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lewis >x. giust, i'l-opi-ietoi J 5,11 |ni)cpciti)cnf Jfamiln ftctospapcr: Jur fljc ^romotioit trf tjje political, Serial, Agricultural unit (iToimncrristl Interests af t|c j$ouf|. |terms?$3.00 a year, in advance. VOL. 19. YORKVILLE, S. C., THURSDAY, DECEMBER 11, 1873. NO. 50. ' - - - A *U/> A>1,A> She itovi) (Teller. V A LEAF FRO^ LAWYER'S DIARY, j fepp-. In 1865 I was the State's attorney in the judicial district in the State of Ken- ! tucky. I had gone to the county of 0 , one of the counties in the district, for the purpose of being present in the prosecution of the crimi-, |^HW nals. There had been no court held in that county since 1861, owing to the civil war. I found everything in the worst confusion possi-j ble. Men had been murdered in cold blood, 1 * and nothing was done with them. Murder, arsou, robbery, aud all the crimes in the catalogue, had been committed with impunity, and the malefactors had gone unwhipped of i justice owing to the absence of law. During the war everything was in anarchy; there was j neither safety to women nor innocent chil- j dren?all suffered alike. When it was known that there would.be a circuit court held in! that county, the news attracted a very large i crowd. On Monday morning, November 8, 1865,1 found a large crowd in B , the county seat, of 0 . Men, women aud children came, } some the distauce of thirty miles. Guerrillas ; and bushwhackers came with their guns and pistols, as though they intended to overawe the J court, and determined that none of their gang ; should be indicted for the numerous murders j of which they had been guilty. Court opened ; and the sheriff returned his list of a grand j jury. The court instructed them as to their duty ; they were sworn and sent to their room. I had determined in my own mind that every j persou that had been guilty of a felony or j misdemeanor in O county should be reg- j ularly indicted, -if I could, in any way, obtain j the evidence against them. There was a case that was shrouded in mvs-; tery. A young man, who was the pride of a widowed mother, had suddenly disappeared from the county about two years before, and i had never been heard from. His name was Charles Belknap; he was an only child ; hand-! some, finely educated, and as brave as a lion. I made diligent inquiry. I had about one j hundred witnesses summoned. I examined i fhom flnsolv. and when I dismissed them I warned them to tell no one what transpired in , the grand jury room. In that way I hoped [ to keep the real murderers in the dark as to ! what I was doing. ; I could only gather the following circumstances in the case: That young Belknap had left his home in June, 1863, and was riding a very fine horse, with SI,500 in his possession. He failed to return at night, and his mother became very uneasy about him, and next morning set out to make inquiries concerning him. She went to the house of 'Squire Mosely, who lived about five miles ; from her, a leading man in the county, told 1 her story, and made inquiries concerning her i son. The 'Squire told her that her son was ! at his house the day before, and left in the di- ! rection of the town of B ; that he left about 10 o'clock in the morning. This was : all she could hear of him. No one else had seen him, and she returned home a broken-1 hearted mother. She made inquiries of every j person ; every stranger that passed was inter-1 rogated, but all in vain. She still kep up the : search for her missing boy, and about twelve months after he had so mysteriously disap- i peared, she was returning home from one of , her searches and met 'Squire Mosely. The j h 'Squire told her lie had heard from her boy;'1 that he was in Iowa. He had received a letter from him, and.that he would beat home j soon ; that he had left the letter at home, &e. 1 Mrs. Belknap went directly to the 'Squire's j t house, without communicating her intention ' to him, and inquired of the family for the letter that the 'Squire had received from her long lost boy. The family seemed surprised, , and knew nothing about such a letter having been received. This was all the evidence I could get as to the probable fate of her son. What was I to do ? I went to my room and studied over the matter. How could I say that young Belknap I had been murdered ? His body had not been , found ; and who would dare to accuse 'Squire Mosely of such a crime ? I la}* in my bed that night thinking over the circumstances, ' and it was near four o'clock in the morning ' when I fell asleep. I slept until eight o'clock, ! I got up, washed and dressed myself, fully de-, termined to indict 'Squire Mosely for the ' crime of murder. I went to the grand jury room, directly after eating a hearty breakfast, j I told the foreman what my intentions were. I drew up the indictment, accusing 'Squire i Mosely of the crime of murder, committed as follows, viz: The said 'Squire Mosely, on : the ?day of August, 1863, in the county of 0 , did feloniously and with malice afore thought kill and murder Charles Belknap by shooting him with a gun loaded with a leaden bullet, against the peace and dignity of the Commonwealth of Kentucky. I presented the indictment to the grand jury, and they j indorsed it a true bill. I cautioned the members of the jury to say nothing about what we had done, but to keep the whole thing secret, and if before the court adjourned nothing turned up to fix the crime on the 'Squire, that we could destroy the indictment. The grand jury found indictments against eighteen persons for murder, and so secretly was it managed, that the sheriff had them all in jail at once. The indicting of so many persons naturally produced great excitement among the citizens. 