r. c;
TBB LANCISTiIIiffiLiMENCEIL
",
.
-91.1
111- a: SMITH
,
erznaliar.
H. G. SMITH.
TERMS—Two Dollars per annum payable
In all cases In advance. • • •
TIM LANCASTER DAILY • INTELVOENC=
published every evening, Sunday excepted, at
3.5 per annum In advance.
f 001LIUM Or •
OFFIOE—So
WYTIAP.6.
113 nett)
LEGEND.
twilight on Jutlea's
A BEAIITIF,
83111 y ell the touel
oßent 11111 s•
Slowly crept
Judea's r
ot
rt - pence of moonlight o'er
‘.lbllng
,___ a cwrt, conversing, Coven elder,'
elpart
-aud and hoary sages, wise of bead and
ore of heart..
OR
SlmCe best?" Fluid Rabbi Judah, he astern
. and eteadfaid. gaati;
Anwer, ye whose tolls have burdened
through the march of many days."
To have gained," said Rabbi Ezra, "decent
wealth and goodly store,
Without xlo by honeat labor—nothing
and not more."
'Po have found." nald Rabid Joseph—meek
nem In Ills gentle eyem—
A foretaste of Heaven's nweelness In honle'n
blerusal Paradise."
'^l'u have wealth and power and glory, crowned
' and brightened by t lie pride
Of uprleing ellidrmen children," Rabbi Benja
min replied.
"To havo Won the praise of nations, to have
won the crown of none,"
Rabbi liolomon rempooded, fall 1,1111 lo hle
kingly name.
"To alt throned, the lord of wllllous, 11,4 and
noblest in the land."
Answered haughty Rabid Asher, yontiaost of
the reverend band."
"All in valn," said Itabbi .1101 . 11 N, .•11111c. fail It
ittid hope Ilityl• I rayed
In the snni Alornie nrem.nlr,
uneineed.
Then uprose wire Itubbi .1 shun, Inliest, gri, est
of theta all—
• Prom the Iteighls of filun• ullll 1101.101 . I'Ven
valiant SOUNIIIIIy r:111.
Lore may fall us; vlrllle'N S:111110:4 grOW a dry
Intl thOrllY en
If we In•ar Ina In one 11000111 the uovr.lll`ll lid,
of tiod."
In Ilse outer road sat !any] ag a sad-featured.
fair-halred vial!!!
Ills young eyes seemed wells of sorrow- l hey
were God-Ilke when he sin lvd'
tine by one lh• dropped I he II hus, soft ly pinek
.1 with chll,llnli band: •
Ono by one he viewed tile Slll4l, (II:0 gm,
trial hoary
Hiep by slop he neared them closer, !111 en
alreled by till! SVV1•II,
Then he malt!, Itt 11/111,4 mil rein 1)1 i rig, alit. a
motile that, breathed of lhaven,
"Nay, nay, fatlyern4 only tic Within the mlt-
Hurt, of whose breast
I , welln the human love with God-love, ean
have found Ilfe's truest rent;
For where titre In not, the other lutist grow
stagnant at Its spring,
Changing good devils to platillorns—an un
sotilltlss 1111116,
" Whom) Ileitis llds precept truly, owns n Jowel
brighter lux
Than the Joys Of home and t•lliltlreu—thou
wealth, Bone anti glory ere;
I'alrer than (dcl agellita, 1101101,41, tar iii
traditions law.
faro as any radiant v (Vii an.a.lll
prophets saw.
Only he within the mean:ore—faith 11.ppor
dolled—of whose breast .
Throlot the brother loot. IIoWS
.the depth or perfr rt rr>L•'
Wondering gazed tiny at earl, other, once
broke slienvelllei to II16re:
has spoken words of wisdom no man ever
snake before I-
l'atmly pa:Aging from their pre,ette.3 1 , . the
fountaln'ti rlypttt3l4l.lllV,
StOOlted he to uplllt the litlett slrest ell the
settltereti mprltyti ulotatg.
Faintly Mole the Kinetics of evening through
the massive oaken door ;
Whitely hey the pent, of moonlight on the
temple's fluor.
Where the YlderN 1111gereti, hilt:Ill 110
mpuke, the l•ntleilled,
\Viler,. the W I,tiotn of the :Igoe enl 11011t1 the
thlwers—a
idisffilanrotts.
Mr. Smallpleces Legacy
When people wanted to get to the of
flee of Mr. Kotaliplece, they were obliged
to go up a dirty street ana then under a
dark and gloomy archway Into a little,
open court, where a
th„ r„,.t t pant of the office,
on whose door it was nailed, wee Mr.
Simon Sululiplece, Solicitor. The office I
Itself was quite pleasant and cheerful
when you once got inside of it, for its
back windows opened upon a sunny lit
tle bit of common, green with soft grass
and waving trees In Summer, and spot
less pure with an expanse or vir g in
snow In Winter.
On many an afternoon had N r. Small
piece sitting at his worm-eaten old
desk In the antique window-space, look
ed up from his work, and, catching
sight of a bird hopping about among the
rustling leaves outside the open win
dow, become lost Id dreamy reverie,
which led him to waste whole hours in
following the unrestrained vagaries tir
bile thought. In fact, dreaming was
the only recreation Mr. finulllplece ever
hail now. Ile could remember, and that
ettally enough, a time when he was not
the childless old man which life had
left him years ago. There bud been a
day when a cheerful home, graced with
the luxuries of life and rendered sacred
by its love of wife anti daughter, was
not the least of his worldly possessions;
and now 1118 wife was sleeping in the
churchyard yonder, while his daughter
- " Worse even than. dead :" ex
claimed Simon Smallplece, clenching
Ills hand as he thought of her. "
even than dead. May my curse go with
her, and with the man who rubbed me
of her."
And then he sat back In his leather
covered chair, biting the end of his
quill-pen savagely, and thought, with
bitterness in his heart, of the day, so
long ago, when she had come to him
holdim Will Allen by the baud, and
when )Vill, standing proudly before
him in the full nobility of stalwart
manhood, had asked him for Nellie as
his wife. Mr. Smallpiece remembered,
too, with a chuckle of exultation, how
he had shown Will Allen to the door at
once, and forbade him ever to enter his
house again ; how he sent Nellie to her
room in a flood of tears, and how he
himself returned to Will Allen all the
foolish letters and keepsakes which he .
over had the audacity to send to Simon
Srnallpiece's daughter. The old lawyer
could not but acknowledge to himself,
as he sat thinking of these things, that
he made somewhat of a donkey of him
self, after all ; for Nellie had obstinately
refused to marry the wealthy suitor
whom he had selected for her, and had
persisted in this silly attachment for
this farmer's son, whom she ultimately
ran away with aud married. Rut Si
mon Stnallpiece had sent his loudest
curses after them, and 'had never seen
the face of his only child froM that day
to this. He never would forgive her,
and there was comfort in assuring hint
' self of that at all events.
And old Simon had lived alone ever
since, his temper soured against all
mankind, and his heart, if he ever had
one, which is doubtful, chilled Loathing
of stone. He was reputed rich, but few
ever saw the culbr of his money. His
apartments, in the .upper part of the
same old building with his Wilco, were
mean in the extreme. His clothes were
threadbare, and his face was pinched
with the hard lines of avarice and sel
fishness. ' With no charity for the suf
fering, with no feeling of kindness for
the unfortunate, with his heart closed
to every appeal from womanly tender
ness or childish innocence, Simon
Smallpiece avowed himself the enemy
of the world, and passed his life in
picking quarrels with it.
One lazy afternoon Mr. Smallpiece,
chancing to look up from the misty
deeps of a long chancery bill in which
he was Just then submerged, caught
sight through the open window of a
little child standing upon the steps of a
house on the opposite side of the com
mon. There was nothing Interesting to
Mr. Smallpiece hi children. As a gen
eral rule he bated them; but as he hap
pened to glance at this wee little lady
standing, so plump and rosy, upon the
door-step, she suddenly clapped her
hands together and gave such a Joyous
little scream of delight that Simon ac
tually smiled: Yes, he did; and it was
something he had not done for a very
long time.
Looking In the direction In which the
child was gazing, he saw a man, clad in
the dress of a workman, coming across
the common. And this person, when
he came to where the child was stand
ing, caught her high above his head
with a laugh, and bringing her down
Into his arms. again, kissed her.
Whether llir..Smallpiece's. heart was
a trifle more tender than usualj wit then,
.F.cannot say; but it seemed to him I
there was something in the movement
of-the workman very pleasing and pre
',._ ty: "1:10 , remembered the tithe when he
Was w wont to do' the same thing to his
wn child hiniaelf. ~
, . he ohtld, 'eatehliat . a glinipse_or Mr.
plleet4bahl, Weed elij. 0/44,44:40.'
ehtheoppniselnueri; - saidi k aoree og,to,
44ninuntrwheaheld , her ;lend (Abe tterit
: . putting her doivn on.. the groundited hen
AdOwly across the lawri.toward the atter
' ' noels office,
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_ . . .
. _ -
VOLUME 72
"'Whose brat is that?" 'said Simon,
when they had approached near enough
for conversation. • •
" She is not a brat," replied the man,
quickly. " Doesn't she look pretty
enough to be called something better
than that?"
"Hum!" grunted Mr. Saidllpiece.
