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SttUtitA rXortni.
TO THE SOI, IHF.It.
Do you think that we forget yon.
That our hearts to self are sealed,
Seeking comfort, pleasure, riches,
While you waste in camp and field ?
Do you think our greatest care is
That we win a party strife,
Wliile'the fever stills your pulses,
Gr the death-wound drains your life?
When you marched to battle for us
And the sacred rights of man.
Then we took the rearward places,
Pnto you we gave the van.
In the future heard we voices,
Not pronouncing names we bear.
Saw you standing girt with glory,
Saw ourselves in shadow there.
Heard your children say at evening,
•• Years to-day our father fought!"
While our children blush beside them
For the deeds we never wrought.
• Yes," you say, " you yielded to us
Honor's doubtful, empty breath.
Dim and distant starry praises,
Far behind the clouds of death.
•Sweet it is to live, far sweeter
Than to lie beneath the sod :
Few the prayers for death that mortals
Lift unto the ear of God.
But we have a son or brother
In the terrible wild fray.
And in death he writhes one moment.
I n love's anguish we for ave.
Nsv, the blood mounts with the battle.
Certain danger loses much
< >t' the horror of the unseen,
We fear little what we touch.
While we start erect in dreaming
With the spasm of the blow
That has killed him. he is laughing
By the evening camp-fire's glow.
Tints our souls are with you, naked
In the perilous battle front,
While you fight in double armor
(if excitement and of wont.
Then bv all the bonds that give us
Each with each a common doom.
By the dark ways of your suffering.
By our sympathetic gloom.
By our hopes to you intrusted,
By your hopes of just return,
By our different sacrifices
That on common altars burn,
Think not ill of us, O Soldier!
Though the death-stroke lay you low,
While we do not seem to shiver
At the echo of the blow.
SPECIAL
" Boys, do any of you feci like volunteer
ing- on a special service of considerable
risk ?"
• What is it, Captain?" inquired Jack-
S< 111.
" Don't know any more about it than that
the General intends to send a detachment
"f volunteers, under the command of Lieu
tenant Bradford, the Tennesseean, whom
y u must all know pretty well by this time,
on some particular mission. Bradford says
he wants lm man to volunteer unless he is
prepared to face hot work. You all know
what kind of a fighter lie is, and what you
need expect if you go with him," answered
the Captain.
" I'm his man, for one !" exclaimed Jack
son, jumping up with great alacrity.
Jackson was a wiry specimen of the gen
us lloosicr, and measured nearly six feet
without his army-shoes.
" And I'm another !" " Count me in !" " 1
don't want to be left out in that deal!" "Nor
I won't be euchred !" were some of the ex
clamations of the men as they sprang' to
their feet.
"There ! hold on ! The whole company
can't go ! He has two regiments to choose
his men front," said the Captain "Let the
first ten that offered fall-in and march to
head-quarters."
With a similar spirit evinced throughout
the regiments, Bradford had no trouble in se
curing more than double the number called
for. and tne great difficulty now was, who
should go and who remain behind. Leav
ing him to settle this vexed question, we
turn to other characters who figure in this
brief drama of real life.
Dr. C 's residence stood a few miles
irqm Greenville, in East Tennessee. The
Doctor was a native of the South, but had
been educated at the North. At the time
that Governor Harris and his co-laborers in
treason endeavored to fasten Tennessee
to the tail of the Secession car the Doctor
was absent traveling in Asia, and was still
detained abroad by sickness, and it was
not publicly known which side had bissvni
pathies ; but the Secessionists claimed him
as their own. In his absence his household
was under the charge of a widowed sister
and her daughter,a girl verging upon twen
ty summers. She was a native of Tennes
see, but bad also been educated at the
North,and had brought back with her many
New England ideas.
I hough not a beauty, Emma H was
a very prepossessing girl, and among her
admirers and aspirants for her hand were
Joseph Bradford and Richard Wharton.—
he latter had spent a number of years in
1 ahtornia, in the mining districts, and had
a< cumulated a few thousand dollars by his
industry at the mines or at the gaining-ta-
E. O. GOODRICH, Publisher.
VOLUME XXV.
lle—probably at both. He was vain of bis
wealth, and delighted in flashy parades of
it in the way of dress. Among his other
notions, he bad a black velvet vest, adorn
ed with buttons made of gold quarter-eag
les, and a blue dress-coat with gold half
eagles for buttons, and a massive fob-chain
:of gold dollars. Some persons were kind
enough to attribute this to eccentricity, but
in fact it was the design of a vulgar, semi
bravado mind. Wharton desired to be
thought important, andjjie considered that
when arrayed in this dress, and wearing a
profusion of rings and other trinkets, that
he must strike the "poor white trash "with
1 awe, if it did not let others know that he
was a man of "distinguished consideration."
