VOLUME^. PES ARC, ARKANSAS, MARCH S3, 1869. NUMBER 50.
_-_ —
.
” '
f '■ - y-V)
, .-,»«»,•
»nfchlets, C*t»
/ll. Cards, Brfl
/f every descrip
i.it's. Justices of thei
*i» ■ ■smpga*—
f DEATH.
;
* :.e *»taw« go down
>*>me fairer shore; ‘ 1
£*4x1 Heaven’s jeweled crown / *
^snine forevermore. , 1
tf* \
There is no death I Ths dost we tread j
Shall change beneath the summer shower.
To gCr-leu grain or mellow fruit, 1 ^
Or rainbow tinted flower. j ^
The granite rocks disorganize,
% 9 To feed the hungry moss they bear, i
The forest leaves drink daily life, '
J, From out the viewless air. ]
f I
There is no death! The leaves may Call,
r The flowers inay fade and pass away;
They only wait through wintry hours,
The coming of the May. '
Thereis no death! An angel form t
Walks o’er the earth with silent tread; j
He bears our best loved things away, <
And then we call them “Dead.” s
He leaves our hearts all desolate, '
He plucks our fairest, sweetest flowers; 1
Transplantodjnto bliss, they now
Adorn immortal bowers. *
t
The bird-like’voice, whose joyous tones f
Made glad these scenes of sin and strife,
Sir.g now an everlasting song, 1
Amid the tree of life.
And where he sees ft smile too bright, C
Or heart too pure for taint and vice, s
He bears it to that world of light, >
To dwell in Paradiso I
,, Vf 1
Born unto that undying life, .
They leave us but to came again;
With joy we welcome them—the same,
Except in sin and pain. J
And ever near us, though unseen, 1
M The dear, immortal spirit tread,
■ For all the boundless universe f
Is life—there arj no lead, }
I 1)0011 OF TIIE TRAITRESS. J
'■ A cold and dark northeaster had (
swept together a hast of straggling va- ,
■ pors and thin lowering clouds over the (
j French metropolis—the course of the s
| Seine might be traced easily among the j'i
fl grotesque roofs and gothic towers i |
| which at that day adorned its hank?, |
,{ by the gray ghostly mist which seethed ]
up from its sluggish waters—a small f
ii\ fine rain was falling noiselessly and al- , (
I most imperceptibly, by its own weight i j
I as it were, from tho surcharged and j f
ilatery atmosphere—the air was keenly j
J cold and piercing, although the seasons j
had not crept far as yet beyond the con- j t
1 fines of the summer. The trees, for (
I fhere were many in Hie streets of Paris | ,
I and still more in the fauxbourgs and ; j
1 gardens of the tiaute noblesse, were | |
| thickly covered with whit crime, as (,
S: were tlie manes and frontlets of the | ,
1 horses, the clothes, and hair, and eye
1 brows of the human beings who ven- (
S tured forth in spite of tlu? inclement. \
■ weather. A sadder and more gloomy ,
; scene can scearcely he concieved than ; ,
1 is presented by the streets of a large j
s city- in such a time as that I have at- i ,
1 tempted to desersbe. But this pecu
:i liar sadness was, on the day of which I ;
* I write, augmented and exaggerated by ,
| the continual tolling of the great bell j
I of St. <}ermaius Anxerrois, replying
1 to thf iron din which arose from the
I gray towqrs of Notre Dame. From an
1 early hour of the day the people had
| been congregating in the streets and
I about tla'JbridgeS leading to tho pre- j
cincts of the royal pallace, the Chateau ,
des Tournellqs, which then stood—long j
since obliterated almost from the mem
ory of men—upon the Isle de Paris, '■
the greater part of which was covered ,
then ^Ith the courts, and terraces, and :
gardens of that priifcely pile.