"Well, child, then. "Whose is it?
You're?" ..
" She's mine' now," replied the man;,
"but I'm not her father. She is my
brother's child, sir."
" She seems very fond of you," said
Simon, "seeing that you're not her
natural parent."
" She is fond of me,ain't you, Daisy ?"
rejoined the workman, stooping down
to pull her yellow curls through his
fingers.
For an answer, the little girl put her
little round arms about his knee, and
Laid her dimpled cheek close against it.
" Why don't your brother take care of
her ?" asked Mr. Smallplece, looking at
the little girl a trifle less sourly than he
usually looked at people.
" My brother is dead, sir," sail the
man. "The child has no father but
me."
"Where's her mother?"
"Iler mother was left very poor," he
replied. " She had one little boy be
sides tills little child, and was hardly
able to support them with her unaided
hands. She lives many miles off, sir;
and once in a while Daisy and 1 go
down there to see her—on holidays and
such like.
" What does she do for a living?"
"She does plain needlework, wilco
can get it."
A hard way of earning a living,"
aid Mr. Stuallpiece; " very hard. But
dare Ray She don't work any harder
Ilan 1 do--not a bit, not a bit."
" Perhaps not," said the man ; " but
she is a woman. lam a bachelor, like
yourself, sir, and I ollered to take this
little one and care for her while I lived.
I not very glad I did it, for site has made
all the world bright to me—a great deal
brighter than It ever was before."
"Hall !" said the lawyer, with a gee-
lure of disgust. "All humbug! I don't
want young ones about me, I can tell
you. Those that want them can have
heal. I don't.
The man laughed and caught the child
up in his arms again.
"She's a pretty child enough," said
Simon, looking at her through his
glasses. "I've got an apple in my desk
here. Do you think sfie would like it?''
The little child held out her fat hands
eagerly. •
er prayers.
"Did your uncle always want you to
say your prayers ?" asked the lawyer,
going to the bedside.
" Yes, always."
" Then say them to me, little one,"
said Simon ; and kneeling down by her
side, the old man rested his scattered
gray hair upon the counterpane while
the tiny voice repeated a simple prayer,
and the chubby hands Were fast clasped
together. And in the prayer, following
every word, Simon Smallpiece's heart
was touched, as it had never been
touched before ; and from his lips there
went up, with the supplication of the
child, an earnest prayer to be made bet
ter and more worthy of the charge
which had been placed within his keep
le should feel soft-hearted towards this ing.
"Here," said Mr. Smaliplece, taking
a red apple out of his drawer and tossing
it to the man, who gave it to a little
lady in his arms. "Now go away
quick. lam very busy."
The man laughed again, and taking
his hat, withdrew, holding one of the
chubby lists in his great brown hand,
and making believe to bite it, while the
child munched the apple which she
held in the other.
When they had gone, Mr. Small
.
dece leaned back in his chair and re
fleeted on his unparalleled weakness.
What interest had he in children, that
little one Was he getting childish in
his old age? He did not know. Pos
sibly so. At all events, a new feeling,
ur rather an old feeling revived, had
sprung up in his breast, and caused him
to look upon his own cynical nature in
something of a new light.
The next afternoon the child appeared
again upon the step, and again did the
man toss her high above his head when
he met her. Looking across the little
comtnon, the workman recognized the
lawyer with a nod and a smile, and then
began an uproarious romp upon the soft
grass with the child. Ile lay down and
allowed her to roll over him. He made
believe to chase her, and then, when
she turned upon liiinjan away, feign-
LtIL44 Liso
laughter rung out in the still afternoon
air like u peal of little silvery bells. He
went down upon his hands and knees,
and, putting the little one on his back,
trot led about the lawn, pretending to
be a horse, and otherwise conducting
himself in a manner so extravagant and
ridiculous, and sending hie companion
into such convulsions of merriment,t hat
Shnon Smallplece, quite before he was
aware of it, found himself leaning back
in his chair and laughing almost as
as they.
" i should like to do that myself,"
thought Simon.
And although you may not believe
it, it Is actually true that the old lawyer
left his work, and. putting on his hat,
left his office by the back door, and
walked across the common to join them.
To be sure, he took no part in their
sport, and only Stood under the tree to
watch the proceedings; but before he
went back to his writing, the child had
another great red apple, bigger this
time than both her chubby fists togeth
,
And so between these people n sort of
half-familiar acquaintance sprung up,
which gradually became to Simon
Sinnllpicee so pleasant and agreeable,
that at last, whenever the workman and
his niece failed to appear on the pleas
ant afternoons, the lawyer would exper
ience ii shade of disappointment. Un
consciously to himself, the attrition with
the innocent nature of the child was
rubbing off some of the hard protuber
ances of selfishness and uncharity upon
his own character. Somehow he could
not think of this little one and his own
daughter,. who was once a child, too, at
the same time, (and when one was pres
ent in his mind, so also was . the other),
with opposed and different feelings.
When he laughed at the gambols of
the workman's niece or pinched her
rosy cheeks playfully, he could not find
it in his heart to utter his accustomed
curse upon the memory of his own
child, whom he had driven from him
years ago. And as one thought led to
another, he began to reflect at times
'When he sat alone In his chamber at
night, that it would be a pleasant thing
to have a woman's or even a child's
presence there, to brighten his declining
years and to make him feel more kindly
towaid the world. But who was there
to do for him what the workman's little
charge had unconsciously accomplished
for her uncle? He had no brother to
bequeath him children. His daughter
luau found a better shelter than he could
lye her, although he knew not where
it was, happy, doubtless, and in her
daily thoughts and prayers he never
found a place. Yet he could almost
have wished to see a little child or two
whisking about his room, and perhaps
calling him grandfather. It would
have been pleasant. after nit to hayo
rosy elf, all smiles and dimples, climb
ing into his lap after supper, and bury
ing a pun of pink checks in his waist
coat. But that, alas i although it might
have been, was nut to be thoughtof now.
The Summer waned and Autumn
came in her rustling robes of brown
and gold, strewing the grassy space be
hind the oillee with a loose carpet of
crisp and withered leaves. The intima
cy between the child and Simon,extend
ing now even to taking her into his arms
and kissing her, had clandestinely
smuggled au clement of kindliness into
the lawyer's nature, which had kindled
iu his heart a warmth which it had not
known for years. On every Sunday af
ternoon he walked across the common
to meet the workman and his niece, and
sometimes stooped himself to gather a
handful of the rustling leaves with
which to playfully cover the child's
flaxen curls.
One afternooD ho saw moan approach
ing with a singular, halting gait, us
though it were painful for him to walk.
The hour was a little earlier than that
of his usual return from work ; but the
child was waiting for hint under the
trees. As she.. saw him coining, she
clapped her hand with her characteris
tic little shout, and ran toward him.
But he did not catch her in his arms as
usual, and as he took her hand, put his
own great brown ono up quickly to his
heart, and staggered a little unsteadily.
Then, without a word, ho fell forward
suddenly upon the grass.
" My goodness l" said Simon, leaping
at once out of the low, open window,
and running across the common toward
them: " Something has happened to
the man."
When we reached the spot the work
mail lay . upon his face,. and the child
14 , 11.1 clinging to him with soreams of ter
ror. Several persons who had seen him
fall, cable quickly - up and tried to raise
him to his feet; but when they recog
nized the truth, they laid him back
again, and tried to unclasp the arms of
the little girl. ' • • • •
"It Was heart disease;" said one Softly.:
'"lslhe,dead,?" said bending.
e** prOOtride.,fortitin
•44 4 iiikte:Aaa4, replied,thebtlier;"*W
qias etteighboring phyaleien,,;,,',',TS' the.
child his ?" 7 ,,
"The el:Mille mine, now," said Mr.
Smallpiece, 'thinly, raising her - in-his
arms. "Will you seine with me little
one?"
- -
"Is ,the world coming to an end-?"
asked one of the , bystanders, grimly.
OfWliat, I have been to the
world has already come to an end," re-.
Plied 'Simon, pressing his lips to' the
tear-stained cheek of the little one •in
his arms. •-" Take the poor fellow to his'
house. The child shalt go with me."
And he took her home, and 'locking
the office, eat down in his big chair and
tried to comfort her. As he held her in
his arms, all the feelings of paternity,
so long dead within his breast, came
suddenly uppermost ; and greatly to his
own astonishment he found himself do
ing, without the least awkwardness or
embarrassment, the needful things
which seemed hest to draw her mind
away from what had happened.
When he had quieted her sobs with
cheery stories, he summoned his house
keeper, and bade her attend to all the
child's wants. The woman was for
tunately kind-hearted,' and she did so.
Meanwhile, Mr. Small piece sat down
to ponder what he should do with her.
It was evident that he could not keep
• -.
her with him, as her uncle had done.
Why not? Because—well he was a
stranger to her mother, and she would
never consent to it. And that led him
to think that if her mother were only
here, he could perhaps provide a home
for her and her children, too. He cer
tainly was able to do it, and the loss of
the money would never be felt by him
as the loss of the child would be. And
then, perhaps, the world would remem
ber, alter he was gone, that he had done
at least one kindly act during his life
time, and recollecting that, would for
give hint many of his more selfish ones.
Yes, he would keep the child, and he
would help the mother, too.
But how was he to get word of her ?