He was somewhere between twenty eight
and thirty years of age,and hailed from Mis
sissippi. He frequently made long visits
to a relative who lived near l)r.C 's res
idence, and it was there he met Emma. She
at once struck his fancy, and hearing that
she would fall heir to Dr 0- 's estate, he
resolved that he would take her for a wife,
but was greatly taken aback when he found
that Emma would hardly treat him with or
dinary politeness. This piqued him and
threw him upon his metal. He thought
that he was g*ut up fine enough to suit any
girl, and all that he had to do was to ask
and the girls would jump at the chance of J
getting such a fine fellow.
Wharton was not long in discovering
that he had a rival in the person of young j
Bradford, who, he learned, was a favorite j
with Emma, and would likely carry her off 1
some day unless he prevented it. His first
idea was to pick a quarrel and then a fight
with Bradford; but he soon ascertained that
that would be extremely dangerous busi- j
ness, for Bradford had the reputation of be
ing an extremely quiet, modest man, who j
endeavored as much as possible to avoid
altercations, but that when aroused he was \
a very dangerous antagonist. This kind of i
a man it did not suit Wharton to quarrel i
with. He wanted odds when he fought. If
Bradford had been of a meek, yielding dis
position, lacking the pluck to fight, Whar
ton would have gloried in quarreling with
him. He ther fore determined that he would
accomplish his purpose in some other way
than by a personal quarrel.
Thus matters stood when the rebellion
broke out, and it was with feelings of ex
ultation that Wharton heard that young
Bradford adhered to the cause of the Union.
He soon left for Mississippi, where, by dint
of iiis money and energy, he succeeded in
placing himself at the head of as villainous
a set of desperadoes as ever went unhung,
by holding out special pr anises of plunder.
He called them Partisan Hangers,organized
to defend the altars of Southern homes from
the polluting tread of Yankee Hessians.
When this baud had performed the dirty
work of the Secession magnates in Missis
sippi—work at which the Southern soldier
who went into the ranks to meet his North
ern enemy in battle-array revolted—Whar
ton started for Tennessee to carry out the
same programme there—extermination to
all wbo refused to join the rebel cause.
When Wharton reached East Tennessee
he determined to establish a reputation,
that his fame might reach Emma before he
called to renew his addresses. But when
he did call she treated him with contempt.
This so stirred up the devil within aim that
when 1 e left Dr. C 's residence he re
paired to the camp of his band, and gave
the order for a demonstration upon the
I Bradford farm,and for his men to help thern
i selves.
It was toward dusk when his gang reach
; ed the Bradford homestead, and one of the
' desperadoes ruthlessly fired and killed the
elder Bradford as he was setting on the
| porch. Others seized an elder brother of
Joseph Bradford, and, despite the entreat
| ies of his mother, wife, and children, hung
him up to a tree in front of the house—a
| tree that his father had planted on the day
I of his birth.
" They were enemies of the .South, and
deserved all they got !" was the brutal re
ply of Wharton to the entreaties of the uioth
; er to cut down her son before life should
; become extinct.
The men haviug a carle, blanche to plun
der, spread themselves about the place,and
the women and children fled in terror to es
' cape enormities which they had reason to
, suppose would be inflicted if they remained.
When the ruffians had appeased their thirst
for plunder, the incendiary torch was ap
plied to finish the job.
The next morning Joseph Bradford re
turned home, after a short absence, to be
hold the old homestead a pile of smoulder
ing ruins, near which was the charred re
mains of ;i much-loved father, while not
far distant was the inanimate body of a
dearly beloved brother suspended from a
tree.
For a while his feelings utterly overcome
him, and he was aroused from a sort of half
stupor by a neighbor who had, with sever
al others, cautiously approached to inter
the bodies. They approached cautiously,
for they well knew that if any of Wharton's
gang discovered them their homes would
share the same fate. Among the number
was a venerable clergyman, who had been
driven from his home in the South because
, it was known that his son had gone off to
join the Union army, and lie had sought re
fuge with his friends in the mountains. This
old man read the burial-service in a feeble
voice, and then offered up a simple but
touching prayer, and the remains were con
signed to their mother earth.
After this sacred rite was performed
Bradford sought his mother. He found her,
with the other members of the family at
Dr. (' 's and Emma and her mother en
deavoring to console them. His interview
with them was brief, and their parting try
ing.
" Mother, I cannot stay ! I have regis
tered a vow in Heaven, offered upon the
grave of my father and brother,that I would
never rest so long as a traitor's foot pollut
ed the soil of Tennessee ! Emma, I cannot
thank you now—some other time ! Be kind
to them. Farewell !"
With which he mounted his horse and
rode off.
