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lewis m. grist, Proprietor. | $nbtjjmbcnt Jfamilg |tepptr: Jar fjtt |jrcmatian af t|e political, Serial, Agricultural anb Cemmerrial Interests af % Jientf;. |TERMS?$3.00 A TEAR, IN ADVANCE. VOL. 20. YORKYILLE, S. C., THURSDAY, OCTOBER 22, 1874. NO. 43. jfcterteil foetrg. I'VE BEEN THINKING. I've been thinking, I've been thinking, What a glorious world were this, Did folks mind their business more, And mind their neighbors less! For instance you and I my friend, Are sadly prone to talk Of matters that concern us not, ^ And other's follies mock. I've been thinking, if we'd begin To mind our own affairs. That possibly our neighbors might Contrive to manage theirs. We have faults enough at home to mendIt may be so with others; It would seem strange if it were not, ^ Since all mankind are brothers. Oh! would that we had charity For every man and woman ; Forgiveness is the mark of those IVKA^fn nrr iu hnmon " I Then let us banish jealousy? Let's lift our fallen brother; And as we journey down life's road, Do good to one another. ?he ^torg Seller. HOW I GOT MARRIED. "The fact is, Gus," said my friend Vandewater, in reply to some confidential bewailing on my part, "you're neglecting to invest a splendid capital. If I had a presence like Wt yours, I'd take advantage of it to do away with the want of money at once and forever. I'd marry money, and enough of it to make the future plain sailing. Do you suppose nature gave you these advantages to let them rust in idleness ? Don't hide your gifts in a napkin, my boy ; make use of them while you may; strike while the iron's hot?in other words, marry money while you are young and handsome and attractive!" I blushed with some kind of a feeling, a mivtMra nf nffonrlod nridp and fl.hftfied con UUAVU1 V VI VUV1IUVU |/? ?*?w mm mm-mm ? ? sciousness that a sneaking idea of that kind had already entered iny head, of a desire to take advantage of it, and an ignorance of how to go about it. But Van helped rae out. "There's my cousin Gertrude," he said, "she isn't a bad looking woman. She's highbred, you know, and all that sort of thing? high-nosed too, for all that matter, but not a bad looking woman. Nothing would do for rher but a tip-top appearance, majesty of form, grace of demeanor, plenty of style, and all that. I'm afraid she'll be taken in some time with the outside gilding, and marry some of these chaps who are always prowling around women with money." I looked at Van and burst out laughing. "Well, but you are a gentleman, Fithian. Hang it! if a man's a gentleman, he can afford to do anythiug. I happen to know that she looks upon you with decided favor, and I don't mind confessing I'd like the arrangement myself. You see, it's a great deal for me to feel that I can trust Gertrude's happiness in your hands." I knew what Van meant. He was working hard for a perennial fountain, as a resource on desperate occasions. But the best advice isn't always free from selfishness; perhaps a . 1 V 1 1 _ /I goodly quantity or tnis moaicum ienas navor and strength to the persuasion, as it certainly involves earnestness and sincerity. , Long after he went away that night I [ thought of the project, and by dint of severe ^ necessity and weighty prejudices, persuaded myself that the sweet outflavored the bitter; and perhaps it was the best, if not the only way, out of my present difficulties. Resolving on immediate action, I went to work on the following morning with an ardor worthy of a better cause. My first visit, of course, was to ray tailor. I was indebted to this worthy tradesman for the biggest part of the grace and elegance so pathetically referred to by Vandewater, and was perfectly well aware that without his aid aud art the fine castles reared during the preceding night would tumble ingloriously about my ears. I already owed him a large sum of money, the very immensity of which gave me courage to ask for more. If he had been induced, I argued, to advance so much capital with scarcely a chance of interest alone, how much easier it would be to secure more when I was fullv determined upon improving the 1 I i l_ ! -1 i J L: If* lucay elements wiiiuii uaiureauu uimseii uau , > _ thrown in ray way ? I found him in rather a gloomy humor, and his remarks were very depressing. r"The fact is," he said, "I'm tired of it. There's got to be a stop somewhere, Mr. Fithian. Me and my family is coming to ruin if this goes on much longer. It's riot at home and it's riot abroad, and flesh and blood can't j stand it. We've got to take a back seat, me i and my family, while folks that we dress from ; ^ the skin out look down on us, and shove us j further to the wall. If they see lis at the opera j or church they're blinder than bats, and walk ; , right over us ; but, mercy! how clever they! [ are when they come to the store !" I gathered from these remarks that my worthy patron had ventured into society lateii - ly, and had naturally come to grief. "When you get tired of beating about the bush, Bigby," I said, "I'll be glad to know what's amiss. If it's the old thing about the money I can't help you, though I have a cap ital chance of getting out of trouble if you'll hold on a while; but it" it's anything else, I'll ^ do my best to explaiu it." "It's that there charity concert, then," he said, indignantly. "Me and my wife and daughter we went there the other night, and Hattieshe was monstrous taken with a young gentleman a few seats ahead of us. I don't deny he always does honor to the clothes he "" wears, and never did I see a finer fit than that there purple-black of yours?but my! I j couldn't catch his eye, though I told Hattie I knew him well; he looked every where, from the stage to the moon, but I couldn't catch his eye. It's a small matter to be civil, sir, when it's cheap aud wholesome?it wouldn't 'a done a bit of harm to have given a friendly nod or so, and it'd 'a pleased HatLtie most wonderful." "Why, heavens and earth, Bigby! I declare to you I didn't see you, upon my honor! I never caught a glimpse of you?I'd have been glad to recognize you, of course!" "Fine words don't butter no parsnips," said the sulky merchant. "I don't care a button for it myself, but it'd 'a been a feather in LHattie's cap!" "Well, come now, Bigby," I oor.:inued, somewhat touched by this paternn: Election, j "the uext time you go out, let mu know, and 1 I'll be on the qui vive. I declare I'll do the fair thing by you and your family?but to the ; business in hand." Then I plunged into an ambiguous account of a project I had for helping both him and 3 myself; referred lightly to my exalted family and the immense influence my position in society to lent to our scheme. I soon succeeded 4 in winning him over to an unlimited credit for knightly armor iu the coming contest. | "I don't deny," said the large-hearted knight I of the shears, "I'm proud of you. There ain't a thing you put on but gains by it somehow ! r or other. I made up a bit of that there French gray for Moffat, and he just degrades it; that's j what he does! There ain't no more style about him than there is in an elephant; but I'll wager anything you'll look like a prince in it. I'll make a single-breasted cut-away of it, and we'll just try it; that's what we'll do!" ^ Bigby grew happy, almost exultant, while ^ he was measuring me. "What an honor it is." he said, "to have such a figure as yours! Never an inch chauge, more or less?it might be set up for a model!" These preliminaries arranged, it was comparatively easy to go on. I had convenient access to the circle which Miss Vandewater adorned, and was always heartily welcomed by its seclusive and somewhat unattractive adherents. I became sorely surfeited by high teas, high churches, high noses and high prices. After enduring this altitude for a considerable length of time, I suffered?as all travelers do when they get out of their natural orbit?I found it hard to draw breath, and became dizzy and decidedly exhausted. I began to long for a change; I yearned for an opportunity of leaving these dry and airy heights for the Arcadian simplicity of the green and fertile valley. This opportunity presented itself at the hands of my worthy patron, Bigby. He became terrified to find that I was fast losing flesh, and looked with vivid apprehension to the imminent danger of a npepjwitv for Daddiner. ? j 4J "Once commence that, Mr. Fithian, and who knows where it'll stop ? There's them that wears bales of it, and it must be most awful in hot weather. Then you see, again, it plays the very deuce with light materials. It won't do, Mr. Fithian ; you'll have to tone up." "But how to do it, Bigby, that's the question. I'm afraid I'm booked for a declivity." "Not a bit of it. Just you try something. See here ! would you mind doing me a favor ? It's a big thing to ask of you, Mr. Fithian. I know it's a little out of your line, but you'd oblige me." "If it's anything that lies in my power," I replied warmly, "I'll be glad to do it. Heaven knows you have been generous enough with me. "Well, it'sjust to run out some evening to ray place to dinner. I've got a light wine there that's the best tonic in the world. You might see how you liked it, and if you could stand it, I'd send you a dozen bottles or so. Will you come Mr. Fithian ? I'll take it kindly if you would." "Why of course I will, Bigby, and right gladly too, I assure you. When shall it be ?" "Any time; the sooner the better. The train leaves at five." I heaved a long sigh. I was sorely tempted to close in with the offer in spite of an engagement of an eleemosynary character with Gertrude. But I declined. "No, Bigby," I renlied. faintlv. "not to-nieht. thank vou ; but to-morrow I'll come out to your place, and we'll try that light wine of yours." I was glad afterward I resisted the temptation, for there was a cold glitter in Miss Vandewater's stony eyes and a compression about her thin lips that forbade trifling of any kind. "An exalted and unselfish character, Augustus," said Miss Vandewater?and you can see by her calling me by my first name how intimate we were?"has its first interestin benefitting the human race. To see these dear young faces beaming with delight, to behold these youthful forms clothed with comfort and warmth, and be aware that ray hand plied the needle in their behalf, is happiness enough for me." It was pleasant to hear that somebody had enough of happiness, for I never saw a moie miserable and dejected group than that composed of the children attached to the St. John's Mission and their patrons. I, myself, felt that I couldn't get lower in the scale of felicity, although a cadaverous looking gentleman had for forty minutes, by my watch, held forth upon the awful miseries that awaited us all in eternity. When he had concluded, and Miss Vandewater's severe phaeton drew up to the little iron door of the school, when we were securely fastened in this grim and heavy vehicle, and impelled slowly in the direction of a melancholy Lenten meal at the house of the heiress, I felt that my career was finished, that no light wine, however brilliant its qualities, could save me from eternal paddiug and eternal woe. Buffeting with a fierce and bitter wind on my way home that night, reaching my rooms to find there no fire, and a vulgar perseverance on the part of my landlady for money, I plunged beneath the bed-clothes with the firm conviction that nothing, however terrible in the future, could equal the miseries of the preseut, and that the sooner life was over in this mundane sphere (as Gertrude was fond of calling to me, once jolly world) the better for Augustus Fithian, Esq. I concluded not to go out to Bigby's, not to try any light wine, but to let a vile and vindictive fate do its worst in my behalf. But I awoke to a bland spring morning; April hadstolen in upon March, and brought with her balmy air, sunny skies, and the songs of a few dissipated blue-birds that had preferred the city to the suburbs. There was something exhilarating in this suddeu warmth and brightness that melted the soul of my longenduring aud justly-exasperated landlady. ti ?n.. r??