The workman had told him of the town
where she resided, but had never
spoken of her by name. He might have
asked the child, but although Simon
Smallpieee was an experienced lawyer
who usually thought of everything,
singularly enough he never thought of
this. So he went to the child's bed-room
to inquire. At that moment a tiny
voice came up from out of the bed-clothes,
reminding him that something had been
forgotten by his housekeeper.
"And what is that ?" asked Simon.
Dear little heart! She had not amid
• He returned to his office, and, writing
the letter, directed it to the postmaster
of the town in which the object of his
search resided, informing him of the fa
tal event of the afternoon, and request
ing him, if possible, to forward the in
formation to Daisy's mother.
A few days passed ; the preparations
for the poor man's funeral were simple
and few, for lie had no friends in the
neighbtirhood where he lived, and little
seemed to be known about him. Simon
offered to bear the expenses, whatever
they might be, and one afternoon when
the man had been laid in his collln,
took Daisy with him fora farewell look
at his peaceful face. But Daisy shrank
from [he cold and awful form in terror,
WIL Nyll . B glad, , for it
friend would all be given to him In life
and that there was still room for a little
affection for himself, after the workman
had been forgotten.
But on the firth day, which was the
day of the funeral, there CURIO a knock
at the door of the lawyer's &lice, and
there stood upon the threshold a woman,
closely veiled, and holding a little boy
by the hand.
"My husband's brother is burled to
day," she said, a little sadly. "I am
told that you have kindly cared for my
little girl."
Great Heaven ! That voice! It seem
ed to Simon Smalipiece like the peal of
sweet, sweet bell, ringing back to him
the sad changes over a half-forgotten
world which had fallen from the -firma
ment many long years ago. He rose
rl-om the seat, trembling with a strange
emotion.
"Your little girl is quite safe," he said,
"I shall have a proposition to make to
you in regard to her, after to-day's sad
ceremony Is over. May I ask your
namo ','
"I think you know she said,
raising her veil.
"0, Nellie! my (laughter Nellie !"
cried the old man, fulling suddenly down
upon his knees before her. "May God
forgive me for the wrong I have done
you and yours ! 0, my child, be merci
ful to me, for I ask your forgiveness at
your feet."
" I have nothing to forgive, father,"
she said, assisting him to his feet.—
" Whatever there was between us has
been forgotten long ago."
"And you will stay with me always?"
asked Simon, half-ineredulously.
" Always, if you wish It; father."
" The hand of the Lord is in it," cried
he, catching up Daisy iu his arms. "It
is this little one who has prepared the
way, and she has mado my path
straight "
And who can say that Simon Small
piece's legacy was not better than gold
or silver, slime it brought him a new
heart?
A Remarkable Boy
Farmer Bogies was a veracious old
codger. If there was anything he de
lighted In, it was to secure the attention
of some oue while he spun a yarn about
the wonderful 'cuteness of his son Tom.
Tom was his idol—his hero on every
occasion—and never would the old fel
low let his hero suffer in want of a ro
mancer.
Ah !" said Bogies, one day, as ho
had fairly liked his auditor, "Tom is the
most remarkable bo you ever set eyes
on ; he's like his of dad—you can't no
more sarcumvent rim than you can a
woodchuck. You recollect that apple
tree that stood down under the hill. be
side the stump fence? Well, I was
mighty savin' o' them apples, .1 can tell
you. I forbid 'Tom touchin"em, as
they brought a high price in the mar
ket, and every one.told, but he would
get 'em In spite o' me. It was his way,
you know, and all possessed couldn't
stop him. One day I caught the young
scapegrace up in the tree, stuthln' his
sack with the fruit, and I determined
this time to punish him fur it.
Thomas, my son," says I, "your
father's callin'ye—come down."
I thought I'd be sort o' persuasive, so
it would fetch him; but he smelt the
rat, and didn't budge an inch.
" I can't dad," said he ; " these pesky
apples are in the way."
" Toni;" I continued, sternly, for my
dander begun to rise, "come down this
minit, or I'll nit down the tree, and let
yer fall."
You see my poor old limbs wouldn't
permit my shinuin' alter the boy, BO
had to take other means.
"0, no you won't, dud," says Tom ;
"only think how you'd mourn if ye
couldn' sell the apples to stuff the ol i st i
toad-akin,"
That was too much—to have my own
boy'accuse me uv !tech parsitnunny. do.
what does I do but git the axe and cut
away at the bottom of the tree.
"'loin—Thomas," I cried, as the tree
was about cut off; "will ye come down
now, and save yourself."
"Never mind, dad," says he, "I 11'114
spillln'."
It was no use ; I couldn't bring' him
that way ;'and so I chopped away at the'
tree, till, at last, it began to sway and
fell to the ground."
"'What! and cruahed your own boylP.
ejaculated his horrified listener. •
"Not by a long °balk," replied old,
Bogies, winking knowingly. -"You
couldn't come it over. Torn In any Such
way. What had he done bUt"craWled .
out on allimb, and while I was Choppin ,
at the-botttom oi the tree, he had been
cutting offthe limb.with his jack-knife,
and when the treefell, there As was still.
up.there on the . , .
John Yoder . , laqut ,flfly yea.raptme,,
•esident or z Wer4eravllle,,BeXs.nontl
ty; eaniniitted;siilelde 'on 'II3IIOAY
pooh by hanging' hiblealf to a tatter in
his stable.
Ma2M
nM3
LANCASTER, PA., WEDNESDAY , MOWN-0- MAY 24, 1871.
Llttle-Bel..the Newsboy.
• Some months ago, or a year ago,may
be It was—l have forgotten just how
long, for I don't remember time and
seasons, very, well—two people were
walking down street one - day. A big,
burly newsboy, very rough-looking,
very dirty and uncombed he was, walk
ed slowly.•along, just. before the two
people, crying, In a hoarse, brazen
voice :
Yer's yer evening pippers, 5 o'clock
e—dish—ing !"
Just'as hundreds of rough-lookingvn
combed newsboys do, every day. But
a few feet behind the big boy, another
boy, a little one, was walking timidly.
He was the merest mite of a little boy,
not more than seven years old. I think,
and small of his age, too. He was a
fragile-looking little fellow, with a pale
face and slender little hands. His hair
was combed and curled carefully, in
long yellow curls, almost like a girl's.
None but a mother's hand can comb
and curl a boy's hair just that way, I
have noticed. ,
The small boy had a few papers un
der his arm, trying to hold them as
the big boy held his. And when the
big boy sung out his cry, " evening pa
pers-5 o'clock e—dish—ing!" in his
loud, rough voice, lie would turn imme
diately around to the little one, and nod
eueourniugly, and tell him :
" Now, you say it, Baby."
Then the pale little fellow, with the
long, yellow curls, would take up his
cry, faintly and feebly, and try to say it
in his weak, childish quaver. Some
how it made one feel queer about the
throat to hear that poor little voice.
The large boy was teaching the small
one how to be a newsboy. Next after
noon the two boys had another rehear
sal, and the next, and that time the lit
tle boy ventured to cross the street, and
go down the other side, faintly and
timidly echoing the cry of his big,
rough friend opposite. Hundreds of
people must have noticed the two, I am
sure.
The small boy was little Bell.
I have not much saving faith in the
race of newsboys, as a general thing. I
am afraid that, in spite of Sunday
schools and night-schools, and savings
banks, and even newsboys' homes, they
remain a class of the most depraved
little wretches underthe sun. I know
I should be so myself in their place. It
is not their fault. It is the fault of the
barbarous civilization which turns chil
dren out of their cradles to earn their
living. Learned doctors say that the
moral faculties, being the highest en
dowment of human nature, are there
fore the very last to be developed. And
that is why children are mostly such
unmerciful, cruel little heathens, and
pinch and torture each other, and steal,
and tell lies, and have to have ideas of
right and wrong educated into them,
so to speak. So that it is not until
children approach manhood and wo
manhood that they begin to be truth
ful and honest and tender-hearted. In
deed, I have known even full grown
men and women who did not seem to
have any very vivid ideas of right and
wrong, not yet being fully developed
mentally. So when cruel necessity lays
the burden of bearded men on the shoul
ders of weak children, we cannot expect
anything else of them than they will
be miniature sharpers and wicked little
wretches. But I never meant to preach.
I only meant to tell the simple and sor
rowful story of little Ben. It is a true
story, too. If I could have made it up
myself, God knows I would have given
it a different ending!
He was a newsboy, as I told you.
Not one of the angel-kind either. He
sometimes said words, little as he was,
which would have shocked you, I am
afraid, if you had heard them. And I
know the only reason in the world why
he did not knock down the big boys
who used to kick and cuff him when
he went to take his turn in the row of
'MAMA , 2,PW RR °P!fT? was ehP7
Patsey Hagans did It for him, and Pat
sey was the bully of the newsboys, the
roughest, toughest, most reckless of
them all, the hardest case la town, who
always slept rolled up In an old blanks,
on the floor and who knew how t(
swear .when he was two years old
Patsey trained Little lien to be a news
boy, and called him his baby. Ho Pat
sey had a soft spot lu his hard hear
after all.
Ben was the smallest newsboy yoi
ever eaw. Such a little, little mite id a
fellow he was, that you wondered how
he could sell papers at all, and how any
mother could trust him out of her sight.
