As I did so,
every individual hair upon his back
seemed to bristle with fury, his eyes
kindled like coals of lire; lie gave nie
notice by a low, determined growl that
he would spring on mound tear me into
fragments if I approached nearer; it was
evident that he did not recognize me in
the least without my clothes.
"Tow, Tow, Tow," said I pleasantly,
good Tow, you remember me;" but
the brute, like the friend we have known
in a better day, and appeal to when in
different apparel, only shook his head
in a Menacing manner and showed his
teeth the more.
" Towser, be quiet, sir ; low dare you
—Tow, Tow, Towser— , here he nearly
had a hit of my calf off )—you nasty,
brutal dog; go away, sir—go; ain't you
ashamed of yourself .."'
Droops of foam oozed through the
teeth of the ferocious monster as he
stood up, with tail erect, at these re
proving words, but lie manifested no
sign of remorse or sorrow. My situation
became serious in the extreme; wind
if he choose to sit there on my personal
apparel, until
At this idea, too terrible to be conclu
ded, a profuse perspiration broke out all
over me. Presently, feeling a little mid,
I went hack into the lake again to eon
eider what was to be done, and revolt'
Ing the fell design of enticing Towser
Into the water and there drowning him.
Abuse and flattery being equally thrown
away upon him, I tried stones ; heaved
at him with all force the largest peb
bles I could select, the majority of which
he evaded by leaping from side to side,
and those which struck him rendered
him so furious that I believe he would
have killed and eaten me if he could,
but still he would not venture into the
water after me. At last the time was
drawnon apace for the appointed inter
viewwhich I had once looked forward to
with such delight and expectation. I
was fain, in any agony of shame and
rage, to hide myself in a dry ditch in a
neighboring copse, where I could see
what took place without being seen, and
there I covered myself over, like a babe
in the wood, with leaves. Presently
my Lucy came down, a trifle more care
fully dressed than usual, and looking
all grace and modesty; the dog began
to howl as she drew near; she saw him
and she saw my clothes, and the notion
that I was drowned (I could see it in
her expressive countenance) flashed
upon her at once; for one instant she
looked as though about to faint, and the
next she sped off again to the hotel with
the speed of a deer.
Gracious Heaven ! I determined upon
rescuing a portion of my garments at
least, or upon perishing iu the attempt,
and rushed out of the thicket for that
purpose; but my courage failed me as I
neared the savage animal, and I found
myself, in some con fused and palpitating
manner, back in my dry ditch again,
with tie sensation of the loss of blood
and pain ; my retreat had not lteen
etibcted—perhaps because there was
nothing to cover it—without consider-
able loss, and the beast had bitten me
severely. , I protested that, from that
moment, frightful as my position was,
it did not move me so much as the re
flection of the honors that would be
showered down on that vile creature. I
knew that be would be considered by
Lucy and the rest as a sort of dog of
Montargis, an affectionate and sagacious
creature, watching patiently at his ap
pointed post for the beloved master that
would never again return to him.
Presently they all came back, Lucy
and her mother and all the maid-ser-
RATE OF ADVERTISING.
.g year pee
equre of ten lines; SS per 7eez for wan addi
tional vinare-
REAL EsTerb Anvil:nil:2MM, 10 cents a Una for
the first, and 5 cents fora ach subsequent In-
Inaeitlon.
UR ADTERTISINO, 7 cents a line fot CIA
first, and 4 soma for ouch subsequent Inter.
tion.
SpaciALSoTrots Inserted 111 Lot:n.1 4 0:1 1 a 1 Xal
15 gents par Una.
SPECIAL NorIUE preceding, marriages nod
deaths, 10 cents per lino for first Insorttou,
ath.l.s Gents for ayery subsequent
LIZIAL aril NOTIO}OII -g •
.Executore notlceo
Administrators' notice
Assignees' ......