Reader, where you ever in the mountains
lat night? Not on a clear, balmy night,
when the air is fragrant with choicest in
cense and Lright.with stars ; but a night
■ when the tlood-gates of heaven arc open,
and the thunder leaps from peak to peak,
with the winds shattering and uprooting
the monarchs of the forest, striking terror
to all living things, driving man as well as
! beast to seek shelter from the fury of the
TOWANDA, BRADFORD COUNTY, I'A., DECEMBER 2!, 1864.
elements ; when the Great Bear above fol
lows the example of the lesser bears below,
and seeks shelter of a friendly cloud, so
that not even the pointers to the North Star
are visible ? Were yon ever in the mount
ains on such a night?—a night when dark
ness was upon the face of Nature, and a
dark cloud hovering over your fortunes en
shrouding those whom you held most dear,
who where clinging to you for safety, de
pending upon your strong right arm and
valiant heart to shield them from human
hell-hounds, who had driven them from their
homes, and were on their track thirsting
for your blood because you would not hunt
under the same leash ? You have not ?
Then you know not what it is to be a Union
ist of blast Tennessee, nor the price those
men have paid for refusing to bow down
to (.osier's cap stuck upon a pole in the
market-place. Talk not to these men of
compromise, or "peace at any price," with
the besotted wretches who have wantonly
driven them from happy homes—thrust the
torch of the incendiary under the roof-tree
of the old homestead, and left their helpless
families to the mercy of the elements, un
til justice has been appeased, and the devil
has got his due !
It was on such a wild night as this that
a group of men, women, and children were
cowering beneath a cleft in the rocks to
shield themselves, as much as possible,from
the fury of the storm, which they had chos
en to encounter rather than entrust them
selves to the mercy of their own race.
When the storm had spent its fury, some
leaves and brush were gathered from a
nook that had protected them from the wa
ter, and a fire was kindled to dry the gar
ments of the women and children.
The fire had not been burning much over
an hour before they were surrounded by a
body of soldiers. The smoke had revealed
their hiding-place.
The poor hunted fugitives now gave
themselves up for lost ; their number was
too small to think of offering any resistance
which, if offered, would only aggravate the
cruelty that would be practiced toward the
women and children. However, their fears
were soon relieved ; for instead of enemies,
the soldiers proved to be friends, under the
command of Bradford, who recognized a
niong them two of the neighbors who had
assisted at his father's burial. They had
been driven from their homes by Wharton's l
desperadoes.
The mission which Bradford bad sought
was to destroy this ruffian band, and succor
refugees in the mountains, and enable the
men to gain the Union lines. He escorted
those whom he had found to a place where
the women and children would be cared
for— the men eagerly asking the privilege
of joining his command. From them he
gained much needed information, and ar
ranged his plans accordingly.
It would be needless, for the purpose of j
this sketch, to trace Wharton and his parti
sans in all their outrageous acts upon al
most defenseless people. He took care, in
the regions which he passed through, to
avoid a conflict with Union troops, if their
numbers were nearly equal with his own—
he still wanted odds in his favor when he
fought, His mission was to carry the hor
rors of a savage warfare to the hearths of
those Southerners who were true to the
Union their fathers had fought to establish.
After an absence of some weeks he again
returned to the vicinity of Dr. C 's res
idence, and made repeated efforts to gain
an interview with Emma, but they were of
no avail. She persisted in refusing to see
him.
This action on the part of Emma chafed
Wharton terribly. He determined to make
her his wife whether she was willing or
not, and would hesitate at no means, how
ever violent, to accomplish that object. Of
course, the first step to be taken for that
purpose was to get her in his clutches be
yond toe possibility of escape. Having
made up his mind on this point, he selected
a number of his most trusty followers, and
under the cover of night approached Dr.
C 's residence, seized Emma, and bore
her off to a place he had arranged for her
reception, and where she would be kept se
cure at his pleasure.
In the struggle to preserve her daughter
from the ruffians, Mrs. II was so se
verely injured that, in conjunction with the
shock caused by her daughter's abduction,
she died in a few days after. Her last mo
ments were tenderly watched by Mrs. Brad
ford and her widowed daughter-in-law,from
whom young Bradford learned the particu
lars a short time after, he having succeed
ed in removing the remnants of a once hap
py family toa relative in Kentucky who had
kindly offered them a home.
Wharton, after months spent in solicita
tions and threats to induce Emma—who
was ignorant of her mother's death—to con
sent to become his bride, determined on
still bolder measures. Having secured the
eld clergyman who had performed the fu
neral ceremony at the grave of the Brad
fords, he one day, after a stormy interview
with Emma,told the woman who had charge
of her to prepare for a wedding that even
ing, as he would no longer put up with the
girl's whims. He had been trilled with long
enough, and he would now finish up the
business, as he had a regular minister who
would have to perform the service.