Fine ladies Bald sometimes that It was°.
pity such a pretty child should be a
newsboy, and that his mother surely did
not care much for him, letting him run
about the streets so in constant danger
of being knocked down and killed. If
ho were their boy he shouldn't do it for
anything. For little Ben was a very
pretty child, with his slender hands and
long golden curls. How was it? Did
not,his mother care for her child? Aye
sho did ; for ho was the only comfor
she had in the world. Her only coin
fort and her only child. Little Then hiu
a father, bht he might better have ha
no father. This father was a poor, pit
iful wreck of humanity, fallen so low
thatl think scarcely the angels of Heav
en could have reached him in the depth
of degradation to which he had sunk !
I am sure nobody except an angel could
have reached him, away down in the
pool of slime and filth which was all
over him. Porno beast is so beastly as
human beast.
Time was when this weak, bad man
had been well to do in the world, and
respectable, and had friends. But it
must have been always in him to be
weak and bad, or he would not have
fulled so easily when temptation came.
An old tradition which tells how the
angels fell from'Paradise, says that the
thread which drew them into evil "was
at first as thin as a cobweb, but they did
not resist, and it grow strong as a cable."
So with little Ben's father. He did not
resist the cobweb at first, and now the
cable bound him hand and foot, and left
him no power, nor even the wish, ever
to rise again in this world. With the
father of little Ben we have nothing
more to do.
Time had been when the gentle
mother, with her slender hands and
yellow curling hair, so like little Ben's
own, lived In a large house and had a
carriage to ride in. 'rime had been
when she had such a happy home that
she had nothing left on earth to wish
for. But that time was so long gone by
now that Ben's mother, in her great
trouble and despair, looked forward. to
no happinons and no beautiful home till
she should pass over the river and enter
the gate of the celestial city. Indeed,
so heavy was her trouble, that she some
times lost sight of even that one last
hope.
The days of plenty and happiness
were so long gone by for little Ben and
his mother that one night they had no
supper. And the next night it was Just
the same, and the next—and after that
little Ben often went hungry to bed.
One day, watching his mother with his
large, wistful blue eyes, he saw that her
work had fallen from her hands, and
that she was crying. At first, Ben cried
too, because he did not know what else
to do •, laying his bright little bead on
her shoulder, and [clasping his weak
arms tight about her neck, as if, poor
child, thatcould do any good. Present
ly he said:
"Mamma, what are you crying for?"
Then his mother told him that she
had no supper for him, and no break
fast either, and did not know where to
get any more breakfast or supper.
Maybe. the angels will bring us
some,' said poor little Ben.
•' There are no angels any more, Ben
ny,'! said his mother.
After that little Ben stood by her
side a long time, very silent, very quiet
(he was alwaya a quiet boy,) trying to
get it through his childish head that
there was truly no more angels, with
their white dresses and Shining
such as he had seen . , in a' picture his
mother used to have.' The angels all
looked' like hie mother, somehow, it
seemed to him and she would make, a
beautiful abgef , herielf, if she only had
broad white wings. But he wanted his
supper awfully, and some supper for
mamma, too, the child thought,. •
By amity,' after thinking. aq while
longer, Ben went' quietly outdoors and
Into theatre , erter, stole so *Ally out the
Seek Way_ tat 'his !lather did - not see
h i in He,weut to the 'lady who
lived next door said :
you. lend ine ; .`C4
Cents?". ~ 4 . 1.. •
The lady, hearing the timid, treibto,
ling-voice beside herdooked down and
small , faoe gazlng•ui) , into Item,
With beatitY ;` , Sawittvo large
blue,ey_e!,
_with the tome ottilVerliatin
them already, as if the sensitive expect
ed a refusal. Something, a fleeting re-
_LL - t
...
collection mayini;tir'ii . :iiStidering'.ten
derthOught, floating about like a thistle
down, seeking some place to rest upon,
touched Mrs. Gray's heart at the mo
ment;;; she remembered the strangiteel
lug loneatterward, and she pattectlittle
Ben's bright hair; as she gave him= the
money and said he was a good child.' ;
Then little Ben went into the news
paper office, to wait for the 5 o'clock
edition. It would have fared badly
with him then, though, only for Pat
Hagans, for the young ruffians of news
boys, seeing he was a new boy, and a
green one, fell upon the :poor child and
began to beat and cuff him savagely.
But another wandering tenderthought,
Boating about like a thistledown, must
have touched and rested upon the heart
of Pat Hagans at that moment. For
just as a big bad boy had struck poor
Ben and made him cry, burly Pat Ba
gfuls roared out:
"Dry that up, rot yer ! Yer dassent
lick a boy of yet size, nohow?"
From that time big Pat Hagans was
the champion of little Ben. He educat
ed him to be a newsboy, as I told you ;
taught him how to make change, how
to " jaw back" when the boys "sassed"
him, and also how to "slide off on his
ear," at proper times, too.
That very first night Pat's " baby "
sold every one of his papers: And that
night little Ben and his mother had
some supper; though Ben wondered
what made his mother cry again, as
they sat down to eat, and hold him so
tight in her'arms, and kiss him again
and again. He thought it was a little
unreasonable in a woman to cry when
she had plenty of bread and milk.
Maybe the angels had brought little
Ben and his mother theirsupper after all.
But Patsey Hagans was the only an
gel directly visible in the case, and I am
doubtful he;was rather a dirty-looking
angel, chewing tobacco, and smoking a
stump-pipe as he did. And I'm postive
ly certain nobbdy would have let him
into a Sunday-School Tableau as an an
gel. Nevertheless, for all his patched
[rowers and toessticking out of ills boots,
he was just as much of a protectingspirit
to little Ben as if he had worn the ortho
dox white cotton gown and goose
wings. Under wing of this guardian
angel, then, little Ben had almost no
trouble. Only once after the first
week was he tormented at all, and that
was when an envious newsboy be
gan to beat him, because Ben had
sold out all his papers, while the other
boy had not. But angel Pat was at
hand in less than no time, and made
the spiteful Journal boy see such stars
that he didn't dare say boo to Ben after
that. That was the last that ever the
boys troubled him. He was little, so
helpless and harmless, that by and by
his spirit of pity and gentleness toward
him, began to develop itself, even
among the merciless, outcast newsboys.
They came to be so kind and chivalrous
toward him that not a boy of them all
would go near little Ben's beat, not a
boy of them would take a customer from
hint. lam glad to write that of them.
They were glad to remember it, too, after
that happened which did happen.
So for months that weak little boy
earned supper for himself and his moth
er. People were very kind to him
mostly. Ladies and gentlemen bought
papers of the pretty golden-haired child,
even when they did not want them.
Car-drivers often slacked up a little
when they saw him coining, so he might
climb on safely, and the big policemen
used to watch Win carefully across the
street. Little Ben learned more of the
big world than he ever thought was to
be known; more than WAS good for a
child to know, perhaps. He used to
look at the fine carriages and wonder
whether he could ever sell papers enough
to buy a carriage. He wondered what
he could do when lie was a man. lie
would not be a newspaper editor, lie
thought, because editors were all so cross
and in such a hurry, and didn't seem to
have much money, he noticed. May
iTe'ltlcelrtilill l a Ai' ar ffit - Ting ri iiB L ri;
would even have to go and be a legis
lator, and have to be hauled about in a
hack and gaped at. He would not like
that at all. On the whole, lie thought
he would be a milkman, lie told his
mother, because a milkmen could ride
all day lu a wagon, and seemed to get
more money than any hotly else. And
little lien learned some bad words and
rough ways from the other boys, too.
But he never said the bad words before
his mother, never. And he always gave
her every penny of his earnings, not
even keeping enough to buy a pocket
k idle with two blades, though he wanted
it more than anything else In the world.
At last n terrible thing happened. I
hardly know how to write it down, for
when I go to write of that my hand
shakes and the tears coins in spite of
me, and somehow I seem to lie writing
of one who was a very near kin to me.
One afternoon little Ben went out
merrily to sell his papers, his slender,
delicate hands and pale face very clean,
and his long, bright curls shining in the
sun. His mother watched him out of
Hight from her window, just as always.
That was the last time she ever curled
little Ben's long bright hair; the last
time she was ever to watch her darling
from the window. Poor little Ben 1
He had sold three papers, and the
little fellow climbed into a street-car
and sold another. He meant to step
off at the crossing, but the child was
very little, very weak, and missed his
footing, and fell under the car. In an
instant the heavy wheel rolled over
him—and poor little Ben never sold any
more papers. Never, never more!
They stopped the car and picked up the
little, crushed body in a moment. A
little feeble, trembling life yet quivered
within him, and he opened his blue eyes
faintly and begged them piteously to
send for his mother. They knew the
child and went instantly. But the
faint, tiny spark of life glimmered feebly
and went quickly out before the mother
came. And with the cold hand of death
stiffening his white eyelids, and dim
ming his great blue eyes, little hero Ben
murmured with his last weak breath,
the words mingling brokenly with the
death gasps:
" Tell my mother—l've sold four
papers—and—the—money—is in—my
pocket."
A crowd of men and women, most of
them with tears in their eyes, saw the
long, bright curis,all draggled and dusty,
two poor little slim hands, broken at the
wrist, one of them hanging quite dead
and lifeless—a heart-broken Woman
moaning and crying, and clasping wild
ly to her breast the crushed, shapeless
thing which had been golden-haired
little Ben :—Cincinnati C'cnnoncrcial.