1 went to my room that night and double-! locked my door, examined my pistol and put itunderthe head of my bed. About 12 o'clock I had a knock at my door; I demanded to j know who was there. A person answered, "a friend." I got up, lit a lamp, took my pistol - in my hand and opened the door. A stranger stepped in. I closed the door and demauded his business, lie seemed very much frighten- j ed, and casting a hasty glance around the j I room to satisfy himself that there was no other person in the room except myself, he told me that his name was Colby, and stated that he wanted to communicate a very important fact nAnnarnintr filtfi of VOUI1!? Belknap. L\J IIIC V/UUVVK??4<0 J - o I told him to procceed. Ifc wanted to know whether he could turn .State's evidence or not and save himself. I replietl in the affirmative. He then told me that he knew where young Belknap was buried, that 'Squire Mosely had killed him, had got $1,500 from his person, and had run Belknap's horse off' and sold him to some Confederate soldiers, and that he had assisted Mosely in burying j Belknap. I told Colby to keep his seat in my room, that he should not be hurt; and I went out, hunted up the sheriff*and told him to get eight or ten reliable men and bring ^ thera to my room. lie did so. I then took the Sheriff and Colby into a room, and made / Colby repeat his story over to that officer. I then directed the Sheriff to procure a sack and take Colby and the men he had brought with ' him, and go and get the bones of young Belknap and bring them to my room that night. The Sheriff'did as I directed him. When court convened the next morning, and I stepped into the court room, 'Squire Mosely was the first man I saw. I had the grand jury called, and they presented the indictment against 'Squire Mosely for murder. People loeked at one another in blank amazement, and appeared incredulous. 'Squire \ Mosely marched up to the bar and demanded ft a trial then ; that the charge was a base fabri^ cation and false. I whispered to the sheriff to bring in the sack. He did so. I told him to empty the contents on a bench in front of 'Squire Mosely ; and as the bones of the mur-' tiered man fell out upon the bench, they ( seemed to sound the death-knell of the aeon-! s sed man. lie looked the picture of despair, { and dropped in his scat and covered his face t with his bauds. I announced to the court 1 that all that was mortal of Charles Belknap i was then in court, and I was ready to proceed f with the trial. f Excitement ran high, the mob shrieked and howled "Hang him! hang him!" and the s court was powerless to protect the miserable J man. The mob, with the mother of young j Charles Belknap at their head, forcibly took t the trembling culprit out of the custody of s the sheriff, and hung him to a limb of the ' i nearest tree. Before he swung off he ac- J knowledged his guilt. < And as I passed by his lifeless form swinging from the limb of that tree, I was forcibly reminded of the legal phrase, "Murder will t out." THE JUDGE'S STORY. "T don't see how I could have done more , 1 for him than I did ; but still the man should , : not have been punished?lie should have been i acquitted." With these words the Judge j g awoke to the consciousness that he had a fel- j t low traveler; and then, as if some explanation | of his remark would be in order, he went on: j t "We had a very interesting trial in Austin i last week ; Tom Carberry?Irish Tom he is s called?was tried for murder. I defended , i him, and never struggled harder for a client' 1 in my life. For a week before, and through- 1 out the trial, I worked night and day to look 1 up testimony, and to present the case to the jury ' in the best possible light. I consulted with 1 all the attorneys not engaged in the prosecu- ! ( tion. We got him off'with three years in the j s penitentiary ; but he ought not have been pun- . a ished?he should have been acquitted." The s follow passenger queried as to the circumstan- a ces attending the alleged murder, and the ! t Judge answered: "They were very peculiar, ; i and that is the reason why the trial was so j f very interesting. A woman up in Montana, I 1 who never saw Tom Carberry, thought that! 1 he had done her great wrong; and so, when a she was asked, as the phrase is, to 'take up I with a new man,' she named her terms: 'Kill t Tom Carberry, of Austin, Nevada.' 'But I ; I never saw nor heard of the man,' said the , r Montana aspirant. 'Nevertheless," said she, I 'kill Tom Carberry.' 'It is the depth of win-j1' ter,'was objected,'and we are hundreds of ; miles from Austin. The journey cannot now he made.' 'Kill him in the spring?' said the 1 unrelenting woman. 'Yes,'said he, and the j I compact was sealed. j 1' "With the opening of travel in spring there I v arrived at Salt Lake City, by the Montana v stage, an individual who freely announced that he was on his way to kill Carberry. Salt 1' Lake City is a long way from Austin, hut the s friendships of border men span much greater t distances. Tom was quickly advised of the t approach of his visitor, but he took no steps ; s either to get of the way or to he specially pre- j t pared to see company. He was then employ- j 1 edat the Keystone Mill, nine miles from town, I and he stayed there nearly a whole week af- I ter he knew that the Montana chap was in ' Austin. You see, Tom is a peaceable man, i 1 and he didn't want any difficulty. Most men 1 would have come in at once, and got the af- c fair off their hands!" The listener entertained doubts at this point,; ) but saying nothing, the Judge proceeded : ! 1 "Saturday evening, just as usual with him, I Tom came into the city, and after getting j shaved and fixed up for his holiday, he went i) around to the saloons, where many of the peo- 1 pie of the mining towns spend their leisure, to ; meet his friends. It wasn't long before he : encountered the Montana fellow, who began j \ at once, in Tom's hearing, to make insulting i remarks." j Here the listener interrupted with : "Why j did he make insulting remarks? It" he had made a long journey solely for the purpose of killing Tom, why didn't he shoot him offhand ?" "Because," said the judge, "that would have been murder. The community is : down 011 murder, and he would have been j dangling from an awning beam in fifteen min-1 o r> o i utes. Killing is a very different matter. ; When two men get into a fight, and all is fair ; between them, and one kills the other, the com- j munity don't ordinarily seem to feel much | concern on the subject. Under such cireum- 1 stances the only way for .Montana was to pro-! voke Tom to a quarrel, and lead him to a ! fight. But Tom wasn't disposed to gratify j him?he wouldn't take any notice?didn't j seem to hear; but repeatedly left one saloon ; to go to another, just to keep out of the way. j Montana followed him up until, at last, stand-! ing right before Tom, he jumped up about i two feet from the floor, and came down with j a heavy jar, and said: "I'm Chief!" Even this Tom didn't resent?lie only put his hands over his face and wept! Fact, sir, the tears actually flowed, until his best friends thought he was an arrant coward ; and when he got, up and went away to his room to bed, there wasn't one of them to say a good word for . him. "Montana enjoyed a season of glory. lie had said, 'I'm Chief!' in a public place, and no man had dared to accept the challenge. The next morning Tom was standing on the sidewalk, when Montana came along, and they met face to face. Tom spoke to him in a very quiet, low tone, saying: 'Stranger, you used me pretty rough last night, but I don't bear . malice. Jest say that you'd been drinkiu'j 1 and didn't mean it, and we'll say no more j ! about it.' Montana answered; 'No apologies ; ' in mine.' 