Yorkville enquirer. [volume] (Yorkville, S.C.) 1855-2006, October 22, 1874, Image 1
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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."