Beauty and Rata Water
L lan naof Politic rs, Duchess of Valen
tinois, was a celebrated beauty iu an ago
of beauties, yet strange to say, no histo
rian has ever given details of those won
drous charms which captivated two
kings, one of them fifteen years her
junior in age. We do not even knoW
whether her eyes were blue or black,
whether her hair was light or dark ; we
only know that she was the loveliest
woman at court: of lovely women, and
that at an age when most women are
shrivelled specimens of ugliness. Peo
ple said she possessed a secret that ren
dered her thus impervious to the ravages
of time, Some went so far as to say
in that superstitious age that she had
brought her secret from a very dark
gentleman indeed ! What was this
secret then ? Did she ever tell it ?
Never. Did any one ever know it?
Yes, her perfumer. Did he never tell
it? Not during her life. It is known
then? It is, for those who have the
patience to wade through musty many
scripts and books. May we not know
it? You will only smile and disbelieve I
Try Good then, I will translate Maitre
Outiard'e own words to you : "I, Oud
ard, apothecary, surgeon, and perfumer,
do here declare on my faith and on' the
Memory of my late honored and tiMeh
beloved mistress, Madame Dana of Poll
tiers, Duchess of Valentino's; •that the
only secret she.possessed, with whlcli. *0
be and remain ti perfect health,-youth,
and , beauty- to the 'ago• of seventy-two
was—Rain Water if And; in truths I
assert that there-is nothing in the world
like this same Rain Water, a constant
lids of whieh' Is imperative to render the
side:SCA anditlownY, or to ,freshe i
the
solo;„ pr to cleanse, the peresbf the
orto make heauty.lastas 4a_.„Se7Pl
Thus, the. nly service Whiell
Oudard rendered his.- illustrious ends;
tress was to gather the rain-water:ter
her ; bottle it and seal it up? to kw:• in
readiness in case of scarcity of•rain. , So
all these bottlearcif
.Iphileres•whieltdally
arrived the
,greatiii#4l;! tcf`the
greater Itidy,:ol34 •
waned thicpsktapsx i , t Qa p4',4
Eayslt - ,Iso" ,Ttanti.4 , 1 5 0 11 ...041*
adding that Diaus-, alwaye,,*
hour's outdoor exercise.before the morn,
Ing:dew had left the ground 1
LIME
[Written for the
Taitorlana; . Se'Ojai:Mons from the
Flints and Doings.
"Through thy recreant gizzard thou Jana..
Fi they monster, you've “cabbaged" my life."
It Might naturally be supposed that.
substances of .such opposite characters
as those which constitute the specific
title of this paper, could not possibly,
under any circumstances, produce a
scintillation; but not so, We have seen
the time and the place, whorl they. would
have "struck tire," the moment they
came in contact, unless preVented by
that " discretion which is the better
part of valor." Before we proceed any
further, however, it might be necessary
to say something in regard to the signif
icance of the terms employed in our
title, without offering the least apology
for the terms themselves; because they
belong to the technology of the craft,
and to have employed others, would
only have beclouded our subject, be
sides being foreign to the general sen
timent of the shop-board. When we
have oecasion to mention the name of
Satan, or the Derail, we shall do so with
out any compunction, and not " beat
about the bush," by using such terms
as "Old-boy," or "Bad-man," or "Old
nick," or the many other titles applied
to his " Plutonian Majesty ;" and it Is
even so in this case. We did not origi
nate these terms ; we found them in the
universally acknowledged vocabulary
of the profession when we took our in
itiatory in it ; and they are still in it, al
though we must confess that the muta.
tious of time and circumstances have,
in many places, rendered them almost
obsolete.
' FLINT, was a term applied to that
class of journeymen-tailors who were
"sticklers" for the best prices for their
labor that could be obtained, and who,
under no circumstances would work be
low the " bill of prices" which had been
established by the society in any town
or city—not even if it involved the ne
cessity of their " trampling" to another
place in the midst of Winter, and with
out a sixpence in their pockets. What
ever:may have been his profligacy, or
his short-comings in other respects, the
flint was "as true as steel" in this. He
was invulnerable, and " hard as aflint,"
was a common comparison, when speak
ing of any of this class.
The Flint avowed himself the sup
porter of the honor, the glory, and the
dignity of the trade, and so far as main
taining the prices was concerned, his
claims in this respect., were indisputa
ble. In some instances, however, it
may have seemed that he carried his
point of honor to an extreme not ap
preciable by the world, outside of
the circle of his profession, for he would
infinitely rather have " played " over a
single job for a whole week, for which
he obtained Jive dollars, than to have
made three, within the same period, at
four dollars and ninety-five cents each.
Such is the force of early habits of
thinking on this subject, that we could
not, even now,condemn him for his pref
erence ; because, he professed to act from
principle, and not from expediency—
from an unswerving faith to the com
pact between him and his " brother
chips," and not from self-interest alone ;
and if, whilst thus honoring the trade,
he had always carried the same inflexi
ble principles into matters in which the
interest of others, outside of the trade,
were involved, we know of no charac
ter more trustworthy, as a custodian of
the interests of the working people than
theflint. Hints however, notwithstand
ing their consistency in "sticking to
the bill," had many weaknesses In oth
er respects. Of course there were many
exceptions, but as a general thing, they
were very convivial—had their rigid
shop-rules—their "Free-and-Easy,"and
some of them would have thought them
afP Wittig . " t fie y "'gine u c ti f I n 'a
stray shilling in their pockets, that had
not peen expended on the Saturday
evening previous. As a sequence to
this peculiar characteristic—whether
they were married or single—there
must have been deprivation or suffer•
lug entailed ; but that was the abuse;
us the subject of use, every mechanic
or workingman must commend the
course of the Flint. Although this
term with usually applied to journey
men, yet, in n general sense, it also in
eluded their employers, or "crooks;"
and their shops—" back-shops" at least
were styled flint-qhops. Nothing could
have been more disastrous to ft shop In
a town or city where an effective sOcie•
ty of journeymen tailors existed—than
for said society, by a vote of its mem
bers, to have expunged that name, and
declared ft one of the opposite charac
ter. In such event, it would have been
the bounden duty of every flint to have
"struck" against the shop, as promptly
and unequivocally, as if it had been in
fected withcholera,small-pox,or leprosy.
Dung, on the other hand, was a term
applied to a certain class of journeymen
tailors who were willing to work at and
price, and without regard to the restric
tions of a special " bill of prices." In
some cases where they worked under a
uniform bill, it was such as had been
dictated by their employers, and not one
of their own making. Sometimes the
number between "Flints" and "Bungs"
was so equally balanced in large cities,
that the latter had also their organized
societies, but even In these cases, their
bills of wages were such as their crooks
themselves volUDtarily suggested. With
out calling into question their general
respectability, and their moral standing
they were looked upon with disfavor by
mechanics in general, and Flint-tailors
in particular. Some of them were mean
and cringing—" creeps," according to
the technology of the craft—and made
it a point to work just sufficiently below
the bill to obtain that employment
which otherwise might have been given
to others. This term, it must be con
fessed, is not remarkable for its elegance,
but we are treating lt, not as a fancy, but
as a fact, as it exists in the vocabulary
of tailoring, and as it has existed from
" time out of mind," and may continue
toexist for time to come; notwithstand
ing, like the term flint, it is becoming,
from the same causes, more obsolete, as
time and change advances. This class
of men also differed from the former In
this, that they had generally more in
their purses, and more frugally kept it
there ; but as there was no special code
of honor among them in respect to
prices, they would, when occasion re
quired, or an opportunity was offered,
underuzine each other, so that there was
no bond of faith among them. Another
very distinguishing characteristic of
these two classes of men was that the
Flint would not receive from his em
ployer more than the bill called for, lest
it might he supposed by his confreres,
that a collusion existed between him,
and iris employer, or that the latter had
some ulterior design In view, whilst the
Dung, free - from any apprehensions of
this kind, would take all he could under
any circumstances obtain. We distinct
ly:remember on one such occasion in a
Western city, where a journeyman
availed himself of these special favors
from the " Crook," and on the af
fair being reported to the society
it unanimously declared him a" creep,"
and hJs employer's shop "tainted,"
and forthwith every journeyman in
it "struck," and deserted it as pre
cipitately as rats are supposed to desert
a "ainking,ship." By a satisfactory ex
planation, however, and the payment of
a line, at a special meeting of the socie
ty, the next evening, bothwere restored
to their former status. , This, of course,
was arbitrary, and was'only one of the
ptecutsors'of that disruption of the so
ciety;
,and the Mel/king down of prices,
Which too tilabe In that city.Withlit'five
years.thereafter. We ate also cagnizant
of a case,fin another Western city, where ,
the Society of Denys absolutely received
twenty-five cents, more on a coat, from
theiremployers,than the Flints did tkom
Mils was an °enigma,. the only
soll4t t ion ofwhich was thejaet that the
former Wes a free NV of their employ
etvintitle in order to throWdiscredit of
odium on the Flints,Whorri . they hated
Iwitilst the latter, was the result of a
demand.KlP, as the Things were not
Metturaental ,i making their price's,
neitlitfr had het the power to retain
them 'one day beyond:thei'vvill of their
employers :continue 'them. There '
,wse always a gate of hostility, existing
between ,these two classes of 'journey
en, Which — on the' least' proyOcatida,
woultibreithehthito open war,unletii pre
'vented. tik somscounter inliuence~ this,
at least,was the casein largeolties, where:
they,ppth had their ; organized seeietlus.
