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A. J. GERRITSON, Proprietor.'
There is a glory..on the Earth to-day,
There is a spirit in the!elianiling trees,
There is a soft, low murmur in , my heart,
And on the breeze.
Sweet autumn sheds a gentle influence
The world is clad in beauty and in light;
The sunshine shimmers softly through the
And all is bright
Some spirit has made lovo to ev'ry Salver
That breathes its life out on tho.passmg
Some magic hand has thrown a witching
Upon the trees
For all the blossoms blush—they seem
From the bright land of dreams. In earth
Some Seraph's wing has swept the trees
Gleams of its light
Above us bends the silent, elondlesA sky,
And o'er its depths a lone bird wings its
Seen for one moment,then like gilded hope
It fades from sight.
The Spirit of the wind has struck his harp,
But altered is the music of the lay ;
The notes aro wailing, and the burden is,
" Passing away."
We lo're to linger out. The deep ; blue sky
Seems nearer now than when the summer's
The rustling leaves a melting murmur cast
Upon the ear.
'ys, thowe's •
h e y breathe the sprit of the mighty Past,
They wake a chord in each heart as they
"Bright daye fly fast."
STONE'S LOVE AFFAM.
DV DUTTON COOKE
It was agreed on all hands that Ned
Stone was a very practical fellow. By
some this may have been said of him cns
paragingly, though others undoubtedly
applied the words in a complimentary
sense. Practicality has its eulogists, but.
it has also its censors 4 There are peop'e
who will find fault with prose because it
isn't poetry; the same sort of people
consistently denounce practicality, be
cause of its deficiency in speculativeness.
For it is a common form of criticism to
condemn a thing not so much for what it.
is as for not being something else; that
desiderated something else being, in most
cases, something entirely antipodean and
irrelevant to the original and disrelished
If Ned Stone had ever fault found with
him on the score that he was practical,
and that, he wasn't poetical, he might have
answered with Mistress Audrey-sup
posing (and it's a doubtful case) that lie
was informed of the existence of that
rustic—" I do not 'know what poetical is;
is it honest in deed and word ? Is it a
true thing ?" Certainly in both word and
deed he was himself honest and true. For
things that were otherwise he was quite
without sympathy. Indeed, be was for
the most part without any knowledge
concerning them; being a simple, straight
forward •gentleman, who went his own
way, lived his own life, did what it fell to
his lot to do, in a curiously sober, steady,
homely fashion. He never swerved to the
right or to the left. It did not occur to
him; apparently, to deviate from a com
pact plan of consistent conduct. He never
seemed to say anything he did not mean,
or to mean anything he did not say; the
while his openness had not, about it that
element of - ofrensivenesi which character
izes the unreserve of some people; with
whom "speaking their' minds, as they
Orate it, is rather like cracking a bad
egg—an operation better pretermitted
than performed. -
Ned Stone's mind ran pure and clear as
a broOk. Yon were of course at liberty,
if such was your humor, to deride it as
being merely a water-brook after all—
preferring a fount of strong claret, per
haps. Still the former, be it remembered,
is available at all times, and delectable
ever in -its own mild way; whereas, the
latter is only foi pceapions of festivity at
long intervals,_never running for any pro
tracted period, nor always quite clear,
and, with all its charms, capable, upon
provocation, of giving you a, headache, or
of throwing you into a fever.
He was a broker' in the city—nothing
more nor less than that. Whether his
labor,and profits had to do with tea and
sugar, Orihips or stock, I am not certain.
I found it stiflicient to know that he Was
a broker of some kind, in , the city. The
fact exiveYed a certain idea to my,mind.
If I hadsought to enlarge tha idea by
claillyint the 'fact, r ralght have found
myiself lesB etilightenaklhan !biller con
fused about the matter'; for inquiry, I
notice,. often beWilders ns. it in
strueffi., Me; liaji:been'Tery,pOkir Al;line
hiii'llfe, and had land to Work Very,
hard. :His industry, however, had in tie
end met with its due reward. Arrived at
middle age, he was very comfortably cir
cumstanced, and be saw no reason to
doubt that his prosperity would coutinue.