'Well,' said Tom, 'you needn't ' apologize ; come into the saloon and chink 1 glasses with me, and we'll let the matter drop.' 1 Then Montana said : 'Tom Carberry, either ; j you're generous, or else you're a coward. I ; 1 don't think you're cowardly, an'if I'd known 1 you at the start, it's most likely I wouldn't ' have waded in. Hut the matter can't be let \ drop, for there's hundreds of people in my j section, and between here and there, who ' knows that I came here to kill you ; so there ' is but two ways?we must fight, or you must j run. If you'll run it'll bo jest as good to me ; as to fight.' "Tom's almost" uppliant bearing disappear- ' ed on the instant, and he said : 'Stranger, I J ain't much in the habit o' runnin', an' if we j are to fight we may as well have it out now ' as any time. Are you heeled ?' Tom asked ' this question because we have a law against ' carrying concealed weapons, which is regard- j ed at such hours as people think they will I have no use for their arms,and disregarded at 1 all others. The answer was : 'No ; I left my revolver with the bar-keeper of the Exchange.' 'Get it,' said Tom ; 'I'll wait for you here.' f 1 The Exchange was in a corner building across 1 a street which came in at right angles to the 1 sidewalk where they were standing. Monta- ' na went in at the front door but came out at 1 1 the side on the cross street, hoping to steal up and get tiie 'drop' on Tom ; but this was not ' so easy. Tom was wide awake ; lie had , 1 crossed the main street to guard against sur- I prise; so, when Montana poked his pistol 1 around the corner and followed it with just \ enough of his head to take sight, Carbcrry j | was not in range. In a moment their eyes met, and the shooting began. Tom curled i down close to the street bed, to present the \ smallest possible area as a mark, and because < it is comparatively difficult to hit an object j lying on the ground. Montana sheltered i himself somewhat behind a low row of sacks i of potatoes lying on the edge of the sidewalk, > and partly behind a small awning post. This I last was a fatal error, for with a tall post for , < a mark it is the easiest thing in the world to i make a line shot. I am making a long story i )f the shooting, which, in reality, was very | hi soon over. They fired three shots a piece in | lu is many seconds. Tom's third ball passed hrough Montana's heart, and he was dead an jefore his head rebounded on the brick pave- hi nent. C'arberry surrendered himself at once, ? ind was kept in jail until his trial came off", (Ji ilthough bail to any amount was offered." J 3 After a pause, the Judge added : "I don't! . see how I could have done more for him than [ did ; but the man should not have been junished?he should have been acquitted ;! md he would have been but for one circum- i stance, which prejudiced the court aud jury i igainst him." j a "What was the circumstance so prejudi- J :ial ?" questioned the listener | " Mnntuiin <ilior\ tune frmrfll man s X lie lUUlliaiK* OIKtj/ IIMU VIIV Tom had killed in Austin," auswercd the! 'a: Judge innocently?Overland Monthly. Jn, ? AX OBSTINATE CAPTAIN. th My story commences on the 8th of Novem- 1 ^er, 1812, a short time after the battle of r' Wiazma. We, the French, beat a retreat, lot before the Russians, for they were at a re- ^, ipectful distance from our camp, but before P ,he sharp and bitter cold of their country. "During the preceding days our officers had old us that we were approaching Smolensko, rfc vhere we should get food, fire, brandy and ar hoes; but in the mean time we were perish- e.s ng in the glaciers, and continually harassed >y the Cossacks. We had marched for six I" lours without stoppiug to take breath, for we 1 cnew that repose was certain death. An icy ? vind blew the drifting snow in our faces, and . rom time to time we tumbled over the frozen 111 :orpse of a comrade. We neither spoke or iang, even complaints were no longer heard, W1 md that was a bad sign. I marched by the WI ide of my captain; short, strongly built, rough ind severe, but brave and true as the blade ^ if his sword; we called him 'Captain Obstinite,' for when he once said a thing, it was . ixed ; he never changed his opinions. He , lad been wounded at Wiazma, and his usual- y crimson face was then ghastly pale, while ,01 l ragged white handkerchief, all stained with . " ilood, was bound round his head, and added 1 ! o the pallor of his countenance. All at once ... saw him stagger on his legs like a drunken nan, then fall like a block to the ground. ^ " '3Iarbleic! captain, said I, bending over '?t lira,'you cannot remain here.' " 'You see that I can, since I do it,' replied . 1 ie showing his Jegs. . " 'Captain,' said I, 'yon must not give way.' ,. lifting him in my arms, I tried to put him on lis feet. He leaned on me and attempted to . valk, but in vain ; he fell again, dragging me villi him. j "'Jobin,' said he, 'all is over. Leave me lere, and rejoin your army as quickly as pos- . ihle. One word before you go: At Vereppe, in' lear Grenoble, lives a good woman, eighty- Qj wo years of age, my?my mother. Go and ee her, embrace her for me, and tell her hat?that?tell her what you will, but give ^ ler this purse and my cross. It is all I have! STow go." " 'Is that all, captain ?' - , , , , om " mat is ail i uou oicss you : inuKu ?j inste. Adieu !' My friends, I do not know . mw it was, but I felt two tears roll down my lieeks. "'No,captain,' I cried, 'I will not leave ^ ou ; either you come with me, or I will re- jje imin with you.' | '"I forbid you to remain.' pa " 'Vou may put me under arrest, then, if pe mil like; but at present you must let me do as ar please.' q '"You arc an insolent fellow.' W( "'Very good, captain, but you must come t0 vith me.' He bit his lips with rage, but said e,. 10 more. I lifted him, and carried him on ny shoulders like a sack. You can easily ?.j magine that with such a burden, I could not pr( teep pace with my comrades. In fact, I soon gc ost sight of their columns, and could discern ea lothing around me but the white and silent ea ilain. 