Strong bodies o the household troops j
were posted nore and mere uuont me ;
avenues mul gates of the royal demense,
and several largo detachments of the
archers of the prevot's guard—still
called so from the arms which had long !
since ceased to carry—might be seen
* every where on duty. Yet there were
no symptoms of an cmeute among the
populace, nor any signs of angry feel
ing or excitement in the features of the
loitering crowd, which was incressing
every moment as the day waxed to
ward neon. Some feeling certainly
, there wns—some dark wl truest j
interest, as might be judgTOtrom the i
knit crows, clinched hands, and anxi
ous whi^perswliich everywhere atten
ded the exchange or thought through
out the f.oncoursc—-hut it was by uo !
incaus #f an alarming or nil angry \
character- Grief, wonder, expectation,
and a sort of half doubtful pity, as far
as might he gathered from the words
of the parsing speakers, were the more
prominent ingredients of tne common 1
feeling, jvhich had called out so large j
a portion of the city,s population on a
day so nnsuited to any spectacles of
interest. For several hours this mob, j
increasing as it has been described
from hour t0 hour, varied but little in
its character, save that ns the day wore
it becamq more and more respectable
( in the appcarence of its members. At
first it had been composed almost with
out exception of artisans and shop hoys,
and mechanics of the lowest order,
with not » few of the cheats, bravoes,
pickpockets, and similar ruffians, who
tiion as new formed a fraternity ot no
inerue si/.e in the Parisian world. As
' , the morning advanced, however, mauy
* Jr ofJhe burners of the city, and respect
: able eraftimen, roi£> > he seen among
m the crowd; and a little later, many of
the seconWy gentry and pffiie no
blesse, wi k well-dretsed yomen and
L even chjit Jm, all showing'the same
symptoms of sad yet eager expectation.
Now when it lacked but a few minutes
of noon, long trains of courtiers with
their retinues and armed attendants,
many a head of a renowned and an
cient house, many a warrior famous
for valor and conduct might be seen
threading the mazes of the crowded
thoroughfares towardlhc royal pailace.
A double ceremony’ of singular and
solemn nature was soon to be enacted
there—the interment of a noble soldier,
slain lately in an unjust quarel, and the
investiture of an unwilling woman
uftth the robes of a holy sisterhood
prepatory to her lifelong interment in
that sepulchre of the living body—se- ^
pulchro* of the pining soul—the con-,
vent cloistors Annand do Caguy!
—Marguerite do Vaudreuil 1
Many circumstances had united in
this matter to call forth much excite
ment, much grave interest in the minds
of all who had heard tell of it!—the
singular and wild romance ofihe story, !
the furious and cruel combat whiclt had j
resulted from it—aud last.not least, the ,
violent, and, as it was generally con-;
sidered, unnatural resentment of:
the King toward the guilty victim who ;
survived tlfe ruin site had wrought.
The story was in trnth, then, hut j
little understood—a thousand rumors :
were abroad, and of course no one ac-;
curately true—yet in each there was a
share of truth^and the amount of the !
whole was, perhnps, less wide of the
mark than is usual in matters of the ;
kind. And thus they ran. Marguer- j
ite de Vaudreuil had been betrothed to ,
the youngest of France’s famous war-1
rior's, Charles de La-IIirc, who after a
time foil—as it was related by his young j
friend and kinsman, Armand de Laguy j
—covered with wounds and honor, j
The body had been found outstretched
beneath tiy. survivor, who, himself
desperately hurt, had alene witneesed,
and in vain endeavored to prevout, his
cousin's slaughter. The face of Charles
de La-IIirq, as all men deemed the
corpse to be, was mangled aud defaced
so frightfully as to render recognition
I . it. _ i> _i_ 1_1_ .. .1
from the emblazoned surcoat which it
bore, the well known armotjj on the
limbs, the signet ring upon tlie Unger,
and (he accustomed sword clenched in
the dead right hand, none doubted tho I
identity of the body, or questioned the j
truth of Arnijuid’sstoi-y.
Armaml de TAguy, succeeding by
his cousin,s dlnth to all lands and lord
ships, returned to the metropolis, mix
ed in the gayetles of that gay period,
when all -the court of Frauce was revel
ing in the.celebration of tho union of
the Dauphin with the lovely Ma
ry Stuart, in after days the hapless
queen of Scotland.
lie wore no decent and accustomed
garb of mourning—he suffered no in
terval, however brief, due to decorum
at least if not to kindly feeling, to
elapse before it was announced that
Marguerite de VSudreuil, tho dead
man's late betrothed, was instantly to
wed his living cousin. Her watidrous
beauty, her all- seductive mnnners, her
extreme youth had in vain pleaded a
gainst the general cesnurc of the court
—the world! Men had frowned on
her for awhile, and women sneered and
slandered!—but after a little while, as
the novelty of the story wore away,]
the indignation against her inconstan
cy ceased, and she was once again iu
stal^fctho leader of the court’s unwed
edgpguiles.