When ho announced to his friends, there
fore, that he thought of taking to himself
a wife,,it was felt generally that the step
he Meditated was a prudent and proper
one, and only what might, under all the
circumstances of the case, have been rea
sonably. expected. And when he further
stated that he had made an offer of his
baud to one Miss Georgiana Warren, the
daughter of a wealthy East India mer
chant, and that his offer had been accept.
ed by the lady. We a emieau huten.wi
tentmr min our hearty congratulations on
the happy occasion. When I. say " we,"
I must not be mderstood as employing
the editorial first person plural by way of
veiling my own individuality, but as
speaking on behalf of myself and various
other friends of Ned Stone's, who were
also my friends, and who cordially agreed
with me in wishing joy to our friend upon
the proposed important change in his lite.
Ned Stone spoke of the matter in his
own simple, sober way.
" Well, you know I'm getting on," he
said, "and if I am ever to marry, it's
about time I should think of setting about
it. A few years hence it will be too late.
I shall be settled down then in a bachelor
kind of life, have adopted bachelor views
and habits, and bachelor ways of looking
at things; which I shouldn't be able to
alter or get out of at any price. A few
years ago I couldn't have afforded it, to
put the matter plainly, and so it was nut
of the question. But I always looked for
ward to getting married when I could
afford it; and so now, when I can afford
it, I'm going to carry out the notion.—
You're very kind. I think I shall he
happy—in fact I'VQ Pc%
nas any right to ex
pect to be. One ought not to expect too
much, of course. Bet I'm fond, in my
way, of this ., Georgiana Warren ; and I
think that she, in her way, is fond of me.
She is not too young, nor too old; not
too good-looking, nor too plain. She's sens
ible enough, and accomplished enough ;
and I.don't see why she shouldn't make
me a very good kind of wife; and simi
larly, -I doh% see why I shouldn't make
her a very good kind of husband. I know
I'll stn 411
comfortable, and I've no doubt she'll do
the same on her side. What more is there
to be sail ? Perhaps I'm not very fond
of old Warren, the father; and perhaps
also old Warren, the father, isn't very
fond of me. But still I don't see that that
need matter very much. I dare say we
shall understand each other better by and
by; meantime we must rub on as well as
we can ; and I must try and make the
best of the old- gentleman's humors, and
not run counter to him more than I can
avoid. We needn't be meeting so very
often, yon know. And it seems to me
that the old fellow wou'd be no fonder of
anybody else who might want to marry
his daughter than he is of me. And if
Georgiana likes me (arid she says she
does), and if I like Georgiana (and I know
I do), that seems to me the chief part of
the business. I don't think I need trouble
myself much about the old man's views
on the subject. You see it's our affair—
Georgiana's arid mine—and not, his ;
though it's hard to make him see it in
that light. But I dare say it will all
come right in the end. That's what I tell
Georgiana when she takes up with rather
gloomy views, about her father's temper.
She's very good sense, and I think she
looks at the matter very much as I do—
only, Of cairse, she can't help feeling he
is her father; whereas, thank goodness,
he is not mine. I'm much obliged to you
all for your good wishes, I say again."
It wiil be seen that. Ned Stone was not,
a lover to "sigh like a furnace." As for
" writing a 'useful ballad to his mistress'
eyebrows," r don't fancy he could have
accomplished such a feat, even it' his life
had depended on his doing so. Ili, pulse
beat, ever steadily and punctually.. The
thermometer of his love stood at tempe
rate, with no tendency towards a rise.—
Let Cupid do all he could, it did not
seem that he was able to work very vital
changes in I,llse respects. Stone, it was
evident, persisted in contemplating love
and, marriage from the prosaic and prac
tical point of view. Notions of poetry
and sentiment on those or any other sub
jects were not possible to him. His con
stitutional serenity refused to be disturb.
ed at all by " the quotidian of love."
There was nothing about him demonstra
ting "a careless desolation." The "marks
of love," as they are ordinarily under
stood)), were not discernible upon him.
He was, indeed, a great disappointment
_ideas in relation to the
lover. Many, perhaps, would be inclined
to think that, he was not to be regarded
as a lover at all—that he was simply, a
man going to be married—winch charac
ter does not necessarily involve,the former
more attractive and showy rove. Certain
ly he did not attitudinize, or speechify, or
behave .in the eccentric way which- is
popularly expected of a lover. He affect
ed' no particular raptures as to theTro-
Jiosed change in his life, though he loCked
forward to "ft *kb- a'° sort of cal in satisfac
lion.sdie,tiever , said.a word as to the
menCOf bin feelings. Re did not,regard
MONTROSE, PA., TUESDAY, OCT. 29, 1867.