1 still walked on, when presently ap-1 m "learcd a troop of Cossack galloping toward lie, with furious gesticulations and wild cries. ^ "The captain was by this time completely .){ nsensible, and I resolved, whatever it might' ,.j( :ost me, not to abandon him. I laid him j jK1 lown on the ground, and covered him with \ sj( mow ; then I crept beneath a heap of dead j wj )odies, leaving, however, my eyes at liberty. : j>. Presently the Cossacks came up, and began n* ,o strike with their lances right and left, while ! heir horses trampled lis under their feet. j .j 3ne of these heavy beasts set his foot upon my 1 ]0 iglit arm and crushed it. My friends, I did ; U1 lot speak ; I did not stir; I put my right j ^ land into my mouth to stifle the cry of torture : tc vhicli nearly escaped from me, and in a few ! wj ninutes the Cossacks had dispersed. j j^j "When the last of them had disappeared, I i)L juitted my refuge and proceeded to disinter! wj he captain. To my joy lie gave some signs jf life ; I contrived to carry him with my one i |),i irm toward a rock which offered a sort of; l)e shelter, and then I laid myself by his side,! pc trapping my cloak round us both. "The nisrlit had closed in and the snow con- w] iuued to fall. ! tli "The rearguard had long since disappeared, ' w< md the only sound that broke the stillness of' ag die night was the whistle of a bullet, or the j f0 lowling of the wolves feasting on the corpses j hat lay stretched around. God knows what j of dioughts passed through my soul during that. wj Ireadful night, which, I felt sure, would be | ny last upon earth. But I remembered the iirayer which my mother had taught me long j for lefbre when I was a child at her knee, and i }0 sending low, I repeated it with fervor. i ni "My children, that did me good, and re-! a] nember always that a sincere and fervent, |1C :>rayer is sure to comfort you. I felt astonish-1 d< ugly calmed when I returned to my place by i ]j die captain. But the time passed, and I had I ]0 fallen into a state of half stupor, when I saw j oa t group of French officers approach. Before j wi [ had time to speak to them, their chief, a lit-1 cm de man dressed in a furred pelisse, stepped j ""i-uMifil tmvnrd me nnd s.'iid : I IT w. v. - "*"w - | a* "'What are you doing here? Why are | wi you away from yt>ur regiment?' ' in "For two good reasons,' said I, pointing ce first to the captain and then to my bleeding , de .inn. j al "The nuin says true, sire,' said one of those j on who followed him ; 'I saw him marching in en the rear of his regiment, and carrying this of- wi ficer on his hack.' , he "The emperor?for, my friends, it was he!? i Y jnve me one of those glances that only he, or "I the eagle of the Alps, could give, and said : wi '"It is well. You have done very well.' "Then opening his pelisse, he took the cross ; w< ivhieh decorated his green coat and gave it to ' me. At that instant I was no longer hungry, 1 yc no longer cold ; I felt no more pain from my i inn than if that awkward beast had never j m touched it. ' wi "Davoust," added the emperor, addressing j the officer who had spoken to him, "see this j hr man and his captain placed in one of the bag-! 2;age wagons. Adieu!" And making me a motion or tne nana, ne went away. 01 Here the veteran ceased and resumed his fo pipe. ' an "But tell us what became of 'Captain Obstinate,' " cried many impatient voices. )i[ "Tlie captain recovered, and is now a gen- a era! on the retired list. But the best of the joke was, that as soon as lie got well, he put me under arrest for fifteen days, as a punish- ar ment for my infraction of discipline. m "This circumstance came to the ears of Napoleon, and after laughing heartily, he not fri only caused me to be set free, but promoted yc me to the rank of a sergeant. As to the dec- \ oration, my children, here is the ribbon at my : dr itton-hole, hut the cross I wear next to my art." And opening his vest, lie showed his eager idience the precious relic, suspended from , s neck in a little satin hag. iWiscclhiMCOUS Reading. HAROUiN AL RASCIIII). )\V TIIE GRAND VIZIER SOUGHT FOR A HAPPY WOMAN*. I The renowned Caliph rose one morning in j very melancholy humor. Heat once sum oned his Grand Vizier, who hastened to obey, e thus addressed his Premier: "I feel very disconsolate; I had a dream ' st night, when I beheld all the women of y kingdom at the foot of my throne, beseechg me to help them. Their grievances were J at they were unhappy, asking me to remove i eir wretchedness; and I must admit, it is lie, their lot is very hard.'' The Grand Vizier replied : "Sire, I assure j hi that there is no ground for their comaint, and that among all not one would count to exchange her condition." "I am aware that my ministers are always | ady to deal in such phrases, whenever they e reproved, that the people and their interIs are neglected. But, I swear by Allah, I all have you strangled if you do not produce, ; the space of one month, one happy woman. 1 o you hear? but one single instance out of y whole kingdom. It is certainly a demand no great hardship. And now you may go peace, and I shall expect your return after e month. But, if you have not complied j th ray commands by that time, fear my ath." The Grand Vizier retired disheartened, as j u, my gentle readers, may well imagine, j e at once sought an interview with the {ires- j ent of the Bagdad police, from whom he j taiued poor comfort, who expressed a serious j ubt whether if one happy woman could be j and in Haroun al Raschid's entire king- j m?linv. in the whole world. Leaving i ru with u heavy heart, the Premier uuder- j jk the task himself, well knowing that his j ewas at stake. As a man of cute underlading he commenced his inquiries with the i iltana. Taken by surprise, she replied: I )o you expect me to be happy when the ' iliph scurcely devotes an hour to me, but j stead walks the streets all night in disguise, I lilstl must be filled with constant dread of: s meeting with some accident at any time? j d not think of it! The very poorest woman happier than I am." The Premier, cast down, left the palace, icn he met a maiden with blooming cheeks, rryinga water vessel on her head, and singer merrily as she went. He called to her, ying, "Art thou happy?" "I happy? i, no! I am as handsome as the Sultana, d should like to be in her place. I know I >uld please the Caliph as well, if he would it direct his attention toward me." Again defeated, he left, her, cogitating upon w adventures. Suddenly he thought of his . a wife, and asked her : "Are you happy ?" lappy!" she answered, "with such a man ; would, indeed, by a difficult understanding." TT ? ^ i J - ^ -i x l. ne naci aireauy turneu ms uuck. ujjuh u?, nl was about to