Xt qui* certain that theterillld tint
meet *tithe on tfirdes'br soidarEhis
inonscandthirefore theyllacithehf
reite•plseed of meeting; and usual resort;
and although it may be nothing to the
ShoD-board
c It of el er, yet the time idas, ea
they wOultrinutually have delighted in
nothing so m uch; as knowing thateither
had .had their "thumbs smashed,"
party received some other injury, by
which ;they. would have n bee unable to
work at tailoring: This state of hostil
ltjr;rof course; was suicidal to their own
ultimate interests,..for it prevented that
through which alone any class
of. mechanics can expect to. maintain
their rights, and not become the cring ,-
ing subjects of domineering' and exact
ing employers. It is very certain that
the Flintsif, they could have had their
way—would have prevented any man
from usurping the husiness of a Tailor,
who had not been bred : to it, by the ser
vice of a regular apprenthieship. . It is
just as certain too, that when and where
they had the power In their hands, they
did not always exercise It judiciously,
and this perhaps, more than any combi
nation against them, was the means by
which they ultimately lost their pristine
influence.
The "bad feeling" between Flints and
Dungs, is represented by the quotation
at the head of this article ; and these
exelanuttious are theatrically put Into
the mouths of a pair of these worthies,
by some caricaturist, who Illustrates a
dualistic combat between them, the one
armed with a "yard-stick" and the
other with a " lap board," wherein the
Dung is " run through" by the Flint.
Neither of these classes of men seemed
to recognize the necessity of a harmon
ious union for the sake of a common end;
nor did they acknowledge the mutal re
lation which ought to exist between em
ployer
and employee. That relation is
even now, looked upon—and often acted
upon—as antagonistic, than whian,
there could not possibly he a greater er
ror. The employer is just as dependent
on the employee as the employee is on
the employer—not any kris so, not any
more so—and so long as this relation is
not understood—not carried out in all its
principles, so long will there be a con
flict between the interests of the two.
There are relations between the employ
er and the public from whom he receives
his patronage, and there are relations
between the employee and his family,
to whom he is under obligations, all of
which should be duly considered in their
intercourse with each other. Where the
employee makes demands upon the em
ployer, or executes his work in such a
manner as to conflict with the interests
of the public, he inflicts an injury upon
his employer which must ultimately re
act upon himself; and on the other
hand, where the employer makes de
mands upon the employee which con
flict with the interest of his family, he
Is standing in his own light, for he pro
vokes those combinations, which the
weak are always compelled to resort to,
to protect themselves against the en
croachments of the strong. There is
therefore no state of independence; but
on the contrary, they are mutually de
pendent upon each other, and the sooner
they discover and act on this relation,
the sooner a state of harmony between
them will exist. Then, there will be no
occasion for such artificial classes as
Flints and Dungs, which are only the
antagonistic adjuncts of a barbarous age
in tailoring. The rapid revolutions of
time and trade are fast obliterating these
ancient distinctions, although it is not
clear that a much better state of things
has yet succeeded ; but, these are prob
lems, which .we must look to the future
to successfully solve.
(ittANTELIA'S
Rugby School.
How ft wag Rmilned.
In a London letter to the Cincinnati
Cum/nut:id/ Moncure D. Conway writes
as follows:
- - - -
As an Instance of how utterly depen
dent a school, and particularly an Eng
lish school, generally is on the force of
a single man, one has only to look at
the downfall of Rugby. I need not In
form people so familiar as Americans
irt ' t . (: . lCr 9 . ' W:l:l l lola"dretb i l l 1 Fi l lZjy " . w 1 111 YA%
personal character, his eloquence, his
tact, the old school blossomed like
Aaron's rod among the other schools of
'England. Many of the old and barbar
ous usages, as hazing, fell into happy
desuetude among the boys, and Rug
beians were everywhere in repute.
When. Arnold died the school began
to fall a little, but it was reinforced
by Dr. Temple, who had not the
exquisite art of Arnold in dealing
with the young, but being liberal,
earnest, and an ardent follower of Ar
nold, under whom he had been trained,
managed to keep the school at least pre
eminent over all others in England for
scholarship and morality. When Glad
stone appointed Dr. Temple to be Bishop
of Exeter, the Pusey I tes began to hanker
after the control of the Rugby. It was
complained by them that the Rational
ists of the Broad Church had come to
look upon Rugby as their private pre
serve, and they insisted on getting pos
session of the school. It turned out that
on the Board of Trustees,with whom rest
ed the election of a Head Master, a consid
erable number were High Churchmen,
others Evangelical, and a decided majori
ty simpletons; so theyelected one Hay
man ,a man utterly unknown; a man who
was found afterward to have laid before
the Trustees recommendations given to
him many years before, by some eminent
personages, for some small position in a
little school, as if they had been given
for Rugby. By so using certificates for
a purpose never contemplated by those
who gave them, Hayman was elected.
When the deception was discovered
there:was a cry of indignation, but Hay
man clung to his post. When he ar'
rived at Rugby he was found to be such
a booby that the under-masters and stu
dents held him in utter contempt.—
Things went on Jrom bad to worse.
Hayman turned out the two teachers
who alone preserve anything of the
old character of the school. The Stu
dents were angry : there was a re
bellion—a rebellion-that amounted one
day to a regular battle with fists. 'The
Trustees met, and found that, of the two
under-teachers whom Hayman had dis
missed,they had only the legal power to
restore one. Him they restored. Thus,
baying elected a Head-Master onia
sectarian basis, they were compelled,
within a few months, to repudiate his
principal action. Rugby was tints given
over to chronic' antagonism between
Head-Masters and teachers. It is now
universally, understood that Hayman
is pig-headed, and the best boys
are being withdrawn daily from the
school, ' which Is ruined. The force
with which Arnold and Temple ruled
baying been withdrawn, we now learn
that corporal punishment is being used
upon the boys ; and, as. one barbarism
begets another, the boys are beginning
to be ruffians too. Oue of them has
just written to a London paper in .de
fence of the practice which now pre
vails there under the name of " Sixth
lickings.'.' When 'a boy does anything
which the'other boys disapprove, but
which can not be revealed to the ITIIIB
- they take him Into, a room where
he is " licked" bythe.Sixth form. "This
the ingenious Rugbisfati defends. But
a collection of boys sometimes has such
curious moral 'demi and the offence they
dare not tell the maaterisso often what
older people would Call a virtue, that
one cannot think . of "the " Sixth-lick
trigs " with satlaftletion. But some
such barbarisms as these linger in
,all
schools where the infamous praCtice of
flogging is preserVed to eke out the Ifi
-1
competence of teachers.•Theexperience
of ruined Rugby is one peculiar .as
showing how utterly and easily au En
glish school collapses when its doWn
ward tendency is hot counteracted by
some extraordinary man. And as Az
nolds are.not to be got every day, it is
Important that at least. nono,of the he
reditary evils of the English colleges and
schools Shall be Opted, to weigh upoh
theenergielt that may be commanded
In Amertm : c ••i , o
A 1 Ight•Tlngered Teuton. '"'
' It is sad when German' theologians
take to stealing, for, besides being fk bad
example to the rest of themorld, ip
furnish, a ban die to thOile.wtio have little'
faith In fife edicasy2'Clertnafitheblogy.
NOt lohgaincelhan toOktr svire'mlased
from the Imperiai bray at 131 f Peters
burg and one Aloys plchler, orklermun,
theologian,„was suspected' of filching:
frOm the s tores ellterature
mbirdated' 'Atiiatten dant of thetibrary
:very' : politely Mated •,the vquerable
eiMohg on with hie, overcoat one flay,
and took occpailon to prof ialithand oVer,
his baek, tvheie a doncealedVoluirtiiidai
distinctly felt'.' , An ofticialidsitivaliafter
ward 'paid•to: theatudlouare treat 9f Rea
,1 3 1344eb.al there. seven tthOuativid
umea wer e. iseoveied; aIA 'Which had
tfee~isbtol This" etul-'
dithlkit 14ht4hgered TettudfAseatid . to
standeery high la themorid.oflennang,
and his : selection of books indicated very
sound taste and judgment.
;::.;',. ..._..,...,:-,'W.,,4!,,:;;,.
11272 ThkialdielktlPillitirtlelsl , I' l 'l2 1'
Thelol l o.WiFig is theplatform adoptect,byi
nahltiutleitts itt,istata Convention: ,•
t. They demand, of the Legislatate.
immediate peak*, of an ad 'calling a State
Conventlott-to revise and':xtend the Com
siltation • for „ the -..pdrlxielihi meet% : eitter•
thinga, of
Abolishing and Troldbitlng special legls-
See ring the election of all State officers
by thopeople;
Ratabllshirig Sit Judicial system that will
make Justice prompt and sure ; L . ,
And providing for the pasaage of general,
laws that. shall so encourage industrial en-,
terprlse, that Pennsylvania shall be ernabled ,
to take her just place in the front rank of
all
,the States.