Miss Warren as an angel or a goddess;
probably he would have been the first to
contradict any allegation that might have
been made to the effect that she was any
thing of the kind. Passion did not per
plex or discompose his vision. Miss War
ren seemed simply to him what she seem
ed to everybody else—a nice-looking,
sensible English girl. If he was to be
considered a lover at all, why then it was
as a lover with a large infusion of the man
lof business. At the same time it would
be noted that as a man of business. Ned
Stone was a strictly honorable and thor
- • et -
interesting to 4 looker-on ; if it could bw
called a romance at all, it was unquestion
ably a dull one. Yet there was something
respectable about it, too. His affection
was not all for display, but wholly for
use; a solid and durable-looking article,
and in that light commanding attention.
It was not a wine that sparkled and effer
vesced, babbling over the glass brim in
rose-tinted foam ; yet it might, for all that,
be of a sound, still and potent vintage.—
Possibly, too, it would be found to keep
better than its more dashing and sump
"0, haven't you heard ?" he said qui.
etly. "But of course you couldn't have
heard. The affair's off; our engagement
has come to an end."
" You do not mean that ?"
" Yes; the thing's 'broken off,' as peo
ple say. It's a had' job, and I'm sorry
about it—but it can't be helped."
Had the lady resented his serenity and
dismissed him ? I asked myself. As
though he had heard the question,,, he
"It's the old man's doing. I hope be's
satisfied now. He's the rnopt
okt fellow I ever
bad the misfortune to meet with.
But, what did he do ?"
I liked the man. His worthiness, in
deed, commanded the regard of all.—
Moreover, he was a staunch, generous
fellow, a most trusty and resolute friend.
To me the progress of his love affair was
a matter of curious study. I was often
considering the question, Would it change
him much ? would his practicability ulti
mately succumb? was his philosophy
wholly proof against passion.? would he
nit.ut.h..r. rn t
coolly he might enter on the matter,Tnd
at• least an unexpected fire kindling and
crackling in his breast?
• I called upon him one evening. He
was alone. lie looked a little grave, and
he held in his hand a small sealed packet.
We discussed various indifferent topics;
then I inquired concerning Miss Georgi
" Well, we fell out about the settle
ments ; —that was where the hitch arose.
I'm sure I did all I could to please him.
I gave up condition after condition, quite
iu opposition to the advice of my solicitor.
I told him to settle what money he pro
posed to settle upon his daughter = it
wasn't much, after all—just as he pleased ;
I didn't want to touch a halfpenny of it.
He might settle it, I told him, just as
strictly as ever he pleased ; or be might
settle nothing at all upon her, if he liked
that better. It was his daughter I want
ed, and not his money. And for my part,
I'd take care that my wife didn't come to
want. I undertook to insure my life for
a large amount, and to assign the policy
to trustees for her benefit, in case of my
death, covenanting, of course, to pay the
premiums regularly, and to keep up the
insurance in the usual way. I thought
that a fair arrangement enough; but it
didn't 'content him. He wanted ,to tie
my hands completely. He hadn't a
ha'p'orth of confidence in me. He gave
me credit for no sort of affection for his
daughter. He insisted that any money I
might in future become possessed of I
should covenant to bring into the settle
ment. It was most absurd. Of course I
didn't consent to it. I had my business
to consider. It may be very desirable by
and by to invest further capital in it.—
Why should I be hindered from investing
my own money in the way I might deem
beat? Of course my wife and my chil
dren—if I ever have any—will reap the
benefit of it just as much as I shall. How
ever, he' wouldn't listen to me; so there
was nothing more to be said. He wouldn't
give in; and I wouldn't. I told Georgi
ans exactly how the matter stood. She's
of age. I asked her whether she'd marry
me without the old man's consent. Poor
girl!—she was - in a dreadful way. But
she didn't dare do that. She shrunk from
offending her father; so •there's no help
for it—the thing's broken off, and I'm not
to be married, it seems—this time, at any
He spoke rather sorrowfully, but still
without the slightest trace of temper. I
endeavored to console him in a coinmon
place sort of a way. It was a difficult
matter to know what to say,upon such an
occasion, and consolation at all times is
apt to run into rather common-place
He opened ; the small packet he had
been holding in his hand.
