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The Beaufort iSpl Republican. AN INDEPENDENT FAMILY NEWSPAPER, DEVOTED TO POLTFICS, LITERATURE, AND GENERAL INTELLIGENCE. OUR MOTTO IS-TRUTH WITHOUT FEAR. . - - VOL. II. NO. 43. BEAUFORT, S. C., THURSDAY, AUGUST 1, 1872. ! __ . . . ? ? Little Children. Cherubs of this world of changes ! 8weetly budding charms of time 1 Love's true alchemists of gladness, Turning tasks to golden rhvme! Music, like the brooklet's babble. k Round the shiniag stepping-stone, Vour dear footsteps, soothing patter Mingles with your gleeful tones. Rays of brighter realms beam ever In the homes where children dwell, Lighting up thejgenial hearth-stone With a joy no heart can tell 1 0, these babes of blessing lead us By the hand to hallowed scenesEven as our Savious taught them, And we're blest by .these mild means. Heavenly Father I teach our conscience, Well to weigh thy gifts of grace, That our feet may falter never, While we haste to seek thy face. With these dear and guilelees children, Walking trustful at our eide, Lead us. Lord, the way of wisdom Up tc where thou dost abide I Edward e. jnowell. HOW AIVIN CAME HOME. It was dreary work cutting carpet rags ? Dight after night, with her boy away in the army, and long lists ot killed and wounded filling the newspapers. She had cut up Alvin's little coat. It was the first coat he ever had, and she remembered how proud he had been of the buttons and pockets, and it went to her heart to shred it into slits. The room where Patience Fanning sat was very small and humble. It ,wa< the first room she had furnished with thing6 eked out and scraped together by the hardest toil. For more than twenty years she nad lived in the old dilapidated gray farm house, in a narrow round of duties, centering at the cradle of her child, and later about the bed of her sick husband; and yet she had tasted keenly most of the joys and sorrows that belong to woman's lot. Her sphere had never seemed mean or inadequate to herself, for holding her ohild in her arms, she felt th$t she possessed all the dignity and honor earth has to bestow. But the tears would drop sometimes now, as Panence sat alone at her work, in the slender ray of the candle. There were vine shadows where the row of potted plants had been, for it was Spring, and tne geraniums ana nenoiropes were out in the little door yard beds, and she rested iri the longer twilight, and lived over the life she had led first as wife, then as mother, afterward as lonely widow with her boy away at the war. Patience had always lived in others. It seemed as though her heart had no separate action of its own, and received its pulsations from the beating hearts of those she loved. When Washington was threatened, and danger menaced the Pensylvania frontier, Alvin had grown uioody at home because she opposed his wish to join the volunteers. It was the dark hourot her country's peril, and Patience had wrestled and struggled and prayed until she gained strength to let her boy go out of her arms. She had given her ewe lamb; 6he sat , alone. Her farm consisted of a few acres of , rather stony land that lay close to the j house where she lived. Her husband had been a cooper, workiDg at tubs and bar- , rels off and on the busy season of the year | and Alvin had learned the trade too; but the little shop was closed now; and the , fields were let out on shares, and ever since he marched away in the coat of ar- | mv blue, her boy had sent back his pay to the widow, and her cruse and basket were , never empty. Her neighbors were very ' kind. Abiah Williams who lived 011 the , next place had banked up her house in the Fall, and dug and stored her Winter vegetables, and in the Spring, as soon as , the ground grew mellow, he came with his ox-team to plow her garden. By car ( pet making and odd bits of sewing, Patience was able to supply all her slender wants. Not a penny of her boy's earnings | had ever been touched. That money was sacred. Patience bad already spoken to Enoch llolbrook about putting it out at 1 interest. In the long winter evenings. ' when she only heard the slow tick of the clock in the corner,or the sough of the ! wind in the pine trees, her brain was busy with plans for her boy's future. Deacon Spicer brought the paper in every third day,after he had slqwlv spelled ' it over for an hour or two at tiome. The ' news had traveled two or three hundred ! miles by rail and stage before it came to her hand; but Patience watched for it 1 j with a beating heart. The account of a bloody battle generally drove her to bed with a bad headache, caused by the bard- ! er aching of her mother heart. Patience's sympathies were mainly on the mother's side; she did not think so much of the stricken wives or desolate young maidens 1 mourning over their dead. She had one of those intense hut narrow natures which 1 Puritanism developes, with little iinagina- ! tion but strong and fervent feelings. Her j lite was so deeply religious, that the whole of life was invested with a sort . of sacred