_ X lie luuiiiiis wcic a^Luaiij uwt, i/iiu tunw n? grunt and mellow, the beefsteak rich and succulent. I carefully avoided Gertrude and the St. John's that day, nursed the faint ray of hope and joy that had sprung up in my despondent breast, and reached the five o'clock train for Bigby's with something of my old appreciation of life. Just as we were about starting, and I lingered on the platform to finish ray cigar, I was positively startled by a vision of loveliness, in the shape of a school-girl, making frantic efforts to catch up her skirts and bundles and run for the train. She was within a few feet of me when the whistle sounded, and puff went the engine. A look of absolute despair shadowed all her young beauty. She stretched forth her hands with a gesture of entreaty, and her blue eyes filled with vexatious tears. I was immediately opposite her, and, flinging away ray cigar, 1 held forth to her a helping hand. She leaped trustfully forward, was caught in my arms and landed safely on the platform. "Now that you are safe," I said, "I am shocked at the risk you ran. Never do that again, I beg of you; it might have cost you your life." "Oh ! don't regret it," she said ; "I am so glad. There is no train after this one till late at night, and papa would be so frightened." As she spoke she looked up in ray face with i the most innocent smile in the world. I had ! procured her a seat near the rayless stove ; and if the weather had been wiutry, the 1 warmth of that smile would have heated the i stove?would have radiated the car. All ! heaven was in her eyes, they were so bright aud blue ; there shone in them so much of feeling, of candor; a vivid color flamed in her cheeks, glowed on her lips. She was like a scarlet cloak in a wintry landscape, and rested the eye that looked upon her. I made an efTort to engage her in conversation, but in her slight aud cold reply I saw an insurmountable objection to chance acquainces. She spoke no more, nor smiled, save at some happy f'aney of her own ; but tapped nervously on the window pane, and watched eagerly the vanishing landscape. As I looked at her I fancied what that home must be to which her desires and fancies flew, and sighed to think how far above my reach were these domestic joys that clung to this fair young creature Detore me. "aii i" tnougnt i, "ir sne were oply Gertrude, how delightful would be the path through duty to pleasure." While all these thoughts ran rapidly through my head the train also hastened on, and presently stopped at the statiou which Bigby had told me was a short ride from his house. To my immense delight the fair young stranger gathered up her bundles, and went before me to the door. I leaped from the oar, ! held out ray hands to her, but she threw her-1 j self into a pair of sturdier arms than raiue; j ' and, looking in the face of this intruder, I J found it the honest beaming countenance of [ ! Bigby himself, my magnanimous tailor. He lifted her from the ground in his close | caress; then looked over at me with the hap- j , piest, the fondest, the most exalted satisfaction I ever saw in any one in my life. Oh ! the delicious sensation of finding myself close by her side in the comfortable little j carry-all! The evening sky was rosy red, all i the wayside hedges were budding afresh in the glad new Spring, multitudes of birds swung j and swayed in the dry stems of the trees, and I daisies, white and red, studded the wide green J pastures. Whether it was really that light wine of j Bigby's, the capital mechanism of Bigby's i chef de cuisine, the combination of happy j faces and light hearts, a bunch of violets in a j Veuitian vase, the delicious coffee, that come! ly Mrs. Bigby dispensed after the meal? | whether it was each or all of these, the dinner i was perfect. We spent the night in mild but I Ji'aninflfiAn Wfi ft 11 t.f 1P j paruuioiavai uj^ipanuu. ?v v uuu ? I music ; some of Hattie's Italian to please her ! mother, a few ballads for her father, and anyj thing and everything for me. Then I talked to Bigby, or rather he talked to me, of rural life and its surroundings?his lots and lands, shrubberies and young orI chards, and I secretly grew glad to think that in some quarter, however problematical it : seemed to me, he must reap the honest reward of his labors. With a little more light wine, and lighter biscuits, made by the pudgy, dimpled hands of handsome Mrs. Bigby herself, the evening ended. As I went down with my worthy host in the morning, I promised him I would visit him often. And I vowed in my heart it should be very often. A tailor, and the daughter of a tailor! Yes, even so ; what mattered it? She might have been the offspring of a prince, and at all events it was the first oasis in my desert of a life, and I needed to lie down in the shadow of a rock for rest. So commenced for me a dual existence. I paired off pretty equally?went out to Bigby's by day, and to Gertrude's by night. I began to look upon Hattie as ray sister, and Gertrude as my betrothed, and made all my arrangements to suit these affinities. I admired Hattie, I confided in her, and informed her of the snares and deceits that lay in wait for her in that world upon the threshold of which she stood wondering and charmed. Whereas with Gertrude I strove to iufuse in ray manner that tender solicitude that betokened the lover. I, perhaps, was not so successful in this latter role as the former ; but let any one undertake this dual existence, and he'll find out how difficult it is to keep the tv/o characters from infringing upon and mingling with each other. Mr. Cavendish was one of the agents the gods chose for my discomfiture. The man was detestable to me. I abhorred his longdrawn sighs and penitential sniffle. It had become a positive bore to find him so often with Gertrude, bending upon her a similar regard to that with which a wily boa-constrictor envelopes his prey. He had persuaded her that her knowledge of crayons would be of use in drawing the plans for the new chapel, and he remained many hours with her, their heads almost touching, their hands in close proximity over these wretched drawings. I decided when we were married I would try to convince Gertrude that her forte lay not in ' architecture. But I was not prepared to say that I cared to have the nuptials hastened?in fact, the subject was distasteful to me. Bigby had maintained a commendable reticence with regard to my private affairs, and it was only in thp hnaom nf his delightful fa mil v that I could ?'ww~? D y # | forget my cares and the unhappy future in store for me. As Gertrude was desirous to have the foundation of the new chapel laid before we were married, and numerous parish duties weighed heavily upon her, I was delicate about intruding upon her valuable time. But the Bigbys were always at leisure ; of course Bigby himself was engaged the greater part of the day down town, and Mrs. Bigby wa9 busy superintending her household ; but Hattie had plenty of time to spare, and was too young to go into society. I had told Bigi by that the closer he adhered to liis own private family the better it would be for a girl so young and impulsive as Hattie. So I was a little annoyed when "he told me he thought of taking his wife and daughter to another of "them there charity concerts." "You do very wrong, Bigby," I