•" This. is pleasant,',' he said. : "Here .
are all' ,my letters to Georgiana, And
here's .a little present Y.gave :to her, sent;
There a wore-Aot- many lett ertl- Th 4 37
were written, I could see s in my friend s
usual bold, plain, legible hand. Their
contents I could guess': little enough like
conventional love-letters probably—very
unecstatic compositions—yet simple and
to the purpose, and unmistakable enough.
The present was a ring, a large diamond,
heavily set in plain gold—just the valu
able, substantial, simple present I could
have fancied Ned Stone selecting for his
" I suppose they'll expect me to send
back Grtklrgiana's letters to me i " he said.
" tindoubt oily:"
"It'ethe usual -way when engagements
come to an end like this.?"
He rubbel his chin and seemed to re
fleet a little.
" Have a cigar," he said presently,
"and let's talk about something else;
this is not the most agreeable subject in
the world. Tell us what you've been
doing with yourself' lately."
So we fell to talking about this, that,
and the other. Presently I left him. As
I went away he said quietly, "I think I
shall try and see Georgiana once more,
for a particular reason."
I did not ask what that particular rea
son was, and he did not tell me.
A few nights afterwards I saw him
again. He was at no time subject much
to change of mood, or at any rate seldom
betrayed any variation of that kind. Yet
it struck me that, if anything, ho was in
rather better spirits than usual.
" You didn't mention," he said, " what
I told you the other night—that my en
gagement was broken ?"
I explained that I had not mentioned it
for a particularly good reason. I had not
seen any person whom it would interest
to be the_ ract.
it's just, as well," be said, " beeanse,
as it happens, the engagement isn't broken
off; or rather it's on again."
"Indeed! I'm sure I'm very glad to
"I told you I should try and see
Georgiana again. Well, I knew that she
eften went with her father and other
friends to the Zoological Gardens on Sun
day. I couldn't call at -old Warren's ,
house, you know, because 1 understood
that I was as good as kicked out of that.
So I went to the Zoological: I've a friend
who's a Fellow, who gives me a ticket
fa bs SAnty,l, t yclappv er I ask him,—au t j .
covered her, wittiWlT'i•W and "fi'i r t;t, of
other people. She saw me, and under
stood by my sign's that I wanted to speak
to her on the quiet. Well, -she lingered
behind a little, and when the rest of the
party went to look at the kangaroos, she
Blipped with me into the snakehouse. She
looked rather frightened, and the tears
'stood in her eyes; so I put my arm around
her--it didn't matter to me who saw me,
you know—and told her there was no
thing to be alarmed at, and that I only
wanted to say a word or two.' I then told
her that I was sorry that I had not sent
her back her letters as I ought 'to have,
but the plain fact of the matter was I
couldn't do it. You love me still, then,
Ned ?' she - said. Of course I do, Georgy,'
I said; who's been telling you I don't ?'
Then she began crying terribly. ' Come,
Georgy,' I said, 'let's be married, whether
papa likes it or not; only say the word.'
She didn't say the word. Poor child! I
don't think she could speak for crying;
but she looked at me, and she gave ever
such a little nod, and then she began
laughing through her tears. It was the
prettiest thing you' ever saw. Of course
I kissed her; and then I turned, and who
should be standing close at my side
but old Warren Georgy gave a little
scream, and then tried to make believe
that she was only looking at the boa con
strictor. But of course that didn't do;
so I said to old Warren in a cherry sort
of way,' putting out my hand, 'Mr. War
ren, Georgy and I are going to be mar
ried; that's quite settled. But you and I
may as well be friends all the same. We'd
.much rather hay,p . your consent than not.
Suppose you give it us.' lie was so as
tonished, that before, I think, he quite
knew what he was doing, he'd taken my
hand, with all his friends standing around
and lookinff b on. 'Of course he couldn't
go back after that; and so—and—so the
thing was settled."
I congratulated him heartily. Presently
I said by chance, "'Hon lucky it was you
didn't send back Miss Warren her let
"My dear fellow, that was what I
wanted to explain to her; I couldn't send
" Yon fonnilthem too dear , to you." '
At last, then, he'd been betrayed. into a
feeling of romance.
"Not at, till,?'•he explained; " I couldn't
send them back because—l hadn't kept
them • I'd destroyed tam."