When night came a number of the parti
sans were grouped together in the main
room of the house to witness the wedding
of their leader ; the others, being encamp
ed a short distance oft", were regaling them
selves with stolen whisky, which was lib
| erally supplied them to celebrate the occa
! sion. The clergyman had received his in
structions. He was to proceed quickly with
the ceremony, regardless of any interrup
tion on the part of the bride, whom he was
informed was a remarkably strange girl,
who did not know her own mind from one
day to another ; that her parents had con
sented to the marriage ; and that she had
several times wanted it to take place. The
penalty for refusing to obey orders would
be a bullet through his skull.
Everythng being in readiness, Emma was
brought into the room by the woman who
had been her jailer. A few months had
wrought a great change in her appearance.
She looked many years older. Iler connt
tenance had a haggard,care worn look; but
a firm compression of the lips, and a pecu
liar light in the eyes, evinced a firm, deter
mined spirit that could not be coerced to
comply with the wishes of a villain.
A sardonic smile played over the features
of Wharton at he ordered the clergyman to
proceed with the service.
RF.GARDLESS OF DENTNCIATIOK FROM ANY UIAIUF.It.
The old man arose, and approaching tlie
centre of the room, which was of consider
able size, offered up a prayer that the Al
mighty might guide him that night, lie
then gazed hesitatingly at Emma,who stood
near the woman,uot knowing what to make
of the strange scene. Wharton was close
beside her,anil the long pause of the vener
able minister who had been so fortunate as
to fall into bis power irritated him, and lie
turned scowling toward one of the desper
adoes, who at once stepped forward and
gave the minister a nudge, at the same
moment placing a pistol-barrel against his
cheek,and whispering* a hissing sound in his
ear.
This aroused the minister from his reverie
and he told Wharton to take the lady's
hand. It required considerable effort on
Wharton's part to do this; and Emma,look
ing intently at the clergyman, exclaimed :
" In Heaven's name, old man,what mock
ery is this ?"
" Proceed !" shouted Wharton.
The clergyman trembling said: "Is there
any one who knows aught why these two
should not lie made man and wife ?"
" Release me, ruffian !" shrieked Emma,
as with a desperate effort she withdrew her
hand from Wharton'n hold.
But resistance was in vain. She was
soon seized again, and Wharton, foaming
with rage, shouted, with a beastly oath.
" Go on, in a hurry !"
The clergyman repeated the question ;
but this time he was answered by a sharp
crack of a rifle, and the next instant he be
held Wharton reel, stagger forward, and
fall to the floor with a bullet through bis
brain.
The desperado had uttered his last oath.
Several other sliots followed in rapid suc
cession, and the bodies of half a dozen of
the gang were writhing in death-agonios
upon the floor. The echoes of the guns had
not died away before armed men sprang in
to the room through the windows and door.
Emma had swooned at the first shot, but
she awoke to find herself among friends.
" Wa'al, 1 reckon thar ain't many of them
thai* gorrillers left to skin or hang, articles
or no articles of war !" exclaimed private
Jackson, about two hours after the above
scene occured,as a body of victorious troops
were returning toward the Union lines.
" Where are our prisoners ?" said one of
the soldiers, looking around
" Yes, wliar, oh ! what* are they ? Did
you see any ?" ejaculated Jackson.
" That gang is pretty effectually wiped
out," replied one of the Tennesseeaus who
had joined the command in the mountains.
" I don't believe many made their escape
from the camp, for we sprung the trap just
in the nick of time, and the business of
those at the wedding was finished nicely."
'Clean up !" said Jackson.
The whole party reached the Union lines
in safety, and a few days after Bradford
prevailed upon Emma to accept the escort
of a friend who was on his way to Kentucky
aud take up her abode with his mother for
the present.
A few weeks after the battle of Mission
ary Kidge private Jackson, who, with sev
al of his comrades, was en rente for home
on furlough,stopped at a hotel in Louisville,
and, claiming the privilege of the first treat,
said,
" Boys, here's to Major Bradford, and his
bride ! May Old Abe appiut him command
er of the gorriller districts, and we be with
him on all speshul sarvices !"
TABLE MANNERS.— Some little folks are
not polite at their meals. The following
lines are so simple,practical,comprehensive
and directly to tiro point, we take pleasure
in placing them before our readers :
In silence I must take my sent.
And give God tlianks before I eat:
Must for my food in patience wait
Till I am asked to Land my plate ;
I must not scold, nor whine nor pout,
Nor move my chair or plate about ;
M itli knife, or fork, or napkin ring,
T must not play—nor must I sing ;
I must not speak a useless word
For children must be seen—not heard ;
1 must not talk about my food.
Nor fret if 1 don't think it good ;
My mouth with food I must not crowd,
Nor while I'm eating speak aloud ;
Must turn my head to cough or sneeze,
Aud when I ask, say "Ifyou please
The table-cloth I must not spoil,
Nor with my food my fingers soil ;
Must keep my seat when 1 am done,
Nor round the table sport and run ;
When told to rise, then I must put
My chair away with noiseless foot,
And lift m\ voice to God above
In praise for all his wondrous love.