said, reprovingly. "Hattie will be sure to attract idle attention, and I think you'll regret it." "Pooh, pooh ! Mr. Fithian,"said the good | natured father; "we can't keep her in a glass case, you know." "Would to Heaven we could !" I groaned, and went in search of her. I found her wild to go. We were in the summer-house, and those little octagon-shaped boxes force people into close proximity. She had never been so beautiful. In her white dress, with a tear in each of her soft blue eyes, she was the embodiment of womanly loveliness. "Please let me go !" she said, with her white hands clasped eutreatingly. I moved toward her, impelled by a strange raaguetism. I was dazzled, confused, bewildered. "Why do you ask we.'" I stammered. "Is mv consent necessarv to vour haDniuess?" "Yes, yes," she murmured ; "I could not enjoy it otherwise !" She stopped aud drew a long breath. I felt it on my cheek, and a sweet rapturous conjecture was suddenly conceived in ray heart. I sank back, overwhelmed with the conviction that I loved her with a mad, ungovernable ardor. A dim sense of disaster spoiled the dawning of ray first passion. She looked at me with a sudden fear. "I have wounded you," she whispered. "Now that is enough. I will not go !" "You will!" I cried ; "You shall! But with me, Hattie. I love you, child !" Then I took her in my arms and kissed her, and went rapidly out of the summer-house. But before I went home it was arrauged that she should go with me to the concert, poor old I ! Bigby giving a wondering but bland consent, j I I determined, upon reaching my lodgings,,1 to send a little note to Gertrude, stating my j inability to be with her on the night of the j i festivity, but found upon ray table a note from j her. I opened it with languid interest; but j , upon reading the first few lines I threw it1 I J_ J 11._J 11 _ uuwu uuu waiaeu mauiy across uie room. , j Her note contained a request that I would at- i ! tend her to a concert given for the benefit of' the St. John's Chapel. It would be imme- j diately uuder the auspices of the Reverend j . Cavendish, she added ; and that I must be ; aware of its charitable intent and purposes when she mentioned this name to me. This concert was the very one for which Bigby had procured tickets, and to which I had pledged to take Hattie. I sank into a chair and supported a dazed j and bewildered brain with my trembling j hands. Whatever was to be done must be doue quickly, as the night of the concert was close at hand and it was certainly out of the question that I could go with either party. With a sort of consoinusuess that the task I was about to perform 'was neither an easy nor a delightful oue, I seized a pen and wrote thus to Hattie: My Dkak Little Hattie.?In spite of all our hopes and plans, I ain't take you to the concert. A big goblin lias stepped in and upset everj'thing. I can't tell you how inconsolable lam. Go with your papa and mamma; but look straight on the I stage and don't, with your rare loveliness, attract j vulgar attention. Yours jealously, Augustus Fithian. j Then, with a heavy sigh, putting aside this | little missive, I wrote thus to Gertrude: My Dear Gertrude.?I find it quite impossi- j ble to go with you on Thursday evening. An un- | pleasant but imperative obstacle forbids. Yours' always, Augustus Fithian. Night wa9 already upon me when I had j finished writing. Hurrying the two notes | into envelopes, directing them with scrawling i precipitation, and giving them into the landlady's hands to post, I threw myself on my bed without lighting ray lamp. I lay hour after hour tossing, thinking, wondering. One ? 1 - -t J A_ I thing was .certain, my nonor was pieageu io Gertrude, but my love to Hattie, and there was more of love than honor about me just then. I turned coldly from a severe appeal on behalf of expediency and Gertrude, and plunged headlong into a delicious reverie of love and Hattie. Not a wink of sleep did I get till the morning sun streamed coldly aud accusingly through my window; then in sheer fatigue, I fell into a profound slumber and never awoke till noon. Accompanying a late mututinal meal, there j came what seemed a voluminous post. There were letters and letters! I opened a prodigious envelope directed in Gertrude's severe Italian hand. There fell to the floor my missive of the night before. What did it mean ? I opened and read her explanatory note: Mb. Fitiiian.?I return you the letter to your friend Hattie, which you misdirected last evening. I hope you will keep the engagement that I unconsciously interrupted, and will be able to protect her rare loveliness from the vulgar attention you so much deplore. Respectfully, Gertrude Vandewater. After recovering from this thunderbolt of justice, I took Hattie's little note, which contained these few but terrible lines : Dear Mr. Fithian.?I understand now why you were unwilling I should go to the concert. As I must not be an unpleasant and imperative obstacle to you, I shall never see you again. Hattie Bigby. I took up ray hat and went out without knowing exactly why, and found myself presently at Gertrude's house. The blinds were partially closed ; but under the curtain I saw the clumsy shoes of the Reverend Cavendish almost touching the slippers of Gertrude, and all four feet were under the table laden with architectural drawings. A sudden impulse of rage seized me; I ran up the steps and pulled loudly at the bell. The servant only half-opened the door. "Miss Vandewater is not at home," he said. I handed him my card and beckoned him to take it within. Something in my face made him obey. He went in with it, but came out again, almost immediately, with the card in his hand. "Miss Vandewater is not at home," he repeated in that dry, hollow voice peculiar to the Vandewater household. I plunged madly down the steps and made my way homeward. My landlady called to me as I was going up the stairs that somebody was waiting in ray room for me. "He would insist upon going up and waiting for you," she said. "You see, sir, people must be seen sometimes." She thought it was a dun, and so did I. I was prepared to throw an importuuace creditor over the balusters, and went boldly into the room.. In an arm-chair near the fire sat Bigby! "I've come to talk to you," he said. "First of all, Bigby," I exclaimed, "You must understand that I love your daughter Hattie." Bigby almost fell out of his chair. He atnroH nt mo nnen-mouther). I Saw from his U??vuWW .uvvr? " face he was in