ardor; even her joy found ex- 1 pression in some grand old covenantees : hymn, that seemed to fill the pauses of 1 the wind in the forest grove near at 1 hand. Patience had looked forward many 1 times to the possible harm that might 1 come to Alvin. She had thought of < her loneliness that perhaps might end ' onlv with the crave; and how in some I distant Autumn day, when the crickets < were chirping in the stubble she might 1 feel glad that she had plucked out her I heart and given it to God, remember- ' ing that he who would save his life j must lose it. i But there were other days when a 1 sober gladness colored her mood, and ' the sublime old hymns that told of ' persecution and victory over death, i came rolling out on her rioh voice. Then it was easy for her to believe i that Alvin would be spared, and she thought of his home coming as of a 1 second birth, when the Lord would I again put him into her arms as a free i gift. With her deep heart, that took ! such eager hold of what it loved, kind ling and warming as it held, she piotured the life that they would lead together, and slowly pieced out a story , of exquisite kind in that little whitewashed room, where all his history had written itself A certain narrowness of vision as well as the absorption of her love made patience almost blind to what nature might bring to pass in Alvin's heart. The child and the man were enviously blent in her thoughts. He might want a wife some time, but he was hardly grown up yet. There would be time enough to think of that yeais hence. Beyond the pine grove stood the Ray farmhouse, and there lived Dier Ray's i daughter, Hulda, who had been a plain child, but had grown into a lovely young woman, with a soft voice, and brown eyes, and long lashes, which, when downcast. rested upon a pearly cheek. Some rumor about Alvin and Huldah had come to the ears of Patience, but she blew it . away like a feather floating in the air. Dier Ray's wife, she thought, was a talk- j ing womaD, not malicious or bad hearted, but foolish about her girl; so she avoided going to the farmhouse beyond the hill. < When Mrs. Ray reached over in meeting to shake hands, with Huldah looking down from the singer's seat, in her pretty , straw bonnet, trimmed with pink ribbons, Patience met the overture rather coldly ; still she was obliged to confess that the sweetest voice which rose above Deacon Spicer's wheezy bass viol, was Huldah Ray's. 1 Once when Patience was sick with rheumatism, and Huldah came to offer her isprvir.es hrintrincr a loaf of her moth er's snow white bread, done up in the , cleanest of towels,she had turned her face j to the wall, and spoken but a few words in a rather repellant tone. Then if any one had peeped under the brim of the little brown hat as she went off the stoop ] they would have seen a dimness about Huldah's lashes. There were things j which the neighbors suspected, if they i did not know for certain, and there were i things which Deacon Spicer, being postmaster, thought he knew, for he peered , at every letter that came in the lean mail- | bag from Highlands. , Patience was blind, but her blindness ( had both pathos and dignity. Such a tall ] straight, large eyed woman could not be , easily approached by the gossips, so they , left her alone with the music of the pine- ( trees sighing around her lonely house, , thinking of her boy, getting him closer to ] her intense strong heart, and skipping all the intervals, aDd living in the time of , his return when they should grow each to ] the other as the acorn grows to its cup. ( It was a leafy blo9somy day in May ] when the lilacs were out, and the snow I balls were beginning to bleach, and birds 1 trilled in tbe boughs, and the sky softened ; over the young woods. The great parti- j colored balls of carpet work lay at Pa i tience's feet, and the Bible, with its worn i leather covers open at the family record, i and date of her boy's birth, was placed on i the stand by her side. With his dry, peculiar ahem! and the shuffle and stum- i ble by which he wa9 wont to mount the 1 steps, Deacon Spicer got upon the stoop 1 and pushed at the halt open door. He i was a shambling eld man, dressed in a j baggy suit of butternut brown,that seemed ] tn liavra Via.tn rut finite hv flpp.idpnt.. ^ 1 ~J ? " (rood day, widder, good day." There was a half tremble in the old man's voice, that made Patience involuntarily ask, "What is it?" as the work dropped from her hands. "Now don't," said the old man in a coaxing tone, as he reached out and almost touched her gray hair, "Good news never killed anybody as I've heard tell of and I guess you can stand this." He fumbled in his capacious pocket in an aimless sort of way; but every heart-beat seemed a century to Patience. " You see there was a scrimmage t'other day, and Alvin run right into the mess, just like such a hair brained young feller; he must have fit with all his might and main. You see the Cap'n he has, went home and Alvin has got promoted for gallantry. And the boy, you see?bless my soul, it