% flenly, on the very evo of her in
teutWa nuptails, Charles de La-llirc
returned—ransomed, as it turned out,
by Brissac, from the Italian dungeons
of the Prince of Parma, aud making
fearful charges oftreason and intended
murder against Armand do Laguy.
The Kinjj had commanded that the
truth should bo proved by a soilcmn
combat, had sworn toexecuto upon the
11*10118 UIUIJK WU1VUCHJI wt H'O m V
should yield or confess falsehood, had
sworn that the inconstant Marguerite,
who, on the return of Do La-llire. had
returned instantly to her former feel
ings, asserting her perfect confidence
in the trgth to Charles, the treachery
of Armarid, should cither wed the vic
tor, or live and die the inmate of the
most rigeroua convcut in his realm.
The battle had been fought yester
day !—Armand de Laguy fell, mortal
ly wounded by his wronged cousin's
ban*’jnd with his latest breath declar
ed htf^rcaijons, aud implored pardon
! from his King, his kinsman, aud his God
happy to perish by a brave man's sword
not by a headman's axe. And Mar
| guerite the victor's prize—rejected by
the man she has betrayed—herself re
1 fusing, even if he were willing, to wed
with him whom she could but dishon
or—had now no option save death or
! the detested cloister. And now men
pitied—women wept—all frowned and
wondered and kept ailence. That
young, vain, capricious beauty—the pet
and spoiled child from her very cradle
i of a gavaud luxurious court—worship
I ed for her charms like a second Aphro
dite—iutoxicated with the love of ad
, miration—that such an one should be
inenostant, flcklol-should swerve from
, her feelity to the dead !—a question
; able feelity always!—aud bo won to a
' rash second love by the falsehood ami
1 | treasons of a man, young and brave
| and hsi^tome—falsehood which had ile>
' cieved wise men—that such should be
■ the course of events, men said, ws‘
1 neither strange nor moustrous! It was
■ a fault, a lapse of which she had b*er
1 guiltv, which might indeed make her
! future faith- suspected, which would
surely justify Charles de La-Hire in
casting back her proffered hand, but
which at the worst wns venial, and de
serving no such doom as the sonl-eldll
iug cloister.
She had, they said, in no respect par
ticipated in the guilt, or shared the
treacheries of Armand—on the contra
ry—«he, the victim of his fraud, had
been the first to denounce, to spit at,
to defy him
Moreover it was understood tliTJ
although do La-Hire had refused tier
hand, several of equal and even liighor
birth than he had o'ffcrcd to redeem her
from the cloister by taking heM^ygj^
of their free choice—Jarnac linn claim
ed the beauty—and it was whispered
that the Duke de Nevers had sued to
Henry vainly for the fair hand of the
unwilling novice.
But the King was relentless. “Either
the wife of De La-Itire—or the bride
os God in tho cloister 1” was his unvary
ing reply. No farther answer would
he give—no disclosure of his motives
would he make even to ills wisest
councillors. Some indeed augured
that the good monarch's anger wns but
feigned, and that deeming her snffl
cfently punished already he wns dcsir”
ous still of forcing her to be tjie bride
of him to whom she had been destined,
and whom she still, despite livj- brief
inconstancy, unquestionably worship
ped in her heart. For nil men stilly
supposed that at the last Charles Would
forgive the hapless girl, and so relieve
her from the living tombthat even now
seemed yawning to enclose her. But
others—and they weto (hose wljo
nnderstood the best mood of France’s
second Henry—vowed that the wrath
was real; and felt, that, though no man
could fathom the caase of his stern ire,,
he never would forjfive the guilty girl,
whose frailty, as lie swore, bad caused
such strife and bloodshed.
But now it was high noon, and forth
filed from the palace gates a long and
glittering train—Henry and all his
court, with all tun ranK and Demur 01
(lie realm, knights, nobles, peers and
princes, damsel? and dames—(lie pride
of Franco and Europe. Hut at Iho
monarch's rigid walked one, elad in no
gay attire—pale, languid wounded and
warworn—Charles de La-Hire, the
victor. A sad deep gloom o'crcast ids
large dark eye, and threw a shadow
over Ids massy —uu Up a...)
forgot to srnilel Ids glance to lighten!
yet was there no remorse, no doubt,
no wavering in ids calm, noble fea
tures—only fixed, settled sorrow.