complete ignorance of everything ; but I went on, nevertheless: "I love her to distraction. I never loved any woman before, and I never will again. I want you to tell her so, Bigby, for of course I shan't see her." "I won't do nothing of the kind," said Bigby. "What do you mean by saying you love one woman, when you're going to marry another?" "I'll never marry Miss Vandewater, Bigby. That's all broken otf." Bigby fell back in his chair. "Broken oflf!" he gasped, "when I've had my men working night and day on them clothes of yours!" "I can't help that, Bigby. I know I'm a ruined man as far as those things are concerned ; but it's out of the question. I wouldn't marry her if I could and couldn't if I would." Then I told liira everything. "Them there clothes of your'll be all out of fashion," he said mournfully, when I had concluded. "I won't need them Bigby. I'm goiog out to the mines." Bigby gazed musingly in the fire, Once or twice he turned and looked at me. "If a woman is good enough to love she's good enough to marry, aiu't she, Mr. Fithlan ?" said he, at length. "Unquestionably, Bigby." "And you love my Hattie, you say ?" "I adore her, Bigby ; I?" "And you think she is fond of you ?" broke in the old gentleman. "I?I hope so. I earnestly believe she is." "And if I gave her to you, Mr. Fithian? and you know how much store we set by her? and if my wife and me never would lay a straw in your path, and would keep from troubling you all we could, would?would you give me your honor as a gentleman} Mr. Fithian?as & gentleman, mind?you'd doyour best to make Hattie happy ?" You see Bigby's idea of a gentleman was something of an antithesis. I took his shaking hands in mine. I said? But what does it matter what I said ? I had alwavs been fond of Bigby. I respected him now more than any one I knew; Mrs. Bigby I was the handsomest woman for her age I ever > saw ; and as for Hattie?you all know how I j felt about Hattie. Some weeks after I met Vandewater. He ! shook hands with me reproachfully. "I douldu't help it, Van," I said. "I decided to marry for iove." "Hem !" said Van, with a cynical smile? "let me see. I think old Bigby must be worth in the neighborhood of half a million i of dollars." A Dutiful Son.?There is now a days a good deal of complaint about the want of obedience to parental authority on the part of the rising generation, especially on the part of the boys. We heard of a case the other day which proves that there are noble exceptions to the average "boy of the period." A young son of one of the principal examiners in the Patent office at Washington went to pass his school vacation at an uncle's in Kentucky,: near the Ohio river. There was but one restriction on the scope of the boy's amusement. Horses, dogs, rifles, shot-guns, etc., etc., were freely allowed as companions of his amusements; but as his cousins were as fond of the water as so many ducks, he was requested to shun the boat which his cousins were wont to use in their aquatic excursions. He promised j faithfully, like the dutituJ son tie is, and de-, parted rejoicing. A recent letter to his father graphically describes various excursions and the "good times" he has enjoyed, among the very last one in which the cousins had desired to visit the Ohio shore. "They went over in the boat," writes the boy, "but I remembered your wishes in that respect, and so swam the river." The restriction was removed. It is stated that the yellow fever has never appeared in any climate at an elevation of over twenty-five hundred feet above the sea. fading-1 APPEARANCES ARE DECEITFUL. The following story was told to me by a j relative of the chief actor, and for what I ! know it may have been in print. If it has,! it will bear telling again : Shortly after the close of our last war with England, silver money was scarce. A merchant on Long Wharf in Boston, advertised for Spanish milled dollars, which were at that time an almost universal currency, and without which no ship would think of putting to sea. One day a man, clad in a rough farming garb, hauled up before the merchant's door with a yoke of oxen and a cart. He said he was from Roxbury, and had come in after a load of manure. "Didn't you advertise for silver dollars ?" he asked the merchant. "For Spanish milled dollars." "Exactly. Do you want any ?" "Yes. Have you got any ?" "I haven't got any with me," replied the farmer, "but I guess I've got a few of them at home. What do you give for 'em ?" "The regular premium is four per ceut," said the merchant, "but I wouldn't mind paying you a cent or two more for what you have." "Say, how much ?" "Well?say, six per cent." The farmer scratched his head, and finally said? "I don't know but that's fair. And now s'pose you just put it down in writing, and put in the number of your place, for I might be puzzled to find the store again, and you might not be in when I called." "All right," responded the merchant, taking his pen. "What is your name?" "Edward Summer." The merchant then wrote upon a piece of paper to the effect that he would pay to Edward Summer, of Roxbury, six per cent, premium on each and every Spanish milled dollar he should deliver within one week from that date. The farmer took the paper, and having looked it over, he said, as he folded it clumsily up? "When I get home I'll look over my silver money, and if I find any of them kind of dollars, I'll bring 'em in to-morrow forenoon." rri"> v./n.nVionf ,1100 nnt af oil onvirmQ 111C UJCXl/liaUb nua UVV uu Mil ing the extra premium he had agreed to pay, as the appearance of the man did not indicate that his dollars would be plenty. Early on the following day, however, the aspect of affairs changed. A loud?"Haw, Buck! h'b Bright! Whoa-wp !" announced that the man from Roxbury had arrived with his cart and oxen, and he brought into the store bag after bag of fair, bright Spanish milled dollars, until he had deposited over four hundred weight of the precious metal, amounting to just seven thousand dollars. The merchant was thunderstruck and perplexed, but he was honorably bound, and without objection drew his check for the amount with the six per cent, premium added, remarking as he passed it over? "I must acknowledge, sir, that I have been slightly taken in. I did not suppose from your appearance that you could leave me more than five and twenty dollars at the outside." Mr. Sumner replied, as he placed the check in his pocket-book? "Hu/loor air T'll rAnpflt, tn von a truth /'*J