beats all what I've done with that letter?the boy rot a scratch on his arm, and they've rive him a discharge, and I should'nt a nite wonder if he wae home here to-morrow." Patience turned upon him trembling tnd pale to the lips. " You are not deceiving me," she gasp* id, " my boy has not been?shot?" " Deceiving of you, widder? Why no," responded the old man in extreme astonishment; "D'ye suppose I'd have the { face to show myself here? Anything un- 1 fortunate that wav would stick in mv r throat, and choke me to death. I tell \ rou he's on his way home, and in a fort- i light will be as hearty as ever he was in r [lis life." It was indeed true; and Patience put f ier hands before her face as if the bliss t mming so suddenly was almost too much J to bear. The old man wandered on. u 1 g nistrust there's somebody else over the c liill yonder will be glad to get the news." 1 Put Patience scarcely heard him when he g took his leave. She sat there in the red r ight of sunset, with tremulous shadows 1 spotting the coarse plaster wall, her bo- f 10m heaving, her eyes dilated, a glad, \ roung look growing in her face. She was dreaming of the time when Alvin was g i baby ; how he played around her chair s ind plucked at her gown. And now he g vas coming home, a tall young soldier, c ind would kneel down at her feet, and t >ut his head in her lap as he had done a t inndred times. She could almost feel r ler fingers in his crisp, curly locks, touch- jj ng his forehead, and caressing his cheek, t And she sat there in a blissful dream until c t grew dark, quite forgetting she had g ;one without her supper. 1 That night Patience scarcely slept at s ill for joy. She was up betimes in the 1 vr*lr* /loirrt Knov kofjolf i r> tl?n )i ATTl O 7UIC UO? II IV fUCJ IH. 1 CV 1 1 111 tliv UUUiv joining of Alvin. She swept and dusted y ;he old house. She could almost see the \ ;rass grow where the motherly bunches 1 >f purple lilacs pushed into Alvin's little 1 room window. Everything had been t kept sacredly, .just as he left it, the fishing :ackle on the wall, the few books on their y wing shelf, the empty squirrel cage on its nail and even an old tattered straw j hat hanging beside it. There was cookery f for busy Patience's hands; she reinem- c bered all her boy's likings, the seed cook- { ies and favorite pies. But when these 1 were dispatched a great margin of time remained and Patience was too unquiet $ with happiness to sit down to any work in i the house. She went out into the pine < grove, where the tassels on the old trees i all wore a fresh new green ; the housatonia and columbine were b'owing at her i feet; and she could not help lifting up her voice in a deep, glad chant, "the i Lord has been my dwelling place in all generations.' The path led a quart* r of a mile beyond the grove, through leafy copses, where I the dogwood here and there had pitched its snowy tent, on a hanging bank, above the highway. Patience wandered on nntil she gained a lookout through the boughs, down the road that wound under elms and maples. It was a pretty spot, full of tremulous green light from the young leaves, and musical with the song of birds. There Patience sat on the moss, waiting she could not tell how long, such sweet fantasies filled her brain and spun themselves before her eyes. At length, there came a faint murmur of voices, and with her heart fluttering, she parted the branches and peered out. Two persons were coming slowly along the path, through spotted shadows, and sungleams wholly absorbed in each other. The young man was tall, with a tanned gaunt face, beaming now with a look that made it handsome. He was dressed iu the faded blue of the army, and carried one arm in a sling. His companion a young girl as sweet and pure as the rosebud walked by his side. She had taken off he. little brown hat, and was letting it swing by the ribbon striDg. Her great wondering, innocent eyes were raised to his; a faint pink Pad fluttered into her cheeks, naturally pale; the breeze was untangling the braids of her silky hair in tiny rings and curls. The young man had hold of one of her hands, and was pressing the shy finger tips to his lips. They paused a little near where Patience sat, and where the dogwoods seemed to make a white drift againsc the bank. "0 Huldah," Patience seemed to hear her boy say, "ifyou could know how i used to think of you first and last on the long marches! The remembrance of wh. you had promised kept me up in the wet and cold! Most of the boys had sisters and lots of relations; you and mother were all 1 had iD the world." Tt was her boy's voice. Patience knew the eager, frank tones. She had carried him in Tier hnanm OS A. hllhv ! she hftd worked and saved for him ; she had lain awake nights to pray for him ; 'through lonely months, she had lived on the thought of his coming back ; and now in the first hour of his return, he thought only :>f this girl, who never bore a pang for his ?ake. He had gone first to her, and put bis mother in the second place 1 Patience would have