try his fortune with some her ladies of Bagdad. When the farther i went the less hopeful he was. Whenever ! inquired, nothing but complaints; the same tal result. Admitted, that it was rather a euliar idea to ask the ladies whether they e happy. Would they tell the truth ? The rand Vizier thought so. In his place, I Duld have seriously questioned it. He went the market place, and there asked an hont woman, a vender of dates. In reply to | s query, whether she was happy, he said : Iappy ? I happy ? No, indeed ! I work ;>m morning early until evening late, and ureely make a living. I am obliged to rise rly and retire late to my rest, not having rncd enough frequently to pay for a scanty cal." Fool that I was, the minister concluded, at I should come here to look for happy topic, and quickly went to the house of a Lth Jewish banker. She certainly must be ippy, reflected the Vizier; she is comfortably mated, clad in the richest of apparel, decked ith the most costly jewelry and surrounded ' servants to do her bidding. She knows tilher care nor want. "Alas!" was the reply to the general qucs>n, turning her handsome dark eyes with nging toward Heaven, "Sir, I am the most ihappy of all women in Bagdad. My husmd loves naught but money and money matrs, leaving his wife to her own sadness. A r- 1:1......... _ t\ l.?. ?twJ <1,.,.^ IU I> iIKU 11II LU 11 J1U ? Ul , UUt t U live UliU iiwui- I ) when supported by the majestic palm tree; I it neglected and forsaken, as the wife is! thoul love, she is made to wither." "By the Prophet, one who loves her litis- I Hid with such ardor, certainly deserves to j ! happy. Where shall I find the desired i ?i) The sigh had hardly escaped his breast j lien, as if pursued, he ran in great haste to j e opposite part of the city, There dwelt a j mum who had been married but two months ;o. He exclaimed, "I have found her, I have und her," and entered the house with joy. "Hail to the happy woman," were his words j greeting, making a low bow to the young { fe, and waiting with anxiety for an an- J 'er. I "Happy, I happy ?" replied the young I ide, shrugging her shoulders. "Oh ! no, no j ngcr! My husband gives me not a mo-; cut's peace. He cannot bear to leave me i one for an instant. I know he loves me, but' i repeats the story too often, and if a pause | ics ensue, he thereupon expects me to begin, j e swears some thousand times a day that he 1 ves me, yea, he seals it with the most awful j tlis, and seems not to be satisfied until I join j th him in a like strain. At first, this little j line was quite pleasant, but now?" The ill-fated minister now began to despair, j e abandoned his search in the capital, and ' is now determined to try the country. But! spite of his zeal he there, too, did not sue-! ed?could not discover the precious pearl rnanded by the Caliph. Besides, the time lotted was nearly at an end,and he had but e village more to explore. When about tering it, he observed a peasant and his f'e in the field. The latter was crying aloud cause her husband had struck her. The izier separated them and said to the man, t is not right that we should render our ves' lives miserable." "I miserable ! I unhappy !" exclaimed the | )mati; "on the contrary, I am very happy." j "But did I not see your nusoanu sinae iu r "True, lie does strike me at times, but it i atters not; lie is able, also, to protect me itli a strong arm." j "Then you admit you know what it is to be ippy?" I ".Most certainly ; I am perfectly happy." ; The Grand Vizier now relieved of his heavy irden, exclaimed : "Finally, finally, I have < und one happy woman;" and he triumph-1 itly took her to Bagdad. Appearing with his conquest before the Cn-1 ill, the latter said : "Well, you have found : happy woman?" "Yes, indeed, sire." "Oh ! mighty Caliph," exclaimed the pens-! it's wife, at his feet, "have mercy upon me, I iserable?" "What is that!" the Grand Vizier became ightened, saying: "Did you not tell me that u were happy ?" "Yes, at home with my husband and chil- j en, from whom you have torn me away.' How is it possible that I should be happy at this place so far away from them ?" "lie at ease," Iiaroun al Raschid addressed his premier, with a milicious smile on his countenance, "I pardon you, for during your absence I have discovered a happy woman even here in Bagdad." Opening his eyes widely, the Vizier asked, "Here iu Bagdad ?" "Yes ; your own wife. I sent a page to ask her, in my name, whether she was happy." "And what did she answer?" "She answered: 'Of course I am happy, my husband being on a journey." DON'T FORGET THE OLD FOLKS. Let' me say a few words to children who have gone out from their old homes, but who have parents still. There is always a liability, when sons and daughters have gone away : from the home of their childhood, and have formed homes of their own, gradually to lose j sight of old attachments and cease to pay; those attentions to ther parents which were so easy and natural in the olden time, j New associations, new thoughts, new cares,; all come in, filling the mind and heart, and, ! if special pains be not taken they crowd out! the old loves. This ought never to be. You should remember that the change is with 1 you and not with those left behind. You i have everything new, everything that is at- j tractive at present and bright in the future; ? - . t l L I their hearts cling to tne past mey nave inusi i in memory. When you went away you know you knew uot, and never will know till you experience it, what it cost to give you up, nor what a vacancy you left behind. They have j not, if you have, any new loves to take the j place of the old. Do not, then, heartlessly deprive them of what you can still give of at- ' tention and love. Visit your parents. If you live in the same I place, let your step be, perhaps, daily, a famil- j iar one in the old home; if you are miles, yea, i many miles away make it your business to visit them. In this matter do not regard time nor expense ; the one is well spent and the other will be fully, yea, a hundred-fold repaid. When some day the word reaches you, Hashed over the telegraph, that father or mother has gone, you will not think them much, those hours of travel, which last bore JUU IU tllV/ll C1UW? Write to your parents. I have known father and mother wait with sick hearts through weary months, longing that some word might reach them from an absent son. They have watched the mails till in despair they have ceased to expect any more, and while they may not have the grief of a great bereavment, they have what is almost as bad, the bitter conciousuess that they are not in mind enough even to call out a few poor lines from one whose infancy and early years they watched with sleepless love. Sons are very often guilty of this crime?I cannot call it less?from sheer neglect or indolence. While an hour, perhaps a few mements, would suffice to write a letter which would give unspeakable statisfaction, they let months and even years slip away in utter indifference to all the pain they were causing. Oh, how full is a many a mother's heart of sorrow and foreboding, when just a few words from an absent son would fill it with joy and praise! Such indflbrence and neglect is shameful and wicked. One need not wonder that sons that are gulty of it are not prospered ; that they wait in vain for those turns of fortune which will send them home, as they dream, to surprise the old neighborhood with their wealth. Their thoughtlessness lias been productive only of disaster. ...