MVt*# U4t? ? "!' ? ./ ? ? - ? which you must have heard before, and which a man in your position ought to remember. Appearances oftentimes deceive -us. Don't trust them too far." WHAT WILL YOU LEAVE BEHIND? j Talking with an old farmer once, he said : "When I die, I am going to leave behind me, as a heritage for my children, the home where they were born, made as beautiful as my I means and uneducated taste will allow; pleasant memories of the home fireside and of the sunny summer days, and a true regard for the dignity and worthiness of the calling which their father followed." The old man was so full of emotion when he talked in this wise, that he had to use his handkerchief to prevent the tears telling their tale of manly sensitiveness. His boys were widely scattered, having a varied experience in life; but there was not one of them who did not honor the old farmer, they called (and reverently, too) "Father ;" nor one of them who was not glad to visit the old homestead on^e a year. Now,, we repeat the question, "What will you leave behind ?" Money? It will do your children little good, comparatively. Money is easily obtained. But homes are scarce. The association which the men of the world value most are the associations with their early homes. No man, 110 matter what his position, circumstances or relations in life, who has had a happy and pleasant home in his youth, fails to remember, love and long for it. It is the haven he seeks, one toward which his heart goes out whenever he is in trouble; it is the shrine to which he makes pilgrimage whenever he has means and opportunity; it is the one spot on earth upon which he is willing to lavish the wealth he may have acquired, and where he desires to die and be buried. What will you leave behind, good friend of the farm? Shall the homestead be your monument? Shall the children return thither as the pilgrim seeks the shrine of a saiut? Shall each tree tell its story of your taste and good sense?revive in the minds of your children the time and circumstances of the planting? Shall it symbolize by its growth, and extended and extending branches, the growth of your children's affections for you, and the influence your example and precepts are exerting through them ? Shall each stoue in the wall, addition to the barn, the house, outbuildings, improvements, orchard, garden and field, speak to them of the love you once bore them, of the labor you once performed that they might be fed, clothed and educated? Shall each blade of grass lift itself up toward heaven and testify to your providence and care? Shall each apple-blossom in the orchard shed its perfume in memory of the man who planted the seed from which they sprang, or the tree on which they bloom and laugh in the sweet May air? Will money compensate your children for the loss of such a heritage? No, sir ! emphatically, No ! Let us try to leave behind us something that shall soften the hearts of men and women when they remember us?be they our children or not; but especially let us who have homes, who are blessed with a title to a portion of God's green earth, see that it is rendered so beautiful in the eyes of our offspring that their lionrta mill nlurnvQ flnrl onnlinrflap thprA whpn ? "~J" b~ ever the longings of loneliness come over thera ; whenever the rough elbows of an unfeeling world jostle thein out of humor with it. Let the coming Spring witness some effort to leave the old farm better and more beautiful in the Autumn. Let the boys and girls feel that we have left something behind that money cannot puichase, and for which it can be no substitute. Remington, tiieGun-Maker.?Over fifty j years ago, a youth, working on a farm, asked i his father to give him money enough to buy a < gun. The old man could not spare it, but the j boy, nothing daunted, found an old piece of iron about the place, and in the course of i time contrived to make a gun-barrel out of it, with the very meagre facilities afforded by a country blacksmith's shop. He had not the ! materials to make a lock and stock, so he | walked to the nearest town and traded for the 1 necessary attachments, and was encouraged 1 by the smith for having made so good a shoot- < er; this gave him the ambition to make an- ] other, so went to catting oat grindstones from the native rock, to raise the money for gun i materials; in a short time there was consid- < eiable demand for guns of his make. During < the French war with Prussia, he was called I upon to furnish guns for the army, and in less < than eight months he made and delivered to I the government of France, rifles of a partic- I ular pattern, costing five millions of dollars, < which amount was duly paid. The same man . furnishes rifles now for the United States, South America, Rome, Spaiu, Egypt and T T"? U/->tt mliA msntoH a triln ' O ttfJttll. J. nc iai uici a uvj t? iiv & is Eliphalet Remington, of Ilion, N. Y. His manufactory covers four acres of ground, and : he employs twelve hundred men. Not satis- J fied with this achievement, he has recently \ completed a sewing machine, which is report- 1 ed to represent the latest and most perfect ad- 1 vance in the improvements of this most irapor- 1 tant adjunct of domestic economy. This is the type of a boy who, when there is not a j way, makes a way for himself. ? COMMANDING AN ARMY. It is related of Napoleon that his last words were "Tete d'armee." Doubtless as the shadow of death obscured his memory, the last thought that remained for speech was of some 1 event, when he was directing an important ! "head of column." I believe that every gen- [ eral who has handled armies in battle, must recall from his own experience the intensity of thought on some similar occasion, when by 1 a single command he had given the finishing stroke to some complicated action; but to me 1 recurs the thought that is worthy of record, 1 and may encourage others, who are to follow us in our profession. I never saw the rear of an army engaged in battle, but I feared some calamity had happened at the front. The apparent confusion, broken wagons, dead horses, men lying about dead and maimed, parties hastening to and fro, in seeming disorder, and a general apprehension of something dreadful onotisv oil fKoon ai'rrna Y\ nwAUPT lpfl. ttUUUb LU CUOUO ail tuuow uiguuj uvitv*v*y ?v? sened as I neared the front, and there the contrast was perfect; perfect order, men and horses full of confidence, and it was not unusual for general hilarity, laughing and cheering. Although the