moaned but she restrained herself; she took hold of a sapling that grew near, and unconsciously crushed a clump of ferns under her hand. Huldali was speaking now : 4< I must turn back. Alvin," said she timidly, "for I'm half frightened at the thought of meeting pour mother. I have tried to make her love me since you went away; but she is ilways cold. If I go to see her she never isks me to come again. I have a presentiment she will never consent to give me i daughters place. "You are trembling like a little scared bird," said Alvin with a laugh. l,Do you suppose my mother is such a bugbear? "Why she is just the dearest woman in the world; and she is so fond of me that she will have to love pou, Hnldah, for my sake. I shall tell ber all about it to-night. I meant to bave told before 1 went away; but you, timid little goose wouldn't let me. Dome on up to* the old hickory tree by the orchard, and I will let you go back." They moved past, and Patience could moan now. She sat there among the crakes on the hillside, with her face )ent down to her knees. In the long, onely days she had thought of only one dnd of loss that could come to her ;hrough her boy; for a moment she felt hat it would have been easier to bear if le bad been brought home feet foremost nto the old red farm-house. He would lavebeen a blessed memory then, and all ler own; there are moments when it leems less heartrending to give our belov;d up in death than in lifa. Patience rose to her feet instantly, and is she did so the baser part of her selfiood dropped off. She felt her way down he bank by the tree trunks and bushes, ind a new world of reflection was opened ,o her mind. For the first time it struck ier as right and natural that Alvin should iave this beautiful experience. There had >een no great blossoming time in her life : ihe had married late, with respect and iking, but all the passion and romance of ier being bad come t.hrougn motnernooq. >he was old ; she had not thought of the ntoxicating draught given young souls to Irink, nor the bliss which narrows the vorld over again, to a single pair, and nakes a new Eden of clasped hands and neeting eyes. Patience felt humble, almost remorseul, as she walked under the blossomed rees, wavering and tottering a little. >he had grown old in a moment: her enses, always remarkably acute, seemed lull. The thought that she should not ast a great while longer came to her with i oi relief. Whv should she live iow that her boy had no longer need of ler? Is it not written a man shall leave ather and mother and cleave unto his vife? An hour may have passed, for Patience at down to rest once or twice; as she lowly approached the house the lovers itill lingered in the shade of the old hick>ry. Alvin heard a step behind bim, and. urning round, saw his mother standing here. Something like a blush of shame eddened his cheek for the selfish indulgence in happiness which had caused him o loiter so long on the road to a sacred luty. But Patience only clasped him ibout the neck, and sob3 would not let ler speak. Iluldah tnrned in confusion, ind was walking away; but in a moment 'atience called to her. "Come here, my child; I know that rou and Alvin love each other, and I vant to give you a mother's blessing, fou shall have as warm a place in my leart as my boy has. I thank God for wo good children instead of one." Tlulrinti bid bpr bashful fttce. but Alvin vas beaming with delight. 44 There," cried he, 44 what did I tell roil? Why, mother, she was actually ifraid that you would never give your consent. But I told her you would love inybody I loved; and you could not help oving her," he added, in a half whisper. Patience smiled faintly, but a sort ot giddiness seized her limbs. He never jvould know what that 6weet consent had ;ost; there lies the paths of many asacriioe. '4 "Why, mother, what ails you 7" Alvin isked in alarm. 4 0, nothing." she answered; 44 only I im petting old." 44 Nonsense," (xclaimed Alvin, 44 you are worth more then ball the young women in the country; you have been overdoing and now you must rest, and be taken care of." Hp put. his arm around her, and she drew Huldab's hand through her own, on the other side; thus they walked over the grass, sprinkled with white clover. Alvan was in high spirits, so glad to he back, with much to tell of himself; Huldah was so quietly supremely happy she could not speak a word; but Patience felt if she could have faded out from between them they would scarcely have missed her. The house was just as she left it; but as she open^J the dgpr and heard the slow ticking of the clock, it seemed as though years, not hour*, bad passed since she went out so elate and glad. She sat down in her chair not the woman she had been, her heart beat slower, her hair appeared to have turned from gray to white in a single experience. She had passed the dividing ridge of life and was going down on the shady side. She stayed her head with her hand, and whispered to herself, " Not my will but thine.'1 Matrimony in Basils. The reader cannot fail