His long and waving hair of the dark
est chcsntit, evenly parted on his
crown, fell down on either cheek, apd
flowed over the broad Vlain collar of
ids shirt which, decked with no em
broidery lace, was folded Iwiek over the
cape of a plain black poprpoint, made
of line cloth indeed, but neither laced
nor passementod, nor even stashed
pith velvet—a broad scarf of black
tntl'eta supported ids weapon—a heavy
double-edged straight broadsword, nod
served at the same time to support his
left arm, the sleeve of whisk hung
open, tied in with points ol' r* bon.
His trunk-hose and his nether stocks
of plain black silk, black velvet shoes
and a slouched hat, with niothcr leather
nor cockade, completed the suit of
melancholy mourning which lie wore.
In the midst of the train was a yet sad
der sight, Marguerite de Vbudreuii, j
sobed in the snsw-whito vestments of
a novice, with all her glorious ringlets J
flowing in loose rcbundaiWe over her
shoulders and her bosom,/soon to bo
cut close by the fatal scissors—pale as
the monumental stone aid only not
as rigid. A hard-fentherefl gray headed
monk, supported her on fithcr hand—
And a long train of priests swept after
with crucifix and'fosary and censer.
Scarce had this strange procession
issued from (lie great gates of les
Tournelles, the death-bells tolling still
from everv tower and steeple,,before
another train, gloomier yet and sadder,
tiled outfrom the gate of the royal tilt
yard, at tho farther end of which stood
a superb pavilion. Sixteen black
Benedictine monks led the array chan
ting tho mornfui miserere—next behind
: these, strange contrast!—strode on the
grim gaunt form, clad in his blood
stained tabard, and beartag full dis
played his broad two-vK>ded axe—
j fell emblem of fits odious calling I—the
> public executioner of Paris. Immedia
! tcly in the rear of this dark functionary,
' not borne by iiis bold captains, nor fol
lowed by his gallant vassals witli arms
1 reversed ani signs of martial sorrow,
but ignomiuiously supported by the
| grim-vi8aged ministers of the law,
came on the brier of Armand, the last
! Connt de baguy.
Stretched in a coffin of tho rudest
material and construction, with his pale
visage bare, displaying still in its dis
torted lines and sharpened features tho
agonies of mind and bpdy which had
; preceded his untimely dissolution, the
bad but haughty noble was borne to
' his long home in the grave-yard oi
Notre Dame, llis sword, broken in
: twain, was laid across his breast, his
! spig had been hacked from his heels
by the base cleaver of the scullion, and
his reversed escutcheon was hung
above his head.
Narrowly saved by his wronged
kinsman’s intercession from dying by
tho headsman's weapon ere yet lib
mortal wounds should have let out hit
spirit—he was yet destined to the
shajne of a dishonored sepulchre—sucli
was the King’s decree, alas! inexora
ble.
I The -funeral train proceeded—tin
King and his court followed. They
reached the grave-vard, hard beneath
those superb gray towers!—they
reached the grave, In a remote and
gloomy corner, where, in unoonsecrated
earth, reposed the executed felon—Hhe
priests attended not the corps beyond
the precincts of that unholy spot—their
solemn chant died mournfully away—
no rites were done, no prayers were
said above the senseless clay—but in
|hlence was it lowered into the ready
pit—silence disturbed only by the deep
hollow Sound of the clods that fell fast
; <wd that Marguerite dc Vandrcuil will
] owe to man's compassion, what she
I owes uot to love! Peace I Charles de
i La-Hire—I say, peace 1 my last words
i to thee have boon spoken, and never
! will 1 here more from thee I And now,
Sir King, here thou—may God judge
between thee and me, as thou hast
judged. If I was frail and fickle, na
ture and God made woman weak and
credulous—but made man not wise, to
deceive and ruin her. If I sinned
deeply against this ISaron Do La-Hire
—I sinned not knowingly, nor of
premeditation t If k sinned deeply,
moic^ft^' wf£4^ninncd against—
morW^^^y was l I^P^jyutf'or!—even
hadst thou Jiesped no moTPbronds up
on the bu?n ing. If to bear hopeless
love—toftmic with unavailing sorrow
t wit> continual remorse—to
ith trampled pride!—If these
surer, then, Sir King, had
f^i-cd without thy just
interposilW |^ks she spoke, a bitter
sneer curled h ip for a moment; but
as she saw Hen again about to speak,
a wilder and hi her expression flashed
over all her features—her form ap
peared to distend—her bosom heaved
—her eye gltred—her ringlets seemed
to stiffen, is if instinct with life
“Nay!"' sho fried, in a voice clear as
Hie strain of a silver trumpet—“nay!