^ Inlni.nnlli.ja tvifh fnlhpr or UJJ JflJIll Ull^iLUUlOU fT I bit ai?v..w. W. mother; do not deem it sufficient to write when something important is to be told ; do not say, "No news is good news." If it be but a few lines, write them j'write if it be only to say "I am wellif it be only to send a salutation that says they are "dear," or the farewell that tells you are "affectionate" still. The little messengers shall be like caskets of jewels, and the tears that fall fondly over them will be treasures for you. Say with a warm hearted son : "Tlio hills may tower, the waves may rise, And roll between my home and me; Yet shall my quenchless memories Turn with undying love to thee." In the passing of human life there frequently comes a time when mutual duties of child and parent are reversed. Advancing years bring childhood to one and the care of the childhood to the other. To the aged father and mother the days of labor are over; the work of life has been done. Now attentive kindness becomes the duty of those who once received it all themselves, while those are dependent upon it who once gave it all. Now the parent is the child, and the child is the parent. The watchfullness and care of many years is to be repeated over again ; only that tlm rover then is the receiver now. To a o* * ? true-hearted child here is a return of love which it is good to make. There is a deep satisfaction in being able to repay by words and looks the lavished love of by-gone times. How to Lkad a Cow.?The Ames, Iowa, Intelligencer has the following: Every woman will tell you that a man can be led easier by putting an arm around his neck than by pulling his hair; but we never knew until recently the reason you can't lead a cow behind a wagon is because she objects to having her horns pulled. The other day a red-shirtcd emigrant passed through hereon his way to Carroll county. His family and household possessions were in a covered wagon, to the hind end of which was fastened a cow. Behind her with a sharp stick, walked the emigrant, giving her a smart welt occasionally when she hung back. Every now and then she would brace herself and stop the team, and then in unelerical language he would beseech her to go on marking each forcible period j - * . i rni _ I with n prod of the sharp suck, ine poor; cow rolled her eves, and lolled her tongue, j The poor emigrant, too, was dusty and tired, j bnt his voice and stick didn't fail him. She , had suddenly halted the procession in front of the post office, and was shaking her head in reply to his earnest entreaties when a man called out to Red Shirt that he didn't understand cows worth a cent." "Well, what are you going to do about it?" asked Red Shirt. "Why, just take that rope off her horns,; and put it round her neck, and she'll lead as quiet as a lamb. If she don't I'll follow her a mile myself." The rope was changed to her neck, and the team started. The cow gave a look of sur-! prise and walked along. "Well, that boats 1 all," said Red Shirt, and without a word of i thanks he mounted his wagon. The proces- | siod moved slowly on toward Carroll county, 1 and the cow followed with countenance as! placid as if she were waking home at milking | time. The Largest Bee Hive in the Would, j In Jjos Angeios county, uitiuunua, uu niu eastern slope of the San Fernando range of mountains, and in the immediate vicinity of; the Learning Petroleum Company's oil region, there is the most wonderful collection of wild ' honey in existence. The hive is located in a rift which penetrates the rock to the depth of probably one hundrrcd and sixty feet. The orifice is thirty feet long and seventeen feet wide; with four passages. This rift was dis-1 covered to be tbe abiding place of a swarm of bees, that is seen to come out nearly a solid | column, one foot in diameter. Certain parties have endeavored to descend to the immense store of honey collected by the bees,! but were invariably driven back, and one l man lost his life in the effort. Others have,! at the expense of money, built a scaffold one ; hundred and twenty-five feet high, in hope of' reaching a place where they could run a drift1 into the rock and extract its well-hoarded j sweets, but finally ceased their work. With-: in four years the bees have added not l^ss' than fifteen feet of depth to their treasure, as ' ascertained by actual measurement, and it is j thought that at the present time there cannot j be less than eight or ten tons of honey in the rock. A gentleman by the name of B. Bro- j ; phy lives in a cabin not far from the spot, | and obtained from melting of the honey by i ; the sun's heat, more than enough for his fam- j , ily requirements. All through that region, | stores of wild honey are found in trees, in the rocks, in nearly every place where its indus- j trious manufacturers think (for they seem to j think) that it will be secure. They consume ! a very small portion, as the climate enables j them to keep up operations nearly every day ! 1 * - ? -1 rvf ftrtmrt OA??f O VCk a 1 _ j in ine year, una nuwexs ux iuiuc own. ???