to be struck with the sorrow that seems to be entailed upon fair damsels in Russia by the prospect of matrimony. We can easily understand that in a serai-savage state of society the marriage bed is anything but a bed of roses. The wife of the savage is generally a beast of burden, who toils and plants, while her red lord is dreamily dozintr awav the hours that are not devo ted to war or the chase. Among rode races, women are held to belong to an inferior order, and to be a pollution at e red feasts. Hence, in South Africa and in the New World the women are excluded from any participation in sacred rites. It can easily be understood how ideas suggested by the degraded social condition of women in a savage state should survive the barbarism that gave rise to them, and should linger on, when there is nothing apparently to account for their origin. To this cause we msy attribute the peculiar ideas of the Jews as respects women; and when we remember the amenities of matrimony among savages, we can comprehend the causes that made marriage a matter of purchase or of force, and that gave rise to wifecapture as a mode of courtship. When an Australian beauty is mitten, it is by aid of a boomerang. An impression is made, not on her heart, but on her head. To carry off a bride without at first stunning her, would be a grave reflection on the successful suitor. In Russia the purchase of the bride is a formal and serious affair. Her kosa, or plait of bt\ir worn only by maidens, pays the penalty, and is cut off and sold. " Not for gold do 1 mourn, Nor mourn I for bright silver; For one thing only do I mourn? For the maidenly beauty Of my ruddy kosa. The intending purchaser stands at the ??J " ?lw? AAmnnnrr TKon ll n uuur ana uuwb uu tuc wmjiau;. ? uti. u*. tries to get at the kosa but the girls keep him off, while the bride weeps and sobs. Turning to her brother, or to one of the girls who represents him, she entreats him to defend her and not to sell her kosa; or, at all events not to sell it too cheaply. The girls sing? " Stand to it brother 1 Brother, hold out! Sell not thy sister For a rouble, for gold." The answer is a shocking one in an age like this, when matrimony is never synonymous with a matter of money? " Dear to a brother is a sister, But dearer still is gold." Shocking Tragedy.?A terrible tragedy was enacted in Cincinnati, in which a boy twelve years old, named Frank Schikk, the son of a widow, was shot and killed by Rev. Samuel J. Browne, an aged j local preacher ot the Methoaist unnrcii. j It appears that Mr. Browne has been for , some time past greatly annoyed by boys, who in spite of repeated remonstance, have entered his premises to take his fruit and commit other depredations. The day of the tragedy a number of boys were playing ball outside, when a ball was thrown into Browne's yard. Young Schikk entered the premises to recover it, and the old man fired at him with slugs, one piece striking him in the breast, inflicting a wound from which the boy died in a few moments. Browne was arrested by the officers and was subsequently released on $50,000 bail. This terrible affair created intense excitement in the neighborhood of Brighton House, near which it occurred. A large crowd assembled in the vicinity of Browne's house which is guarded by a detatchment of police, and there is danger from the temper of the people that they will take the law into their own hands should Browne be found. It is a most remarkable case, and appears hard to account for, save upon the presumption that Browne is not in his right mind. He is eighty-six years of ape, one of the oldest citizens, and lias been considered hitherto above reproach. He owns property to the amount of several hundred thousand dollars. Costly.?Every person arrested, convicted and sent to a penitentiary in the United States costs, on an average, $1,200. Add to the sum of snch expenses the amount of capital taken from directly productive employment and consumed in building prisons and feedi g and guarding the prisoners, and we begin to have an idea of the real cost of crime. Every boy educated at the expense of the State costs it about $400. The preventive is not only a thousand times be ter than the cure, but it ia.in the end, a thousand times cheaper.?Chicago Tru bune. t ? How to Baise Money. The North China Netcs tells the following: An extraordinary feat has been performed by a Buddhist priest, with the view of raising money to build a temple at Soochow, whence the man had come on a begging expedition. He found people indifferent to his holy object, and very unwilling to part with their dollars. "With a devotio : more than worthy of the cause, he resolved to stir up some interest and cause money to flow in by an extraordinary expedient. He announced among the Chinese that he would allow himself to be locked up in a wooden box for seven days, during which period he would remain in an upright position, and without food or sleep* On "Wednesday alternoon he was accordingly placed in a cage about 2} feet wide and 5i feet