Auditors' notices
Other "Clot ices,' ten lines, or loss,
Tants front the inn, besides my fellow
-11 students, and fishermen with drag-nets
and a medical man with blankets and
the brandy!) As I expected, neither
the women's cries nor the men's labs.r
in vain distressed halt so touch as the
; patting and caressing of Towser; if she
' could have only known when she drat -
ped those tears upon his cruel nose that
there was a considerable quantity of hu
man tlesh—any tiesh—at that moment
lying in his stomach in an undigested
state. I could not repress a groan of
horror and indignation.
" Hush, hush," said Lucy, and there
was a silence through which I could
distinctly hear Towsers licking his
chops. I was desperate by this time,
and hallooed out to friend Sanford :
"Sanford and nobody else," to come
into the copse with a blanket.
remember nothing more distinetly.
Immediately peals of laughter, now
I smothered, now breaking irrepressibly
forth ; expressions of of
atreetion, of sympathy, beginning—but
never tinished—burst in upon, as it
were, by floods of merriment, and the
I bark ' the eternal barking 'of that ex
eerabledog. I left Killarney that satin'
evening ; Lucy, and the mother of Lucy
and my fellow students, and the abone
i 'rowser; 1 left them for gosh and
all ; and this was how my engagement
was broken on'. and why there is no
it rs. Peony Flush, concluded the -oral,-,
who had turned from rose-i•olor to 11
deep carnation, and from that to almost
! black, during the recital.
I felt for my poor friend deeply, as
many others did to whom I told this
under the seal of secrecy, and who re
vealed it to their families. In place of
the religious book-markers, with Bibles
:Lod crosses and crowns worked on them,
which used to be rained upon Mr. Flush
during the summer months front anonv
! mous but not altog,ether unknown hands,
110 110 W received similar encouraging
tokens of a more earthly character:
wreath of orange (lowers, with "
on, hope ever," under it, in (loss silk,
and a vignette, on perfumed card board,
! of Robert Bruce and the spider, with
a medieval illumination signifying.
' never despair ;" lie was also presented
by some humorous artist with the min
! attire of a dug eouchant upon a heap of
something, and "Semper under
neath. His misfortune however wits in
! a fair way of being forgotten but fur .
what occurred last summer.
Darnley had never had so great an in
flux of company as then. Our hotel Willi
tilled to overflowing; two of our riding
donkeys died from exhaustion, a third
edition WILS called for of the guide-book,
and the bathing machines were entirely
reserved for the ladies' use. It was not
this last circumstance, for Peony Flush
never bathed, but the first, which in
terfered with our good curate's comfort.
The inn being full, its landlady sent her
respects to 1%1 r. Flush, and would he
afford her the temporary loan of a room
in his house for a widow and her (laugh.
ter, who had written for apartments the
day before, and were coming on that
evening with the expectation of finding
them? To refuse to perform a kindlICSS
never entered into the good fellow's feel
ing heart, but this request vexed him
mightly. This itafermation that the
ladies were of a sumptuous character,
and travelled with two riding horses,llS
well as their own carriage, affected him
nothing. If they had been pedestrians,
and were about to appear in it walking
grove of baud-boxes, they would have
alarmed him quite as !Milli.
He was not sure if it would not be in
delicate for him to put his boots outside
the door at night, and he gave orders
that his linen should be removed—half
dry—from the lines In the back garden.
It would be a relief to him, he said, if I
would reside in the house during t h e
stay of the two visitors; and, at all
events, I must dine with him the first
evening, which I agreed to do. The
curate's dinners were rather neat; his
housekeeper, who perfectly understood
him, and was not altogether without
hope, I think, of luring him down from
respect to matrimony—had a way of
anointing duck with lemon, whlell, be
fore I had feasted at the Dovecot, 1 hwl
met with only In books. I therefore
judiciously rode a few miles in the after
noon in search of an appetite.