" Yes ; what was the good of them"? • I
only : kept business letters;.they're all reg
ularly docketed at my ; office. But t for
Georgy's letters,tbey were of no use.. It
was- no. good in keephig them. 1 made
them ino pipe-lights I"
" Vopi didn't tell her that?"',
" ; Hadn't time. •I never arrived
at,my, explanation about the lettere
"'Then, my dear . StOne,let Me, entreat
Youil. l oq
Warren your explinitick 4914 ' . .41:0 To:
" Why shOuldn't I?"
" Don't you see ? She thought you
didn't send back her letters for a senti
mental reason ; because they were so dear
to you that you couldn't part with them;
and so, in point of fact, that little misun
derstanding of hers led to the re-estab
lishment of your love affair."
" Do you think so ?" be asked musing
ly. " But it' Georgy's made any mistake
about the matter, I think I'm bound to
set her right." .
"My dear Stone, take my advice. For
fear or accidents, set her right—if lon
Bygt„,Bo l 4tr: rig/teed-tar tha Ira/Mina
Whether or not he took my advice I'm
not aware. He was married in due course
to Miss Warren •, and 'I know that that
lady was often heard to declare subse
quently she, bad married the best husband
iu the world.
His practicality had answered; and it
may be a good plan to convert love-letters
into pipe-lights; still I shrink from laying
it, down as a rule : that such a course should
be invariably adopted: Lovers mast be
left in that respect to pursue their own
devices and to do what, may seem right
in their own eyes. 'lt must be owned,
however, that the story of Stone's love
affair shows that there is something to
gain in favor of practicality.
Yarmers begin to fatten swine too late.
The consequence isf plat the animal
scarcely gets under way, when the time
comes for slaughtering him. Our best
managers make it a rule to keep the ani
mal growing without intermission from
the period of its existence until ready for
the pork barrel.
If kept over winter, they are fed and
kept. comfortable throughout, and the reg
ular fattening process is commenced ear
ly in the spripg. A bushel of corn given
thus early in the season to a vigorous
growing animal, is worth much more than
the same amount fed in autumn, and far
more than if fed in cold weather or in
One reason that some farmers find it
unprofitable to fatten pork, is that a large
part of the process .has to be performed
when the weather has become so cold that
much of the feed ;s required merely for
Ele7lTe - S t pork raiser we know of
one instance grown - a pig eight months
old so as to weigh about fi7ur hundred lbs.
and in another 450 lbs. in ten months.—
He has the corn ground to meal, and pre
pares it by pouring into a covered tub 4
pails of boiling water.to each heaping pail
of dry meal. After standing a day or two
more it will become nearly a solid mass,
and make excellent feed.
The animals are kept perfectly clean,
day and comfortable, (not in a close pen,
but, in a small yard,), are fed with great
regularity, and never quite so much as
they will eat, surfeit being carefully avoi
ded. He finds that pork thus manufac
tured costs him only five cents a pound
when corn is a dollar a bushel.
Farmers who have not begun to fatten
their swine regularly, as they should have
done months, ago, should commence im
mediately. By attending to the particu
lars just mentioned they will find the bus
iness far more profitable than the too fre
quent process of feeding in the ear, giv
ing the feed irregularly both as to time
and quantity, and paying no attention to
cleanliness and comfort.
The skillful farmer 'Whose practice we
have already described, finds that the mix
ture of meal and hot water makes twice
as much pork as corn fed on the cob, ac
cording to careful weighing and measur
Dirs. Lincoln's Finery.
The widow of President Lincoln bus in
sisted 'upon largely advertising her true
character to the American. people,. and to
the world. An intensely vulgar woman,
her conduct throughout .the administra
thn of her husband. was mortifying. The
gaudy bad taste with' which she dressed,
and the constant effort to make a show of
herself disgusted all observers.
She was always trying to meddle in
public affairs, and now she will have it --
known to the whole world that she ac
cepted costly • presents from corrupt con
tractors. Her relatives were nearly all
secessionists, and - it was suspected that
her sympathies were rather with the re
bellion than' the nation-, and her highest
dream of ambition to 6recognized as one
of the Southern aristocracy.
After the death of her husband, her
conduct was disgraceful. She lingered at
the White House, and when she haeto
leave it sought to appropriate as her per
sonal property articles that belonged to
Mr:; Weed shows that she deliberately
seilt for a dinner to the Prince
Napoleon to the Secretary of the Interior,
charging three times the cost of the din
ner, and at length got her money under a
false preten'se that was acquiesced in ra
ther than' makea scandal.