high, just sufficiently large to admit him standing upright. The bottom of the cage was studded with nails, so that his feet should have space only between the nails sufficient for them to rest on, and a couple of slight bars in front formed a rest for his arms. The native public were invited to prove the genuine character of the mortification, by locking the good man themselves, if they pleased, and about 30 people brought locks of different kinds and secured the door as many times over. The cage was a close one, with a few open bars near the bottom for the admission of air. It wae placed in a jossroom in Hoopeh road, passing in and ont of which a crowd of people might be seen day and night, during the seven days, religious excercises being engaged in the while, by the priests. The devotee endured his painfnl incarnation with remarkable fortitude, the only relief afforded him being an occasional glass of water, and he emerged looking to all appearance little the worse. On examination, his pulse was found to beat 64, and was steady, while his arm was moist thongh hot. After his release, the cage was broken np and sold peacemeal to the Chinese, every nail bringing more than its weight in silver. The desired result of calling forth liberal subscriptions was also attained. Tiie California Mustaxo.?A California paper, which fears that the native California horse will soon be numbered among the things of the past auyi:? "With all his faults, he has some qualities and points of real value that should be preserved. He can thrive and subsist j where the American or English bloods wonld starve; is fleet and sure footed as the mule, while his powers of endurance in the harness or under the saddle are unequaled. He is small of statue, but as symmetrical as the Arabian; wild by nature, and often vicious, but always spirited, and, with proper training and kind treatment, frequently exhibits all the affectinnota ami ai hi 1 i t ina nf t.ho ViAflf. hrppda 11UU C* tu OVUOI Vl?iV?VM VMV wwwv v. It is no uncommon feC. for him to carry a good rider 100 miles in a day, and it is claimed that many of them can go much further in that time. We have seen specimens that, at the age of sixteen years, were as gay and fiery as the best five year olds, and that would kill the most enduring of them on a short or long journey. As saddle horses they are preferred by all who know them best, as they are for all light work. It has always seemed to us passing strange that no attempt has ever yet been made in California to preserve the admirable qualities of this ancient stock of horses in their purity. To permit them to ignobly perish, as now seems likely, would be as singular as unfortunate." Mukdehed in a Cofkt-Room. ? The Sheriff of Labette Conntv, Kansas, with a posse, pursued a horse-thief and brought him to bay in a piece of timber. The thief made a stout resistance, and before he was captured mortally wounded the Sheriff, who died next day. The thief was confined, and brought before a Magistrate for examination. In the presence of the Justice, the constables and the bystanders, a brother of the deceased Sheriff walked into the Court-room, deliberately went up to the prisoner, placed a pistol behind his ear and blew his brains out. The account adds that Ross, the murderer, was arrested, but there are hundreds of men ready to see him through. Sad Accident.?At Seymour, Ind., a man named Norris, while lighting a hall preparatory to a theatrical performance, let fall a coal oil lamp in the midst of a f i o i mi.. 1 \ 1. _ group oi cnuaren. me lump urime, spreading the burning oil in every direction. and setting the clothing of the children on fire. The little sufferers ran wildly through the hall, and before the flames were extinguished three little girls were so badly burned that they died in seven hours. Norris was also badly, but not fatally burned. It is said he was drunk, and only his injuries prevented his being roughly handled by the horrified and indignant citizens. How to Correspond.?1. No letter on business should be addressed to the member of the firm singly. It is always presumed to be a private communication; and if he be absent, it remains unopened till his return. 2. All letters should be dated. 3. Unless dated from cities and prominent towns, all letters should give the name of the county in which the place is situated. It ou^ht to be made a penal offence to duplicate the name of a town or village. 