They demand of Cougress that the
credit of the nation 'shall be faithfully
maintained ; home industry encouraged
and protected; an adequate civil service
system established for regulating appoint
ments to office ; taxes reduced to the lowest
possible limit consistent with the steady,
but not too rapid extinction of the national
debt; the honor of the Republic sustained
at home and abroad ; the rights of every
man protected iu all the S k ates, and every
man, entitled thereto, secured In the poll
ing of ono vote, and no more, at each elec
tion.
3. They declare their unalterable attach
ment to the principle or protection to home
industry in the levying of tarif duties, in
accordance with the wise policy which has
existed from the foundation of the govern
ment to this time.
. .
4. They commend the policy of re
trenchment and wholesome enforcement
of laws, which has prevailed since the elec •
tion of General Grant to the Presidency,
and which has resulted in the first two
years of his administration In reducing the
national debt over two hundred millions,
and in curtailing the taxes to the extent of
eighty millions actually. They commend,
elso, the similar policy which has prevail
ed under Republican rule in Pennsylvania,
resulting in paying off the war 'debt of
three and a half millions; reducing the
State debt from forty to thirty millions;
and in abolishing the State tax on real es
tate. It is to the fact that both the State
and nation have been iu Republican hands,
we owe the accomplishment of such grati
tying results; and it is to the continuance
of that party in power, the people must
alone look for the continuance of this pol
icy. The return of the Democrats to power
In either Slate or nation, must inevitably
be attended with a return to extravagance
in expenditures to the 1111pairment of State
or national credit, and to the abandonment
of that protection to free labor under which
onr industry has thriven and our people
been made prosperous.
5. That in the judgment of this Conven
tion, the time has come when the State tax
on personal estate may be safely abolished,
and the other taxes, imposed by State laws
may also prudently be rednced without
injury to the credit of the Commonwealth.
5. That au indication of what the people
may fear from a return of the Democratic
party to power, wo point to the criminal
waste of the time and money of the people
by the present Democratic majority of the
State Senate. The Legislature has been
now nearly live months in session, and is
not yet nearly through with its legitimate
business, owing to the obstructive policy
of this majority. In all this time scarcely
a single 'measure of public interest has been
perfected; and the time has been wasted in
their efforts to force on our State an unjust
apportionment, and to break down the
registry law against illegal voting, that
they might thereby pave the way to their
return to power through violence and
fraud.
7. We commend to the support of the
people of the State the candidates we have
this day nominated for State ollicors. They
are honest, capable, and faithful to the Con
stitution, and In every way worthy of the
public confidence. o ask , for their eleo-
Lion, as an endorsement of the State and
National administrations, as an approval of
the time-honored principles of the Repub
lican party, which we re•afilrui in their
nomination, and as a fitting rebuke to the
Democratic party for its destructive Nation
al policy; for its adherence to the side of
violence and wrong in the South ; and for
the spirit it has betrayed in the Senate of
this State this Winter—where It has made
everything bend to the promotion of parti
san interests, defeated the holding of a State
Convention to amend our Constitution,
wasted the public time hi childish trilling,
and entailed upon the State a lingo bill of
. 1. n milionged beyond.
endurance, and which has prevented the
accomplishment of any public good.
8. That our confidence hi the firmness,
wisdom and integrity of our present
worthy Governor, J no. W. Geary, remains
unshaken, and that wo, believe Ills qualifi
cations for the (Alice he now holds aro un
questionable, as is eleary proved by the
manner he has brought the State in safety
through every storm.
9. That the administration of President
Grant meets the full approval of the Re
publican party of Penney wattle. His finan
cial policy, by which the national debt is
being steadily reduced; the reduction in
the expenditures of the government; the
honest collection of the'reventio ; his fideli
ty to the principles of human rights,
through which the liberty of all is to be
secured in every part of the land ; his loy
alty to the people In having no policy to
enforce against their will; and the spotless
integrity of his administration.
After the reading of the resolutions had
been concluded, a motion was made that
the seine be unatilinowily adopted.
The lion. P. C. Shannon advocated the
same In a moat powerful speech, and on
ocaioluding, offered to amend the ninth
resolution by adding the following "and
point to him as the honored leader of our
pkrty now, and the proper standard-bearer
of the Republican party in 1e72."
Several gentlemen deprecated the amend
ment as being premature, but It was finally
adopted after a bitter debate.
A Murderer 'lntuited by n Mob---Ex truer
dlonry Cooluens of the Victim—Ms
Couferelou.
YANKTON, Dakota, May 15.—darnia
Jamison, alias M. Mcheath, was hanged by
a mob at Helena, Nebraska. He was ar
rested near Omaha, last week, for the
murder of Henry Locke, a German wood
cutter, living in Cedar county, in October
last, and was brought to Helena for triaL
There was no doubt as to his identity nor
of his guilt, and quite a - crowd gathered at
Helena to meet him. Ho confessed tha
murder, which was a cold-blooded one,
and three other murders of which he was
accdsed, behaving escaped from jail here
on a similar charge a day or two before the
murder in Nebraska was committed, He
objected to being banged because ha was
not prepared to die, but not because of his
innocence... He was at once strung up,.but
the rope broke, and it is stated be coolly
smoked his pipe while they were getting
the rope' ready again. The whole affair
seems to have been conducted with cool
ness and deliberation.
The prisoner confessed to the murder of
John Coifrey at Fort Buibrd, but claimed
that s a comrade.natued Swisder shot him.
Hp at first denied'the murder of Locke, but
after a vote had been taken by the mob,
and he had , been informed that he would
be /U:Wed, he confessed the murder, and
tvldressed the crowd as follows :
' Fr.uow Cyrrzsrm : I have come to make
a free and open confession of the crimes I
have committed. I know that I will have
to be hanged, and I only ask to be hanged
like a man. I have received a good deal
of abuse for a murder Wm:Bitted at Fort
Buford, the principal part of which was
doite 'by the man himself who testified
against me. I killed this man, Locke,
down here. I had a quarrel with him Use
day before, but that was no excuse. I had
time to reflect; but I killed •him. We
were going through the timber togeth
er. I had some angry words, when I
caught his ax and struck hind twice, killing
him immediately.
Tho murderer's real mime was John Mc-
Beath. —Ho gas .30 yea* old, and was born
in New York. He went to Kenttlcky,
where he sertredln the Union army, anti
came to Dakota in the 22t1 Infantry. He
had a sister at Bowling Omen, Ky., and to
her he bequeathed his - house and four acres
of land. Se confessed to killing man in
Kentucky before leaving, but said it was
accidental. On Saturday night, after be
ing taken across the river from here to Ok
heavy, a dose of strychnine was given him
by a prisoner at Sioux City. The dose was
too heavy, and he recovered, though lie
was still sick yesterday from the effects of
the poillon.
A.Fortink*n. Female. TeUN Her Bad Tato
Through the Medium or on Advertise-
• .We do not usually give gratultocul Meer
don to advertisements, but the following,
published in the last number of the Mo-
Wongaheli Minn/Wenn; and its genahienees
:vouched, for, We consider ,to 6 good to be
lost„ is a novel contribution to Iltura
biro, and should be preserved:"
'llOO Ritwartn—For the apprehension of.
(Tattle, a tall man; about any: Pena '
haa,oonsiarable money anditlgh. forehead,
long fae6 add hinteirnlawed' man , 'tf" bad
like a giant, abd'hasoften
beatine r andl went aim to end his dye '
penitentiary Where , he belne. cud he
wears gray coat, with a very ge mouth,
and one blue eye, and one blind eye, and'a'
hideous looking lila& and now living with ,
the seventh woman, and me having one
gcle Ws mad I.
want him. Fought ap, up in the law ,With,
bluirpants. 'tie ought - to be' arrested; and
hale hundred dollars of saY money, anda
let k l lead andish elli e lead All Yf i enl 9 ' f ini llatt4 , - anZh aP eitt
'add " papa" landile -called MA
Una; Tilllapand A beyblludotonanywatid3
wbak APt
niek. her, Mat Cato ' e
liatdied afflklf *dui' iiitrand'eodiCalliy'
geld =ad beitausiitt,
and I will never nye with him.again,,no
never, he Is a dtsgreee;and I Would like to
BATE OF ADVERTISING
8 =7., tl=7. s l 3 l„7 l 7,o39:ALi ez rafi r ....
uont15101p1;1111s .
7,..e.a.rx Asivicia a wap i mraf t o
for
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ElMitrrn.lL , Y 'r
31 11q1 A C V35-rr g u forll ß the =tebqUzOt "
1.F..1CW1
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8111rWNintrav,twytt.1 •.sa, , Colvens
r7.V1re.trct..,.,p.,11T .1 • . 1: -
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eg fo t r a lrti: ertw ere t ,
L iiii t liliA n ia yri a4l4t I J 1.1
VU:Bentote Vairiii,444.....“ 4 .4...••••Ki
1110
tegAVIrCOVIZATIFIA: O T I2I ;4 "2
15D,
luorehimetwollitFul,4llPelled to main
tAin mecendiNs ap: am his lawful
weddeSctif luthahti cbrtfficateormar
my acliut^r.Turrim.
Pfripluty7,x.44s, Pa., ApT11.1.871.