BILLINGS ON DRAFTING.— There are some
nice points in drafting operations which
are extensively discussed in the red-ribbon
circles. The most lucid explanation of a
few of these is given by Josh Billings :•
\Yidder wimmin, and their only son iz
xcmpt, provided the widdcr's husband has
already sarved 2 years in the war and iz
willing to agin; i believe the supreme corte
has decided this thing forever.
Once more : If a man should run away
with his draft, lie probably wouldn't ever be
allowed to stand the draft agin ; this looks
severe at fust site but the more yu looked
at it, the more yu can see the wisdom into
it.
Once lnorely: Xempts are those who have
been drafted into the staitt prizzen for tri
ing to git an honnist living hi supporting *2
wives at oust ; also, all them people who
are crazce and unsound on the goose ; also
nusepaper correspondents and fools in gen
eral.
Once morel}* agin : No substitute will be
acksepted who is less than three or more
than ten feet high ; lie must kno how to
chaw tobacker and drink poorwhiskee and
musn't be afeered of the itch nor the rebels.
Moral earacter ain't required as the gover
ment furnishes that and rashuns.
Conclusively : No person can be drafted
but twice in two different places without his
consent; but all men lias a right to be draf
ted at least oust; i don't think even aright
of habeas corpus could deprive a man of
this last blessed privilege.
A lady whose style of piety was
more affective than attractive, once took a
friend to do for wearing feathers. " But,"
said the friend, " why are my feathers any
more objectional than the brilliant artificial
flowers in your bonnet ?" " O," replied the
censorious lady, " Christians must draw a
line somewhere, and I draw it at feathers."
I (JAPT. SPEKE'S ADVENTURE WITH A BOA
CONSTRICTOR.
At the earliest possible moment after
camp had been pitched, a hunt was set on
foot, and Captain Grant, myself, and some
attendants were soon making our way to
" the patch." There were no animals there
when we arrived, except a few hippopota
mi, and we were, therefore, obliged to wait
the coming of some more palatable game.
Our patience, however, was severely taxed,
and after a long delay, we were about to
bag a hippopotamus, when an attendant
perched in a tree about half a mile distant
began waving bis blanket. Tin's was a
signal that game was approaching. We
immediately drew into cover, and awaited
the coming of the latter.
We are not long delayed, for presently a
long column of animals from the elephant
to the hoodo, appeared in view, trotting at
a good pace to tlie river. Their Hanks were
soon presented to us, and each selecting his
object, fired. McCall shot a fine young buf
falo while ('apt. G. was successful with
a hoodoo, and several spears cast by our
attendants stopped the career of one or two
different animals of the herd.
At this juncture, however, occurred an
unexpected adventure, that finished our
sport, at least for that day. 1 had sprung
forward immediately after firing in order to
obtain a fair shot at a huge elephant that I
wanted to bring down on account of his im
inence tusks. I got the desired aim, and
pulled the trigger of my second barrel.—
At the moment of my doing so a wild cry
of alarm, uttered by one of the blacks,
called my attention. Glancing around, my
eye chanced to range up into the foliage of
the tree beneath which Capt. Grant and my
self had lain for several hours previous.
My feelings may possibly be imagined, as I
beheld an enormous boa constrictor, whose
head and neck projecting some distance in
to view, showed that he was about to make
a fatal spring. His direction was certainly
towards me ; and as he flashed from bis
position like a thunder-bolt, 1 gave myself
up, for ere aid could have reached, the folds
of the monster would have crushed my
strong frame into a quivering pulp, I fell
seemingly caught in a whirlwind of dust,
and a strange indescribable scuffle ensued.
In the midst of this strife I suddenly be
came conscious of the presence of a second
victim, and even after the time that has
elapsed since then, I still recollect with
what a vividness the thought shot across
my mind that this second victim was Capt.
Grant, my noble companion. At last, after
being whirled about for several seconds,
eacli second seeming to be interminable,
there ensued a lull, a stillness as of death,
and I opened my eyes* expecting to look
upon those unexplored landscapes which
are seen in the country beyond the tomb.
Instead of that I saw ('apt. Grant leveling
his rifle towards me, while standing beside
and behind hint were the blacks in every
conceivable attitude of most intense ex
citement and suspense.
But in a moment I comprehended all.—
The huge serpent had struck a young buf
falo cow, between him and which I had un
luckily placed myself at the moment of
firing upon the elephant. A most singular
good fortune had attended me, however,
for instead of being crushed into it man
gled mass with the uufortunate cow, my
left forearm had only been caught in be
tween the buffalo's body and a single fold
of the constrictor. The limb laid just in
front of the shoulder at the root of the
neck, and thus had a soft bed of flesh, into
which it was jammed, as it were, by the
immense pressure of the serpent's body,
that it was like iron in hardness.