4. All lettera shoald be signed, and plainly, too. i Five Yean a Sq^aw. The Kansas City (Mo.) Timet has the following particulars of a story briefly narrated by telegraph: The steamer Fontenelle arrived at this city, after a threemonths' trip to Fort Benton and the mountains. Among her miscellaneous cargo of robes, fnrs, peltries and Nebraska corn, was a female named Miss Amanda Barber, who, in a fit of fanatical romance, offered herself, in 1867, as a voluntary missionary to the Brule Sioux, then occupying the territory between the Cheyenne river, and the Big Horn mountains, Dakota Territory. Miss Barber created quite a sensation in the Eastern States by her marriage with a young Indian named Squatting Bear, who accompanied a uirty of Sioux to Washington in 1867. Miss Barber was at that time a clerk in one of the Departments at Washington, in a position secured for her by Gen. Butler, before the impeachment fiasco. According to her own statement, she was firmly impressed with the ideality and perfection of the red men of the plains. She had read everything relating to the Indian tribes, from the reports of the Commissioner of Indian Affairs down to the latest dime novel. In a fit of enthusiasm or temporary insanity, she offered herself to and became the wife of Squatting Bear, a junior chief in the Lone Horn band of Brule Sioux, and with him and his party returned to the Yankton Agency, where she was duly initiated into her new life as a white squaw. Her romantic ideas of Indian life seemed to have received a terrible shock since her introduction to her new home and relations, and though she endeavored to fulfill her mission as a teacher and missionary to the best of her ability, her progress appears to have been as slow as the progress of civilization on the plains. She states that her first great surprise was being required to mount upon a wild? vicious pony, and travel without saddle or attention over the country from the Missouri to the White Earth river, a distance of several hundred miles. Her inability to make the journey provoked mirth among her husband's companions, and finally exasperated Squatting Bear until be ^^ind her with a rope to the pony's back and led the animal himself, on the westward trail. She was still more surprised to find her husband possessed of two other wives, one a vicious, dirty squaw of forty years of age, the other a girl of scarcely fourteen years. Her life in his wigwam, or teepee, was not so bright and happy as she expected i ^ ? TT i i _ 11_ .1 it would D6. ner nusDana 0 aosence was taken advantage of by her rival*to compel her to perform the vilest drudgery, such as gathering wood, cooking meat, and scraping robes for the tanning process, but during Squatting Bear's presence at j home Miss Barber appears to have been better treated. Her husband, in a violent fit of passion, killed his oldest squaw during the first year she was with the tribe^ when, without warning or notice, she was hurried off to the main camp of the Brules, three days' journey to the mountains, and from thence she accompanied the tribe on its annual buffalo hunt,where she became sick from exposure and fatigue. She was left at a temporary drying-camp at Rawhide river, where she attempted to escape by walking to Fort Fetterman, a distance of sixty miles. For this attempt she was beaten until nearly dead, and then sold by her husband lor three ponies to a Cheyenne chief, who sported the expressive soubriquet or Coo-Coose, or Baconsides. She was taken north in 1870, and has remained with the Cheyennes ever since, until her escape this spring, when she made her appearance at and claimed the protection of the authorities at Fort Benton. Miss Barber conversed with onr reporter without diffidence, and answered any question asked of her, She says that, so far as the romance of Indian life is concerned, she found none of it. Her efforts to teach and relorm the young Indian children were treated with indifference and contempt. She learned the Sionx language easily, but the Cheyenne dialect was harder to acquire. She has a much higher opinion of the Cheyennes tl.uii of the Sioax. The latter tribe she ?uys are to blame for nearly all the thieving and murdering done in the white settlements. She found it necessary to paint and color like the rest of the tribe while she was with them, and twice witnessed the murder or execution of white men, once a soldier belonging to the Thirty-second United States Infantry, who had been taken while out minting, wno was oornt and scalped; the others were two teamsters brought from Fort McPherson. All three were burnt at a place called "Saddler's Hill," in the Nebraska "Bad LandB." Miss Barber asserts that there will be no peace while white men intrude into the Buttalo range or tempt the cupidity of the Indians by bringing stock and valu- i ables out into the exposed frontier settlements. The Indians have the greatest contempt for the white men's judgment 1 and the efficacy of the soldiers. Miss Barber left the steamer Fontenel'e at this port, and after a few hours' rest, started on her way to the home of bet 1 friends, at Millford, Mass. I In consequence of eating the green 1 fruit now exposed for sale in many of our i streets, our obituary column i will be | filled with such paragraphs as "We had a little Charlie once," "I would not live alway," etc., etc., thereby putting money in our pockets.?Philadelphia Ttltqrapk. SOTltM. A favor done grudgingly had better not be done. Gray hair was thirty-five dollars an ounce at last quotations. Model surgical operations?To take the cheek out of a man and the jaw out of a