cannon might be firing, the musketry clattering, and the caunon's shot hitting close, there reigned a general feeling of strength and security that bore a marked contrast to the bloody signs that had drifted rapidly to the rear; therefore, for comfort and safety I surely would rather be at the front line than the rear line of battle. So also on the march, the head of a column moves on steadily, while the rear is alternately halting and then rushing forward to close up the gap; and all sorts of rumors, especially the worst, float back to the rear. Old troops invariably deem it a special privilege to be in the front, to be at the "head of column," because experience has taught them that it is the easiest and most comfortable place, and danger only adds zest and stimulus to this fact. The hardest task in war is to lie in support of some position or battery under fire without the privilege of returning it; or to guard some train left in the rear within hearing but i out of the reach of danger; or to care for | the wounded and dead of some corps^yhich is too busy ahead to care for its own. To be at the head of a strong column of troops, in the execution of some task that requires brain, is the highest pleasure of war, a grim one and terrible, but which leaves on the mind and memory the strongest mark ; to detect the weak point of an enemy's line; to break through with vehemence and thus lead to victory ; or to discover some key point and hold it with tenacity ; or to do some other distinct act that is afterward recognized as the real cause of success. These all become matters that are never forgotten. Other great difficulties, experienced by every general, are to measure truly the thousand and one reports that come to him in the midst of conflict, to preserve a clear and well defined purpose at every instant of time, and to cause all efforts to converge to that end. To do these things he must know perfectly the strength aud f nar.U no ft nf Ilia ftwn nrmv as IVftll ijuaiiij vi vavu j>(*& u \s? ui? vn ? * j j ..... as of his opponent, and must be where he can personally see and observe with his own eyes and judge with his own mind. No man can properly command an army from therear; he must be "at its frontand when a detachment is made, the commander thereof should be informed of the object to be accomplished, and left as free as possible to execute it in his own way; and when an army is divided up into several parts the superior should always attend that one which he regards as most important. Some men think that modern armies may be so regulated that a general can sit in an office and play on his several columns as on the keys of a piano. This is a fearful mistake. The directing mind must be at the very head of the army?must be seen there, and the effect of his mind and personal energy must be felt by every officer and man present with it, to secure the best results. Every attempt to make war easy and safe will result in humiliation and disaster.? Gen. Sherman. ? -? A LECTURE ON RATTLESNAKES. Two miles out on our road back, we found Straddlebug sitting like a statue, gazing at something in the road just ahead of him. "Come here, General Bradley," he called, "I want to introduce you to one of the inhabitants of this delightful country," at the same time pointing to a monstrous rattlesnake coiled in the trail. "I have been plaguing him," continued old Straddle, "and he is a game fellow. See," he added, holding out his sabre toward the reptile. Quick as a flash the suake raised his crest and sprang his full length, falling within two feet of the legs of old Straddle's horse. "Look out, or he'll bite you," cried General Bradley. "Not a bit of it," replied Straddle. "The fact is, General, I have been studying this specimen of the natural productions of this country for more than an hour, and I have found out: First, that he will not bite unless coiled ; second, that he can only jump the length of himself when coiled. He then made the snake coil up again and strike out again two or three times. "He ain't much of a traveler, either," said old Straddle, whipping the reptile when stretched out, and making it run as fast as it could. "His snakeship coils tail first," continued the experimenter, making him coil, "and, i like an honest fellow, gives warning before he strikes, which is more than some of our own j kind do, General; besides, I don't believe he'd strike in the dark at all." "You will < readily observe," continued old Straddle, growing facetious, "the difference between the i 1 ? - ^ nn/1 fKa rlnn* o rlnrr qIiq 1/oq ( 1 nature ui tuc suatvu ^uu iu? ^^5 > ** uuuuw . 4 bis tail to show he is pleased ; the snake shakes j ] his tail to show he is mad. Look at that t eye, sir ; but I would not like to look at that < fellow steadily in the face for the space of five j seconds." The snake was coiled, his body ( resting on his tail, his head raised to the t height of a foot or more and his neck proudly j curved. s His eyes shown brightly like two little dia-: 3 mouds, aud his yellow skin glistened in the J 1 sun. The spots on his back seemed ever ? changing from dark brown to a bright red ? color. 1 "Come," said old Straddle, "I'll bet there's J not a man in the crowd that can shoot him in j the head." (It is said to be almost impossi-; ble to shoot the head off a rattlesnake. The t hunters declare that their sensitiveness is so 1 great that they can feel the wind of a coming v bullet and dodge it. Be this as it may, I s have seen men who could hit a bull's eye or t drive a nail at one hundred yards, who couiu not shoot a suake in the head.) Several revolvers were quickly leveled and Sred at him, but the snake remained unharmed. A soldier then dismounted, and taking a earbine, at the fourth shot nearly severed the body of the reptile. "Foul!" cried old Straddle, "you hit him in the body; but take o'S the rattles, the game is yours." The man then did as he was bid, and there were just sleven rattles and a button.? Western Cor. Philadelphia Press. < How Indians Catch Wild Fowl.?A number of persons from this city and Gold Bill are at present in the mountains, hunting and angling. Wild duck are found in some localities in abundance, and the trout in the 3treams take the hook rapidly. Wild fowls have not yet made their appearance in the market in any quantity, as most of those shot are kepi by the sportsmen for their own use. As the season advances the Indians will take the field and capture them in great