As I saw Grant about to shoot, a terror
possessed me, for if he refrained I might
possibly escape, after the boa released bis
folds from the cow. But should he fire, and
strike the reptile, it would in its convulsions
crush or drag me to pieces. Even as this
idea came to me I beheld Grant pause. He
appeared to comprehend all. He could see
how I was situated, that I was still living
and that my life depended on the will of
the constrictor. We could see every line
of each other's face, so close were we, and
1 would have shouted or spoken, or even
whispered to him if I dared. But the boa's
head was reared within a few inches of
mine, and the winking of an eyelid would
perhaps settle my doom ; so I stared like a
dead man at Grant and at the blacks.
Presently the serpent began very grad
ually to relax bis folds, and after tighten
ing them several times as the crushed buf
falo quivered, be unwound one fold entire
ly. Thus lie paused. The next iron-like
baud was the one that held me prisoner :
I felt it little by little unclasping, my
heart stood still with hope and fear. Per
haps, upou being freed, the benumbed arm
uncontrolled by my will, might fall from
the cushion-like bed on which it lay, and
such a mishap bring the spare fold around
my neck or chest, and then farewell to the
sources of the Nile. Oh, how hardly, how
desperately I struggled to command myself!
1 glanced at Grant, and saw him handling
his rifle anxiously. I glanced at the negroes
and saw them gazing as though petrified
with amazement.
I glanced at the serpent's loathsome head,
and saw its bright, deadly eyes, watching for
the least sign of life ifi its prey. Now and
then the serpent loosened its hold on my
arm a hair's breadth, and now a little more,
until half an inch separated my arm and
its mottled skin. I could have whipped out
my hand, but dared not take the risk.
Atoms of time dragged themselves into
ages, and a minute seemed eternity itself!
The second fold was removed entirely and
the next one was ensuing. Should 1 dash
away or wait a more favorable moment? I
decided upon the former ; and with light
ning speed 1 bounded away toward Grant,
the crack of whose piece 1 heard at the
same instant. For the first time in my "life
I was thoroughly overcome, and sinking
down 1 remained in a half conscious state
several minutes.
When 1 fully recovered, Grant and the
overjoyed negroes held me up and pointed
out the boa, who was still writhing in his
death agonies.
I shuddered as I looked upon the effect
of his tremendous dying strength. For
yards around where he lay, grass and bushes
aud saplings, and in fact everything except
the more fully grown trees, were cut clean
off as though they had been trimmed with
an immense scythe. This monster, when
measured was fifty-one feet and a half in
extreme length, while around the thickest
per Arm inn, in Advance.
! portion of his body, and gi'tli was nearly
j three feet, thus proving to be the largest
serpent that was ever authentically heard
! of.
AN OSSIFIED MAN.
There was a strange spectacle at the
! depot yesterday—a man, of whom accounts
i were published years ago in newspapers in
this country, and in medical journals in
! Eegland, who has been in a state ol al
most complete ossification lor thirty years.
His name is Valentine Perkins. He was
I born fifty-two .years since in Henrietta,
Monroe county, New York, but has been a
1 resident for tlie last twelve years of Man
tua, Portage county, Ohio. At the age of
t eleven years, he was thrown from a horse,
and his knee injured by the fall. From
that time ossification set in and the process
made advancement, joint by joint, for fif
teen years when it had completed its work.
He is thoroughly and totally ossified, with
the exception that he can move two of his
lingers, and make the slightest perceptible
motion with one or two of his toes. He
has not opened his jaws for more than thir
ty years, but still ho can talk with ease.
Of course ho had to be ted—the food
beiug placed within his lips and left under
the guidance of mother nature, who 1113s
teriously ensures its safe conduct into the
stomach. He lies upon his side, upon a
low bed or couch, which serves also as a
litter, with his feet drawn up somewhat,
and bis right hand caught up near his shoul
der, lies thus all day long, shifting his posi
tion but once during twenty-four hours,when
lie is turned over on the other side. While
lie is thus completely ossified—a human
block oi limestone, as it were, bis skin re
tains its normal character and condition,
and discharges the functions perfectly, be
ing, perhaps, more sensitive, however, to
the touch of ar3 T object, as that ot ally or
hair, than is usually the case. \\ hen the
light strikes the skin of his hands or face,
it looks like marble of a yellowish state of
polish. He lies there on his couch like a
recumbent statue.