Pei!'!' ) MtPri FV9 I4 " Veu! l •4 , ?!P. ,
TnesdAY, evening, 'Mayi,d, via
Ila milogutOtlttyl7, L lSlorning:=-There was a
Tremendous scene at the Mil o; the Column
Vendome, at half-past ; dye o'clock this
afternoon.. The fall was announeiid for two
o'elbeir',' and attain baledtiTeei in 'the Pace
Vandoine were thronged'withladloa. Itues
de,la Pais. and Castiglione were crowded.
Three lands of music arrived while the
werkmen - •were ehgaged' in chipping. the
base:6l'7th° colunin.! AL./omile: next ar
rived. and Warded the windlass. The ex
elle'rnent was Mtense: M.lteehefort next
apPedied and the people crowded around
himi,glving him, loudsheors. Soon all ar
rangements were completed, nod the cable
stretched and tightened, the column stood
firm' ' the windlass broke and the pulley
fiewinto the air and Wen deseended,,strik -
lug a sailor and wounding him.
After this accident, M. Abadie declared
that he needed two hours in which to repair
the tackle. The odds rose that the column
would not fall. At a quarter past 5 o'clock
it was sivon out that the/column Would not
fall before To'eletik. A general expression
of disapprobation went through the crowd.
At twenty minutes past five o'clock the
cable was again stretched for the work of
demolition. Suddenly to the surprise 01
the spectators, the vast column moved and
swayed. It next swept magnificently
down, bursting into fragments twit street:
the earth. It tell lengthwise in the Rue de
la Pads, exactly ou the manure cushion
prepared for it, splintering with a dull,
heavy, lumbering sound, while a thick
cloud of dust and crushed and powdered
masonry rose in the air.
The crowd, as 140011 11-`4 the column fell,
gave tremendous shouts of "Vivo la Com
mune," and the bands played the Marsoil
laise hymn. When the dust cleared away
there lay the glorious column shattered to
pieces, its bronze and rua.soury in two
masses together in the middle, and the
statue of the Emperor, several feet front
one end of the column, with the head
knocked off.
The crowd rushed forward to collect
fragments as relics, and the Guards were
unable to resist the rush. Next the orators
commenced their speeches, indulging in
all sorts of extravagant language. The
statue of the Emperor was treated as if it
was the Emperor himself. The National
Guards spat into its face and struck it with
their rifles.
After the ceremonies were concluded the
crowd diverged and the soldiers moved
off waving their red flag and giving ex
pression to their joy by continual shouting.
The excitement was tremendous, and is
even now high. This is the story of the
destruction of the Column Vendome--a
monument which should have been pro
tected and cherished by all parties, whether
republican or monarchical, us not only
commemorating the glorious deeds of
Frenchmen, but as a great work of art,
which cannot readily be replaced.—lterold
WIFE MURDER IN NEW YORE
A Mao Throws his Wife out of a Third
Story Window.
A terrible wife-murder way perpetrated
in the tenement-house 133 Heade street,
about 11 o'clock last night. For the past
year, on the third floor of the house in the
rear, have resided William Rudd and his
wife Margaret. Rudd is a native of Nor
folk. England, 39 years of age, and a sailor
by profession, but has for six or seven
years been emloyed as porter by the dry}-
goods
-
goods fir of li. N. Taylor, 101 Franklin
street. His wife separated from him Hewn
months ago, and only rejoined him on
Wednesday night.
'rho cause assigned for this Is that Marga
ret Rudd, the wife, was a hard drinker, and
refused to share the matrimonial couch with
her husband. Last night they went to
visit at No. 28 Watts street, and on the
way back the quarrel way 'renewed. On
reaching the house they wont to their room,
and William McCarthy of No. 135 Reads
street, next door, and Ueorgo Hume, who
lives In a rear tenement, heard some quar
reling, and several times hoard al re.
Redd say "Stop this." In a row minute's,
about 10:30 o'clock, or a little) after, all
were horrified by seeing Rudd push Ilk
wife out of the window. She fell on leer
root In the rear yard with a dull thud, fuel
man k it,,, grntutol Italia relic
down stairs to the street, and was arrested
by OillooJolly,!of the 3d Precinct. Thowlli ,
was taken to the Park Hospital, where,
despite the attention of :or. Vaudowater,
she died in a few moments. She was A nier
' lean, born of Irish parents, 35 years of age,
and a rather handsome woman, She died
from the shock to her nervous system.
Rudd is locked up In the Third Ward Sla
tion-flouse.
The Author of the "Lou Coblu Songs
Tho lion, John Gro[nor, ox•tlovernor of
Now Mexico, and author of the once fn-
Moon " Log Cabin " songs of the political
campaign of 18.10 died in Toledo on Satur
day morning, l ie was a resident of Col
umbus, Ohio, and wan attending the Grand
Lodge of Odd-Fellows at Toledo when ho
11 , 118 struck with paralysis. Mr. Greiner
war born in 1810, and removed to the State
of Chto when a boy. lie was nt one time
editor of 'no Mato Journal, at Columbus,
and afterward of The Gazette, at the Hattie
platy, and of The Times. sin
Look active part in the early Whig cam
paigns of the State; in fruit, as the author of
the "Log Cabin Songs" and other popular
political ballads, he was ono of the leaders
of the party. Among his songs still flunii
lar, in their titles at lout, oven to the
younger mon of the prosout day, aro "Tip
pecauoo and Tyler too "
, and "Old lip
Coon." Ho composed the music to accom
pany his songs, and the people seized upon
both air and words with enthusiasm and
eagarnesa. He frequently sang his own
songs at immense gatherings during limo
excitement of the' campaign; and other
tongues than his echoed them at monster
Whig meetings in all ports of the country,
North and South. Mr. Greiner was rep •
pointed Indian Agentby Prosidoxt Taylor,
and President Flilmoro afterward appoint
ed bird Governor of Now Mexico. Ile
was absent in the far West about nine yearn.
Ow his return he found political combina
tions with which ho was uefamillar, and in
which he took little interest. The relative
positions of men whom bolted ridiculed or
praised.were In many coxes changed, and
he has boon board of but little during late
years. At the time of his death, ho had re
tired from editorial duties, and was engag
edlia Wittiness at Columbus. ,
Palm-144f Halo
The only place In the United States
%Viler() palrn-leaf braid is manufactured is
in Maesachusetts, the principal towns
where the Credo is carried on being Am
herst, Palmer, Barre, and Fitchburg. Till)
raw material Is brought from Cuba to Now
London, Conn., in bunches of twenty-five
leaves from four to live fee't long. The
bunches, placed on the stook end, arepack
ed in the bleaching TOOMM and subjected
for sixteen days to the fumes of brimstone.
The leaf after being bleached, passes into
tho'hands of the Splitters, and about ono
third of the Material is rejected. This
waste, until decently, was useless, but is
now sold as .paper-maker's stock for fifty
dollars a ton, when delivered at the mills.
The splitleavee are now sent out into the
country to be, braided into hate and woven
Into webs for Shaker hoods. This work is
done by the wivee mid children of tile Now
Ragland farmers, and large teams aro con
stantly passing over the steep hills and into
the most remote recesses of the country,
carrying the raw material to bo . bmided
and bringing back the finished work. A
large number of persons find employment
Ih braiding, and nimble-lingered girls can
earn as much as an adult woman. The pay
is small, but oddmoments which otherwise
would be disengaged tiro devoted to this
labor. Country merchants', It is stated, fre
quently take the leaf and.put it out in the
neighborhood, being satisfied with the M
erriam() of sales although they may make no
profit from the braiding.
A RUlAbie,ObJect
We take the following from tho New. Jer
soy Journal, published at Ellzabethport:
most pitiable object in human shape
in them parts is Charge Bortrob,• whom,
parents live at N 0.203 Court atreet, In what
used to be called the ' yellow tavern.' Ile
was born blind and so deformed that he
can neither sit, stand, -nor crawl; and at
least ono-half of hls joints appear to be din.
located: 1919'yeare old, and so near a
skeleton. , that his bones almost protrude
through, the sklsr. Pea a,cradie all
the' time ' , on his, back, and abont all the
motion that ho ferabln hi' make is to throw
hlsbeachom one side and the othen,.whlch
keep' the madleirocklug. The ,only, word
"leis able to say is '111a;' - salboblels his in
tellect can3ed by daily then His breast is
concave Ituitead of conveg,andbis feet and
legs are 010 drawls ,up" under that his
whole frime ocenpleal but a 'amen space.
His weight apparently is not 'over thirty
pounds. Hiseareams; when these fits come
°mare so.terrilb3 that he oort , he beard all
over the nelghtsarbooil. Tho writer has;seeu
nilierY in ail. its shapim, but hover before
aslta& , sa , thilr. AmisantbrepistWobldbe
,o3rutod!by..a.v.isit au •
iNneralß4arMn'•iNotrZP
Gorernor WermontbootLotrielana, : bee
been brew ht te g{I9LA a speech mado a
Sew day, c e af,a receptlqu_slyen to, Gen:
Blie•Knacui 14eVe Orleims,'"lde Govetnor
- fteedollalyi QC:dad/mime feet othillibewing
berm:fhb:Ay ,limokiblisieda n P4P:attack.
CligaVlSFlee"gtigt=ls)lin•.°l
- • ' • Sti VilipOlid•lly 12 You 'ought
101 , hive lbeen , elaietrely.f Abe; Gpvernor
probably had hot mtieV pi/petite SO the
rest of the banquet, ' " '