There was a good one to be got gener
ally on the bridal-road by the sea coast,
which cuts through the sheep and cattle
pastures, and I chose that way. It is
ninth intersected with small white
gates, which mark the boundariesof the
fields, and one of these puzzled ate
good deal. The day was hot and my
horse was figety, so that I knew better
than to get off and risk not getting on
again, but I could not undo the spring
bolt anyhow. While I was wheeling
and reaching and changing from a
red to a white heat, and had got
from "dear me" and "botheration"
to "confound the thing!" I was startled
by a rather shrilish voice from the
other side of the gate, and up came a
lady on a showy bay at it hard gallop
with u " Hy your leave, air, for a mo
ment" and the showy bay and feminine.
dashed over the five-barrel together,
like a monstrous bird—just shaving any
head, as I should think, by about a
quarter of an inch. Secondly, came a
groom with another bay ; and, thirdly,
a huge nuistill'dog (who made a snap at
me in the air) with another bay, and in
a moment I was left alone in a cloud of
duet.
I took the remainder of my ride in
peace, and having accomplished my out
sect, returned to Burnley. My appetite
was of that nicety that five minutes
either way would have deteriorated it
materially ; but I well knew that 1%1 rs.
Softheart seas pUn etual to the instant.
As I trod her well-known stair-case I
felt 11.4 confident of all things being well
as a human being can feel. The odor
of the stuffing seemed to salute my nos
trils. I had decided on a wing and a
slice of the breast. Alas! the cloth was
not even laid upon the dining-table, hut
there was a little folded note addressed
to me instead :
" Hear friend : Adieu forever. By
the time you read this I shall be far
away. It seems like a fatality ; but while
I have life I will resist it. L. is in the
house; L. and her mother—and the
abominable—"
A low growl here arrested my atten
tion. The mastiff dog was at the door
who had snapped at me in the afternoon
without effect. He said as plainly as
he could speak that he was determined
to make up for lie disappointment on
the present occasion. I WILH resolved
to my life dearly, when the rather thrll
lish voice canie up the stairs and in at
the window, and down the chimney, as
it scented to nie, at once: "Tow, Tow,
Tow, Tow ! t little dog ! Come to
Lulu !" The creature obeyed. I sup
pose there was some other dinner await
ing him below, and I stole softly away
in safety.
Never again did I visit that snug par
lor. Never again was Peony Flush be
held by the Burnley eye. I recognized
hint, L think, however, in the naval in
telligence column of the Times news
paper, as the Rev. P. Flush, appointed
chaplain to the ship Virgo, bound for
Hong Kong ; where mastiff pups tire
fricasseed and stewed and baked in
pieces before they attain maturity.—
London World al Home.
Medical Properties of Eggs
The white of an egg has proved of late
the most efficacious remedy for burns.
Seven or eight successive applications
of this substance soothes pain, and ef
fectually excludes the burn from the
air. This simple remedy seems prefer.
able to collodion, or even cotton. Ex
traordinary stories are told of the heal
ing properties of a new oil which is
easily made from the yolk of hens' eggs.
The eggs are first boiled hard, and the
yolks are then removed, crushed arid
placed over a fire, where they are care
fully stirred until the whole substance
is just on the point of catching fire, when
the oil separates and may be poured off.
One yolk will yield nearly two tea
spoonfuls of oil. It is ingeneral use
among colonists of South Russia as a
means of curing cuts, bruises and
scratches.
Foot-Rot In Cattle
A correspondent furnishes the Mirror
noel Farmer, Manchester, N. H., the
following remedy for this disease : Put
them in a place where you can handle
their feet, and then take half a pint of
common tar and its much soft soup, put
them into any vessel, and heat them to
gether until they getthoroughly mixed;
then let it cool down some, but not too
much ; put it on the parts affected quite
hot, and in seven cases out of ten it will
effect a cure, but if it does not, repeat
the soap and tar, whieh will be suffi
cient to cure any case that I ever saw,
In a few days.
A young man In Now York bet that
be could drink six glasses of ice water.
He did and died.