His health is good : he has an excellent
appetite, and lives withal a hearty life.—
One is naturally curious to know how his
mind is occupied through all the dreary
hours, lie cannot read, for he has been
totally blind fur thirty years. Cut off from
that source, he is necessarily cast back on
bis memory, and lie has a most wonderful
development of this lucult3'. It is exceed
ingly tenaucious. He remembers the most
and apparently trifling incidents or circum
stance : has the entire past, every fact an
event in his experience, before him, piled
up like strata, and summons at will, or as
occasion requires, occurences, which have
faded from the minds of his friends. His
recollection of localities is wonderful.—
Places that he had visited years ago, be
fore struck with blindness, he can now iden
tity as lie rides along—so vivid a recollec
tion has he of the relative position of things,
as bridges, rivers, Ac. He is very expert
at mathcmetical calculations and can with
great readiness give, for example, the num
ber of square inches in an area the number
of whose feet or rods is given him.— Cleve
land Leader.
WoOIXO BY THE ALSTRAL.I AN BLACKS. —
Courtship, as the precursor to marriage, is
unknown among them. AN lien a young
warrior is desirous of procuring a wife he
generally obtains one by giving 111 exchange
for her a sister or some other female rela
ative of his ; but, if there should happen
to be no eligible damsel disengaged in the
tribe to which he belongs, then he hovers
around the encampment of some other
blacks until lie gets an opportunity of seiz
ing one of their leuliras, whom perhaps he
has seen and admired when attending one
of the grand corroborries. With a blow of
his mil la-null a (war club.) he stuns the ob
ject of his " affections," and drags her in
sensible body away to some retired spot,
whence as soon as she recovers her senses,
he brings her home to his own guuyah in
triumph. .
Sometimes two join in an expedition for
the same purpose, and then for several days
they watch the movements of their inten
ded victims, using the utmost skill in con
cealing their presence When they have
obtained the knowledge the}' require, they
wait for a dark, windy night; then quite
naked, and carrying only their long "jag
spears," the}' crawl stealthily through the
bushes until they reach the immediate vi
cinity of the camp fires, in front of which
the girls they are in search of are sleeping.
Slowly and silently they creep close enough
to distinguish the figure of one of those
leubras ; then one of the intruders stretches
out his spear, and inserts its barb point
amongst her thick flowing locks ; turning
the spear slowly round, some of her hair
speedily becomes entangled with it; then,
with a sudden jerk, she is aroused from her
slumbers, and as Iter eyes open she feels
the sharp point of another weapon pressed
against her throat. She neither faints nor
screams ; she knows well that the slightest
attempt at escape or alarm will cause her
instant death, so, like a sensible woman,
she makes a virtue of necessity, and, rising
! silently, she follows her captors. They lead
her away to a cousideiable distance, tie her
: to a tree, and return to ensnare their other
: victim iu like manner. Then, when they
have accomplished their design, they hurry
, off to their own camp, where they are re
( ceived with universal applause, and highly
honored for their chivalrous exploits.—
| (Chambers' Journal.
TIIE WORLD CAN 00 ON WITIDTT I S.—A
i branch, broken from the tree by the tem
| pest, rode 011 the rapid current of the swol
j ten stream.
j "See how 1 lead the waters," he cried to
;to the banks. "See how 1 command and
carry the stream with me," he cried again.
A jutting rocky ridge, over which the
! torrent dashed, caught the branch, and
i kept it shattered and imprisoned while tin
i waters flowed on.
"Alas!" cried the branch, "how can you
j hold me thus ! Who will govern the stream,
1 how will it prosper without my gui
-1 dance?"
" Ask the banks," said the rocky ledge.
And the banks answered.—
"Many like yon have been carried by the
stream, fancying that they carried it. As
to the loss you will be to the water don't
be uneasy. You are already forgotten as
those are who came before you, and as
those will soon be who may follow."
THE MYSTERIOUS QUARTER OF MUTTON.
The following 1 incident, said to have oc
curred " Out Went," proves that it is.not
; always safe to judge from appearances. In
a district adjoining a large forest, wolves
! were so plenty that it was impossible to
keep sheep, and only now and then a " cos
! sot" was raised as a pet. A good Deacon
! had reared one with much trouble, and as it
| become rather troublesome, he killed it.—
| Mutton was a great treat in those parts, so
he reserved one quarter for himself, one for
the minister, and divided the remainder into
small portions and distributed it among his
neighbors. The minist ir's portion was
placed in an out-building for safe keeping
until the next day, but in the morning it
was nowhere to he found; some one had
stolen it, and the pelt in which it was
wrapped. Greatly disappointed, the Deacon
and his wife resolved to make some amends
for the loss to the minister, and therefore
selected their nicest cheese, placed it in a
covered basket, and sent it with a polite
note by their two boys. It was berrying
time, and the boys made frequent stops
both going and coining. When they re
turned, great was the surprise of the dea
con to find a note from the minister cordi
ally thanking him for the present of a quar
ter of mutton, and asking hirn to accept the
gift contained in the basket as an expres
sion of bis regard. " Mutton Mutton !