woman. Scientists tell us that a single drop of sea water contains about one-ten-thousand-six-hundredth part of a grain of lime. An exchange says: "Aclock in a New York factory has been seised by the workmen, because it has not struck for eight hoars." It is & good pian to speak little of persons, and never ill of any one, unless by silence you wrong your neighbor. You can trust no man who unnecessarily speaks against another. The insurgent of Cuba have just met with their greatest success during the existence of the revolution. A recent engagement resulted in the killing of fifty Spaniards who were conveying a party of sick soldiersA foreign vegetarian who came to this country with the intention of introducing unbolted flour, has given it up as / impracticable, because, as he asserts, the people give such little time to their meals that they bolt everything they eat. A musician doing business at Huddersford, England, was recently sentenced to eighteen months' imprisoment because when awed by his sick wife to run for the doctor he merely sat down by her bedside and played the ''Dead March in. Saul." An annoying joke was rerpetrated upon Mrs. Harrison Gray Otis, of Boston, by some witless person. A circular was widely distributed stating that the public would be generally admitted to the Jubilee on the Fourth of July, at the invitation of Mrs. Otis, on applying at her residence for tickets. No less than twenty-one persons are ^ a a liotnn/v nori oh&f\ in UUCttUJ IC^UllCU OO UOTIU^ the accident to the Lapwing which collided with an unknown vessel, off the Isle of Wight. In connection with this disaster the wreck of the ship Omabn, from Liverpool bound for Calcutta, is announced. Some of the crew were drowned. The Stillwater Woollen Mills, in the village of Stillwater, near Georgiaville, R. L, have been totally destroyed bj* fire, involving a loss which is now estimated at over a half million of dollars. Two hundred emplovees are thrown out of work. The mill, wliich was well stocked, was owned and operated by Mr. Edward D. Pearce and other parties. A Fable.?A certain rabbi had two sons, whom he and* -his wife tenderly loved. Duty obliged the rabbi to take. smmmm journey to a distant country. Daring his absence his two boys sickened and died. The grief stricken mother laid them oat on their bed,drew the cartains,and waited, anxiously for her husband. He came: it was night. "How are my boys?" was. the first question, " Let me see them." "Stay awhile,"said his wife.- "I am in great trouble, and want your adviceSome years ago a friend lent me somei jewels. I took great care of them, and. at last began to prize them as my ownSince your departure my friend has called for them, but I do not like to part with, them. Shall I give them up?" "Wife, what a strange question is this! Give them up, and that instantly, this very night. Show me the jewels." She took the rabbi to their bed, drew aside tnei curtain,and said, 44 Husband there are thei jewels." The rabbi bowed his head and wept* Dress.?Orientals do not change their style of dress. Among them each nation and tribe has its peculiar costume, a* well as its insignia of religious creed. These fashions are perpetual, centuries, seldom bring any marked change. It ia related of the young King of Siam, that, having cherished a friendly regard for a lady who had, during the reign of his. father, resided in the royal city, he requested her to send him her likeness. This; was accordingly done by the hands of a. mutual friend, and the gift was received, with marked pleasure by the monarch.. But after a long and careful scrutiny ha asked, with a puzzled air. 41 Has my friend changed her nation or her religion? It must be one or the other. The features, are the same,but the dress/ This is not tba costume she wore when I saw her last.'' A Canny Scot.?On one occasion a. sma' laird was waited on by a neighbor, to request bis name as an accommodation to a bit of a bill for ?20 at three months, which led to the following characteristic colloquy: 44Na, na, 1 canna do that.'* " Why for no, laird; ye hae dune the same thing for ithers?" "Ave, aye, Tannnas, but there's wheels within, wheels ye ken naetbing aboot; I canna do't." "It's a. sma' affair to refuse me, laird." 44 Weel, ye see, Tammas, if I was to pit my name till't ye wad get the siller frae the bank, and when the time cam' round yen wadna. b? ready, and I wad hae to pay't; sae then yon and me wad quarrel; sae ye may inst as weel ouarrel the noo as l&ng as the siller's in ma poach." Inoeviofs.?In some parts of Africa, a curious method of conveying intelligence lias been practiced from time immemorial. An immense drain is kept in some of the towns on the Niger for public service in conveying news. By loud talking, sonorous vibrations are carried a great distance; and wherever there is another drain to intercept the sound, sentenoeK may be distinctly beard. This systea. Is also practiced in other places. A tribe known as Oamaroons have carried thin kind of aoonstic telegraph^to great perfaction.