^ ?? . ways in bloom. It must be a severeseason iu-1 deed when the littlle fellows are not abroad j in vast numbers, busily engaged in their mellifluous work. i The Advantage of Advertising.?After the crash of'57, when everybody was almost scared to death and the croakers predicted that the country had goue to smash, a dry goods house was opened in this city, which proceeded on the principle that in order to j reach the hoarded money in the pockets of the people, the proprietors must sell at very reasonable prices and advertise very largely. They worked vigorously upon this principle. Their brother merchants who did not advertise predicted that the new comers would be ruined, as they paid too much for advertising. Nevertheless, they persisted. In a single day they paid five hundred dollars iu gold to the Daily Wisconsin for advertising, and at the end of seven years they retired from the business with a fortune of one hundred thousand dollars, while the other merchants on the same street, some of them opposite their store, had failed.?Milwaukee Wisconsin. The New York Post, in copying this paragraph, says: "We remember a similar instance among our own advertisers in the panic of 1857. A merchant continued his advertisemeat in our columns through the whole period of stagnation, and notwithstanding many predictions ?:? 1' t non 1 T-tio fnolimnrn7 flftpr I Lllilk 111 ITUUIUU 1/ JIIO Ivgumvuj ..... j ward was that his sales were steady and his : profits satisfactory, while many a merchant J around him who'couldn't afford to advertise,' saw his clerks stand idle behind the counter." A financial panic does not mean that no one has any mouey. There is plenty of money j in the country, and those who hoard it are 1 just the ones to be eager for the bargain which 1 a fall in the prices holds out. But to buy j they must know where to buy, and the raerj chant who tells them receives their cash. ? ? ! How Shepherd Dogs are Trained.? j Yon may go over the plains and hills of ; southern California for miles and see thouj sands of sheep, but not a man to watch them. ' Around each flock or band of, say, a thousand ; of sheep, are half a dozen dogs, of a peculiar | breed ; dogs whose progenitors were imported ; from the sheep pastures of the Old World, j These dogs take the entire care of the sheep, i drive them out to pasture in the morning, ' keep them from straying during the day, and | bring them home at uight. They have inheri ited a talent for keeping sheep; but the shepj herds do not depend wholly on that. They ! cultivate in this way, so at least the old shep| herds say : When a lamb is born it is taken : away from the mother sheep before she has ' seen it, and a puppy put in its place. The ! sheep suckles the puppy and learns to love it. When the puppy is old enough to eat meat, it is fed in the morning nud sent out with the sheep. It stays with them because it is accus; tomed to be with its mother but; it cannot ' feed with them. As they get full the dog I gets hungry. At length, impatient to return j where it hopes to get another piece of meat, it | begins to tease and worry its mother, and final Iy starts her toward home, the omer sneep 101Iow, and thus the whole flock is brought in. If i the dog brings the sheep home too soon, or ! comes without them, he gets no supper, or is I punished in some way. Hence he soon learns I when to come, and to see to it that none of his ' charge are left behind. These animals are I trained by taking advantage of their instincts i and appetites. ! Encourage you it Children*.?Encourage, ment works wonders with almost everybody, no matter what his occupation in life may be. A boy likes to be encuuraged ; so does a girl; ; a man likes it; also does a woman ; and even the old grandfather and grandmother have a relish for it. Some parents often make a mistake in not | giving their children credit when they do a , thing well; and some intentionally let a lesson ! that has been studied very hard, or a piece of I work that has been well done, by a boy \ or girl, pass by without the least notice. I This discourages a child and has a bad effect ' otherwise. Encouragment puts a new life in a child, I especially if it is bestowed by a parent. Yet I there are people, who, though anxious to have their children do well, are contiuually, and in ! a dispiriting way, telling them that they ! shouldn't do so, but that it is wrong, etc., J without ever having a little friendly talk with them, and giving them good advice, and encouraging them when they do right. Some parents also make a mistake in leavthc education of their children wholly to the j school, and pay their way, that they?theparents?are doing their part, and that their I chidren should do theirs. This may work very well with good boys, but with the careless, the thoughtless and the indifferent, it j does not work so well. Touching Bottom.?This event occcurred ! during a big blow on the Mississippi, at a i [ time when so many stray rafts were swamped, j and so many steamboats lost their sky-rig- j I ging. A raft was just emerging from Lake j Pepin as the squall came. In a moment the j 1 raft was pitching and writhing as if suddenly ! dropped into Charybidis. While the waves j I broke over it with tremendous uproar, and, j expecting instant destruction, one raftsman ( dropped on his knees and commenced praying ! with a vim equal to the emergency. Happening to open his eyes for an instant, he discov-1 ered his companion, not engaged in prayer, j but pushing at the side of the raft. "What's flint. vr>r doin.' Mike?" said he. "Get down 1 on yer knees now, for there isn't a minit be- j tween us and purgatory." "Be aisy, Pat," | said the other, as he coolly continued to punch i the water with his pole; "be aisy now. What's j the use of praying when a feller can tech hot-, torn with ajwle /" The Etiquette of Bowing.?The Home Journal says: This is so simple that one' would scarcely suppose it possible that differ-j ence of opinion could exist; and yet there are , some who think it a breach of politeness if one neglects to bow, although meeting half a dozen times on a promenade or in driving. ; Custom has made it necessary to bow only the > first time in passing; after that exchange of; salutations is very properly not expected, j The difference between a courteous aud a fa- j miliar bow should be remembered by gentlemen who wish to make a favorable impres- j sion. A lady dislikes to receive from a man,. with whom she has but a slight acquaintance, a bow accompanied by a broad smile, as j though he were on the most familiar terms I with her. It is iar Detier to urr uu mo uuit. side and give one of those stiff, ungracious bows which some men indulge in. Those gentlemen who smile with their eyes instead of their mouths give the most charming bows. As for men who bow charmingly at one time, and with excessive hauteur at others, according as they feel in good or bad humor, they need never be surprised if the person thus treated should cease speaking altogether. A man should always lift his hat to a lady. Faith in Prater.?A little girl, iu a wretched attic, whose sick mother had no bread, knelt down by