numbers. They make large swinging nets out of strong cord, which they manufacture irom ine roow of fibrous plants. The bark i9 stripped off and manipulated and twisted by the squaws into twine, which is wound'into balls ready for use. It is then woven into nets, some of which are forty feet in length, the interstices being about two inches square. These nets are swung between two trees in some convenient position on the shore of a lake or pond. Early on a cold frosty morning some of the Indians secrete themselves in a neighboring thicket, while others get into boats, and forming a 3emi-circle, advance slowly toward a flock of ducks, driving them toward the mouth of the bayou. They swim slowly off, hesitating to take flight, being, perhaps, partially benumed by cold. The circle narrows, and when the wild fowl are in front of the nets the Indians in the boats raise a great outcry, and throwing sticks and stones scare the flock, which arising from the water flies in an opposite direction, directly into the net, in the meshes of which they become entangled by their heads and feet. The Indians on shore spring from their hiding places, tear down the net and envelop the ducks in it. They are joined by their companions from the water, and the work of slaughter commences. The necks of the birds are broken as soon as seized, and they are thrown together in piles. In this manner several hundred ducks are sometimes taken at a single haul, and the Indians have enough for their own use and an ample supply for the market.? Virginia (Nev.) Chronicle. Cholera and Birds.?German naturalists, says the London Globe, have called attention to a new incident with regard to the outbreak of epidemics. It is on record that an extraordinary flight of birds has occurred simultaneously with the appearance of the disease. The occasions have been so numerous and in so many different countries, that it 10 lUipUOOiUXC IV l^gaiu buv W?MV*??VHW ? merely accidental. Thns, so far back as the year 1848, birds of all kinds deserted the towns of St. Petersburg and Kiga, and it was in that year that cholera broke out. The epidemic proceeded in its westward course the following year, and the same phenomenon was observed in western Prussia in 1849, and in Hanover in 1850. In all these cases the facts were chronicled as having occurred at the time, but they were not supposed to have any relation mutually. But when these phenomena were more closely observed by men of science, more accurate details were given. Thus, it was found that in the little town of Przemysl, in Galicia, all the jackdaws took flight from the streets into the country on the 26th of September, 1872, and that cholera broke out there two days afterward. On the 30th ofNovember these birds returned from their spontaneous quarantine, and by that time the last case of the disease had been recorded. The same results had been observed in southern Germany last year. Both Munich and Nuremberg were visited by this epidemic in the Autumn, and in these towns it was observed not merely that the larger birds fled from the environs into the open country, but that sparrows and swallows deserted the town. It was a repetition of the article in every sailor's creed?that rats desert a sinking ship. The inhabitants of Nuremberg looked with joy for the return of the sparrows, who seem to have arrived as soon as the danger had disappeared. Foreign physicians seem to think the state of the atmosphere, when the poison is in the air, has a direct effect upon the birds, who instinctively fly from it. Gerrymandering.?When Elbridge Gerry, after being twice defeated, became governor of Massachusetts in 1810, he planned, or at least sanctioned, a law for carving the State into acute-angled districts, the majority of which could be depended upon to return democratic legislators. One of the means used to oppose the measure was the publication and circulation of a sketch of the long-drawn, distorted districts of eastern Massachusetts. A copy of it was posted on the wall of a Newburyport newspaper office. A casual visitor added head and claws to it, and said to the editor: "See this salamander." The latter, filled with sudden inspiration, replied : "I'd call it a Gerrymander," and Elbridge Gerry was damned to everlasting fame. When he died, two years later, as vice-president of the United States, he knew that gerrymandering was already a common word, and that the practice it denoted was rapidly becoming common. The efforts of himself and his descendants to shake off the odium of the invention, though they resulted in converting the later editors of Webster's Dictionary into the belief that he was innocent (vide the Dictionary,) were of no avail with the public. Such safe method of stealing the votes of a helpless minority was sure to be practiced. It was already named and the name stuck. All parties gerrymandered whenever they got into power. It is only very recently that public morality has reached such a high pitch that protests against the practice have had any weight. Even now it would be hard to find any politician sufficiently sinless to cast the first stone at the idea.? Chicago Tribune. + Good Advice.?I am always sorry for a man who knows how to do but one thing. I have seen many such men. I gave ten dol Jars to oue who could speak and write five or six lauguages and translate beautifully; but in the middle of a hard winter he could not get a living. I knew another man who had preached twenty-five years, till his throat failed bira, and he used to go around looking very blue and sad, until people pitied liirn and got up donation parties for him, because be was good for nothing except to preach. I knew a lady who had taught school for twen;y years, till she was a poor, nervous, brokeniown woman, and didn't know how to make i dress for herself. Now, boys and girls, eviry real man should know how to do one ,hing right well. Every wise farmer has a principal crop; but he has jdways a little loraething else to live on. Don't carry all rour eggs in one basket. Don't put all your noney in one pocket. If you want to get ilong right well, learn one sort of work to ;et along by, and all sorts of work to get a iving with when your one sort gives out.? T. K. Beeclier. AST The following epitaph appears on a ombstone in Thompson, Connecticut: "Here ies the body of Jonathan RichardsoD, * * * yho never sacrificed his reason at the altar of uperstition's god, and who never believed hat Jonah swallowed a whale."