Having been charitably permitted to
sin into obscririty, she' demands notOrie
ty at the - expeOse of public shame, and we
,have no' dOub s yshe enjoys the large advier•
she - ie reoeiiiiik from
IVOLUME XXIV, NUMBER 44.
She had plenty of money..to live coin
fertably with, but she wants show, and
regards it her right to revel in barbaric
pomp. Hence her cries about the ingrat
itude of the people and the need of mon
ey. If she had had the good sense to , re
turn to return tu her old house in Spring
field, and to live modestly there, she with
all her fault, ifionld have been respected,
and perhaps in time she might have been
been revered by the Amencan people.—
She could not think of such a thing, how
ever. Her complaint of straightened cir
cumstances is unwarranted.—Cincinnati
Cousin 'Bate was a sweet,, wide-aivake
beauty of about seventeen, and she took
it into her bead to go down to Long Is
land to see some relations of hers who had
the misfortune to live there.
Among these relations there chanced to
,a young swain who had seen llatt on
a previous occasion, and seeing, fell deep
ly in love with her. He called at the
house on the evening of her arrival, and
she meL him on the piazza where she was
enjoying the evening air,
in company of
two or three of her friends.
The pbor fellow was so bashful that he
could not find his tongue for some time.
At length he stammered out :
" How's your mother ?"
" Quite welk thanl you."
Another silence on the part of Joah,
during whim Kate and her frititids did
the best they could to relieve the monoto
After waiting about fifteen minutes for
him to commence to make himself agree
able, be again broke the silence—
" How's your father ?"
Which was answered much after the
same fashion as the first one, and then fol
lowed another silence like the other.
" How's your father and mothei ?"
again put in the bas4ful ldver.
" Quite well, bothlof them." ,
This was followed by an exehsinge of
glances and a suppressed smile.
T is lasted some ten minutes moreolu
rin which Josh was fidgeting in his seat
and stroking his Sunday hat. Bat 'at
length soother question came—
" How's your parents 2" 1 '
This produced an explosion that made
th. ...- -- . 3 .. .ling. .
A good joke came off quite recently at
a court house. A person living a short
distance out of the village is in the habit
of frequently coming into:town and drink
ing to inebriation. At such times he us
ually called upon his honor, Judge M—.
Recently ho made one of his visits, be
came decidedly tipsy, called upon Judge
and desired the Judge to write him
a pledge, asserting his intention to cease
His honor wrote the pfedge as desired,
and the tipsy individual affixed his name
thereto. He then desired to have the
pledge that he might take it home and ex
hibit it to his wife.
His honor thought be was himself the
proper custodian of the important agree
ment, but yielded to the solicitations of
the man, at the same time assuring him
that if he broke the contract, and appear
ed before him again in a state of intoxica
he would have him locked up..
A week elapsed, and the Judge was
confronted by the same man, as tipsy as
" How is this ?" said his honor. 4 ' Did
I not tell you I would have yon locked up
if yon did not keep your agreement ?"
"Judge M—," said the . tipsy fellow,
"do you think lam a fool ? I knOw what
I am about°. I'll show you if I any a fool!"
and he drew forth hi. wallet ,from his
pocket, took out his ple, ge, unfolded its
worn creases, and holding it np Who].
phan_tly, exclaimed :
" Will you just show me the United
States Internal Revenue stamp on that
The Judge caved.
When the celebrated Lord Castlereagh
was stopping once to change horses ,at
some very poverty-stricken postmtation in
Ireland, his carriage was surrounded , by
beggars who implored him in all the ea
ger accents of native entreaty for a chari
ty. Taking no notice of their appeals, he
sat cold , and unmoved until the horses
were ready to start, when a very
ble looking fellow approached the car
riage, and .said in a voice' of persuasive
"One sixpence, my lord- , -only one six
lence, and it will treat all your , friends in
reland I"—Blacineood's Magazine.
—When 'Artetnna Ward vvasin Virgin
ia City, Nevada, the_bardy piovectra
forced whiskey upon him every three min
ute's during his stay. When he mine to
go 4i-way, they surrounded the coach and
cheered him. He mounted the vehicle
and said :
"Goodbye. Take care of yourselves.
I was never in a place in my life where I
was treated as well as I have been hero,
nor, I . may add, so, °fon."
-In the ninnei s e lite, tlinteses Tigrish,
the Ahern& efts thiVol uttip.%
the thorns &Vend do
a Limited Circle.