the bedside and said, slowly: "Give us onr daily bread." Then she went into the street and began to wonder where God kept his bread. She turned round the corner and saw a large well filled baker's shop. "This," thought Nettie, "is the place ; so she entered confidently and said to the big baker, I've come for it." "Come for what ?," "My daily bread," she said, pointing to the tempting loaves. "I'll take two if you please ; one for mother and one for me," "All right!" said the baker putting them into a bag and giving them to his little customer, who started at once into the street. "Stop, you little rogue!" he said, roughly ; "where's your money ?" "I hadn't any," she said simply. "Hadn't any," he repeated angrily ; "you little thief what brought you here then?" The hard words frightened the little) girl, who bursting into tears, said: "Mother is sick and I am so hungry. In my prayers I said, 'Give us this day our daily bread,' and then I thought God meant to fetch it, and so I came." The rough but kind-hearted baker was softened by the child's simple tale, and he sent her back to her mother with a well-filled basket. ? The Mystery of Hard Times.?A Dayton, Ohio, journal endeavors to clear up this mystery a little by publishing some statistics that ought to be impressive. It shown that in that city of thirty-thousand inhabitants, there are five hundred and forty bar-rooms, which consume daily nine barrels of common whisky, four hundred kegs of lager beer, and as many of ale, to say nothing of the finer kinds of wines and liquors, which are used to a considerable extent. Besides the above, the local consumption of tobacco amounts to fifteen thousand cigars, two hundred pounds of smoking and one hundred ajid twenty pounds of chewing tobacco daily. The editor, alter a careful study of the figures, ciphers out that a bar-keeper, at ten cents a drink, gets 8300 for a barrel of whisky that costs forty. This does not mean hard times for him, certainly, whatever may be the case with those who give him the profit of $260 per barrel. The expenditure of Dayton for whisky, malt liquors aud tobacco, is more than five times what it lays out for bread. The figures of our foreign trade balances are not so important as these, to a great many people at least. The Power of Silence.?A good woman of Jersey was sadly annoyed by a scolding neighbor, who often visited her and provoked a quarrel. She at last sought the counsel of her pastor, who added common seuse to his other good qualities. He advised her to seat herself quietly in the chimuey corner the next time the woman called, take the tongs in her hands, look straight into the fire, and whenever a hard word came from her neighbor's lips, geutly snap the tongs without saying a word. A day or two afterwards the woman came again to her pastor, with a bright and laughing face, to communicate the effects of this new antidote for scolding. Her neighbor had visited her. and as usual, commenced the trade. Snap went the tongs. Another volley?snap. Another still?snap. "Why don't you speak?" said the women, more enraged. Snap. "Speak." Snap." "Do speak; I shall burst if you don't." Snap, snap. And away she went, cured for the time, by her neighbor's silence.?Methodist. Hard to Tell.?Not long ago a nervous lady took passage at the Tip-Top House, to descend by the almost perpendicular railroad, i Her fears were apparent to every one, and the j following unique dialogue took place between ; her and the conductor: | Lady?"Mr. Conductor, how do you hold i these cars when you want to make a stop ?" Conductor?"Madam, we apply the brake, which you see there." Lady?"Suppose, Mr. Conductor, that j brake should give way, what do you do then ?" I Conductor?"Madam, we then apply the double acting brake, which you see at the j other end of the cars." Lady?"But, Mr. Conductor, suppose that j brake should not be sufficient to check the i cars, where will we go to then ?" | Conductor?"Madam, I can't decide. That I depends entirely upon how you have lived in ; this world." ? j A Cheerful Home.?Of all the blessiugs ! enjoyed by human beings, there is none better | or more desirable thau a cheerful, happy home. It is, therefore, the first duty of every one to endeavor to promote the most amicable relations in the home circle. A single bitter word may disquiet an entire family for a whole I day. One surly glance casts a gloom over the household ; while a smile, like a gleam of sunshine, may light up the darkest and weariest hours. Like unexpected flowers which spring up along our path, full of freshness, fragrance, and beauty, so the kind words and geutleacts, and sweet dispositions, make glad the home where peace and amity dwell. No matter how humble the abode, if it be thus garnished with goodness, and sweetened with kindness and smiles, the heart will turn longingly toward it from all the tumults of the world; and home, though it be ever so homely, will be the dearest spot beneath the circuit of the sun. ? The Newspapers.?Considering the cheapness of newspapers, it is almost unaccountable that they are not to be found in every household in which there is even the plainest education. They are widely circulated, it is true, among people of almost all classes and conditions in life; but the wonder is that there should be a family, or a man of business of any sort, a farmer, a mechanic, a merchant, or anybody, in fact, either in the cities and towns or in the country, who does not subscribe to a newspaper. The public journal that is sent out to the world every day, is a regular diary of the doings of the world. It is a narrative of the times ; a chapter in the passing history of the age. It gives the latest news from all accessible quarters of the globe. It tells of evervthinc everywhere. And it ~ - - -- - ?J ?-?o - * ?w costs less than a cigar or a julep. And yet there are fathers of families who do not take a newspaper. I; is strange, passing strange. .? The Presbyterians are sometimes called "blue." "The epithet," observes a religious exchange, "arose in this way : The distinct dress of a Scotch Presbyterian clergy was a blue gown and a broad blue bonnet. The Episcopalian clergy, on the other hand, either wore no distinctive dress in public services, or else wore a black gown. From this arose the contrasting epithets of "Black Prelacy" and "True Blue Presbyterianism." So says Dan Stanley in his lectures on the history of the Church of Scotland." B&T An ignorant old lady was asked by a minister visiting her if she had religion. She replied: "I have slight touches of it occasionally."