said the Deacon, "he was probably think
ing of the slieep 1 killed yesterday, when 1
wrote the note ; but let us examine the bas
ket.'" He opened it and there was a fiat
stone ! The Deacon was a good man, but
this aroused his indignation, and he could
not refrain from speaking harshly of such
treatment from one he had always consid
ered his friend. By the advice of his wlfe f
in the afternoon he called on 110 minister
for an explanation, taking with him a small
cut of mutton for a peace offering. Ihe
minister and his wife had just gone out, and
as the deacon was talking with their little
girl, he happened to loe>k into an open pan
try, and there spied the very quarter of mut
ton stolen from him the niglit before—lm
knew it by the marks he had made in dress
ing it. Without another word he seized it.
and went home in great wrath, convinced
that the minister was a thief, and determin
ed to have nothing more t<> do with him. —
The minister on his return was equally in
dignant at the conduct of the Deacon, but
prudently resolved to say nothing of the
matter. For three weeks after, the deacon
and his family were absent from the church.
Everybody wondered why, but he would
make.no explanations, neither would the
minister. Finally a meeting of the church
members was called, with the determina
tion of having the strange actions of the
deacon explained, and he resolved to let the
whole story out. He told the circumstan
ces, and expressed great griei at wiiav In
considered the shameful conduct of the min
ister. The latter gentleman then made his
statement. He said that the deacon's boys
had prought liiin a quarter of mutton, in a
basket, and that in return lie had placed
there a neat Family Bible. Everybody now
looked at his neighbor wondering wlial ii
could mean : some thought them both cra
zy. others thought of witchcraft. All was
still as the grave for some minutes, when
there arose a man formerly known as
Wicked Will, who had lately reformed and
joined the church. " Brothern," said lie in
a trembling voice, "I stole the quarter of
mutton On my way home in the night. 1
was chased by wolves, and climbed a trei
for safety, where 1 had to stay until the\
went away in the morning. Being afraid
to take the meat home by daylight. I hid
it in the woods, but to make sure of it, 1
stayed near the place, intending to carry it
away early in the evening. AN liile there,
the Deacon's boys came along, and from my
hiding place I heard them speaking of what
had happened. 1 also found that it was to..
warm for the meat to keep through the day.
and so when they were busy gathering b< r
ries, 1 slipped the cheese out of the basket,
and put in the meat. When they returned,
they stopped again, and hearing them speak
of a present for the deacon, I examined the
basket, and finding a nice package there. 1
thought it might be valuable, so 1 took it
out, and put in the stone. But that is nut
all. Uu reaching home safely, 1 opened my
package to examine the prize.
While carelessly turning over the leaves,
my eje fell on the passage, "Thou shalt
not steal," and from that moment 1 found
no peace until 1 become a changed man."
Thus the whole mystery was solved, and
the Deacon and the Minister were not only
reconciled, but they both heartily rejoiced
together that their temporary loss of peace
had resulted in so great a good as the refor
mation of Wicked Will.
•' THRVIN'TO THE BASTE."-A Hibernian
fresh from the green isle, having sufficient
means to provide himself with a horse and
cart, (.the latter a kind lie never saw be
fore) went to work on a public road. Being
directed by the overseer to move a lot of
stones near by and deposit them in a gully
on the other side of the road, he forthwith
loaded his cart, drove up to the place, and
had nearly finished throwing oft' his ioad
bv hand, when the boss told him that was
not the way—he must tilt or dump his
load at once. Paddy replied that he would
know better next time. After loading
again, he drove to the chasm, put his shoul
der to the wheel and upset the cart, horse
and all. into the guliy. Scratching his head
uud'looking very doubtful at his horse be
low him, he observed, ' Bcdad, it's a mighty
expeditious way. but it must be thryin' to
the baste."
YOI NG MEN, CAY ATTENTION. -Don't be a
loafer, don't call yourself a loafer, don't
keep loafers' company, don't hang about
about loafing places. Better work hard
for nothing and board yourself, than to
sit around day after day, or stand around
corners with your hands in your pockets,
Better for your own mind, better for your
own respect. Bustle about, if you mean
to have anything to bustle about for.—
Many a poor physician has obtained a real
patient by riding hard to attend an
imaginary one. A quire of paper tied with
red tape, carried under a lawyer's arm may.
procure him his first case and make his
fortune. Such is the world ; to him that
hath shall be given. Quit droning and
complaining ; keep busy and mind your
chance.
At IIAI'I.AIN in Arkansas says that a man
buying furs was conversing with a woman
at whose house he called, and asked her
, "if there were any Presbyterians around
there?" She hesitated a moment and said
she "guessed not, her husband hadn't kill
od any since they'd lived there."
To have been " to the wars" is a life long
honor, increasing with advancing years,
while to have died in the defence of your
country, will be the boast and the glory of
' your children's children.— HalPs Journal
of Health.
| " .
liEi'ENf.vNCE is the key that unlocks the
gate wherein sin keeps man a prisoner.
It is the ague vituce to fetch again to itself
the fainting soul.
NUMBER