thou shaft heir me out—and thou didst
swear ycsteiday I should live in-a
cloister cell Inrcvcr!—and I replied to
tliv words tlcn, ‘not long!’—I have
thought befcer now—and how I
answer‘nevei!’ Lo here!—lohere! ye
who have mated the doom of Armaml
—mark no\^fie doom of Marguerite l
Ye who hjtfttjudged the treason, mark
the doom^r lie traitress! ’ And with
the words, be'ore any one could inter
fere, even hadthey suspected her inten
tions. she vilit,,1 hot* right lmuil on
high, and at then saw the quick
twinkle of a .veapon, and struck her
self, as it seeped,ta quick slight blow
immediately uifier the left bosom I It
seemed a quick slight blow ! but it had
iioeu so nccurttely studied—so steadily
aimed and fatally—that the keen hlnde,
scarcely thret inches long and very
slender, of thdbest of Milan steel, with
nearly a thin) of the hilt, was driven
home into ha- very heart—site spake
no syllable main !—nor uttered a.n
cry!—nor dida single spasm contrtet
her pallid features, a single comvulsUn
distort her shapely limbs! but she
leaped fonvori, and fell upon her face,
quite dead, at the Kings’s feet!
Henry smiiqi not again l'or many a
day thereaftet—Charles De La Hire
died very old* a Carthusian monk of
the strictest <rder, having mourned
sixty years and prayed in silence for
I he sorrows and the sins ot that most
hapless being.
Mrs* Andreev Johnson.
Mrs Johnson, a confirmed invalid, lias
never appeared in scocietyat Washington
ller very existence is a myth to almost ev
ery one She was last seen at a party
given to her {gandchildren. She was
seated in one of her republican court
chairs, a dainty affair of satin and ebony.
She did notarise when children, or older
guests, wore presented to her, she simply
said: “My dears, I am an invalid,” and
her sad, pale face and sunken eyes fully
proved the exprssion. Mrs. Johnson
i i t n. . *1_ sL. ..: l. *_J
iUWKa IIIUV U UIUWI «^|V JMVOIUVMH) HUM
her age docs not exceed his by a few
.swings of the scythe, of time. She was
never beautiful, but an observer would say,
contemplating her, "a noble woman—Gods
first, best gift to man.” Perhaps it is veil
to cull to mind at this time that it was this
womanjwho tuught tho president to read
after she became his wife; and that in ah
their earlier years she was his counselor,
assistant and guide. None but a wise and
good mother could have reared such daugh
ters as Mrs- Patterson and Mrs. Sto
ver. When Mrs Senator Patterson found
herself the "first lady in the land,” she
made this remark, which has been the
key-note of the feminine department of
the White House from that eventful day
to the present: “Wo are plain people,
from the mountains of Tennessee, called
here fort short time by a national calamity.
I trust too much will not Jic expected of
us.” When Anna Surratt threw herself
j prostrate upon the floor of one of the ante
iroomsofthe White House, begging pit
eously to. see Mrs. Patterson, she said:
"Poll the girl she hat my sympathy, my
tears, but I have no more right to spesj
than the servants of the White House/’
i When the'’pardon brokers” trailed their
: slimy lengths everywhere about the
sion, they never dared to cross a
enchanted pathway’ uud the fataM^f any
lobbyist set in this direction htfl
brought up in the end against as*P^:'li
i —Washington Correspondence CWaK°
, Republican. *
JfiH'ork trees ara being
Florida from seed* procured from
Thrilling Adventure* ofnGreeii
Tooth In a Menageile.
A country lad, of unmistakable
| greenness, applietTwr permission onf
: day last week to sSe Tblin Bobinson’t
| animals, that are being Kept through the
winter at bis stable^ in College street,
I Cincinnati.
Captain Durand, who was there at
j the time, allowed him to walk in. Ae
: he passed the cage of the Bengal tiger,
jold royal Ben. gave a spring at liB,
with open mouth and glaring eyes, ejrd
! dashed one of Ids huge paws at the^oy
jin a most furious and annihilating
' manner. lie hadn’t lunched off from/
j country boy sinco last summer, and M
j was naturally clamorons for a piece of
| him
Boy saw the horrid paw comming.
hut, paused nftt hUpself. He dodged
! pas^Jokcagc, his fright, stum
, the1 cage, where Mr.
| Lyon and the “I. of Lyons” were
patiently for their share of
" is young , whom sorno Darius
; semed to h 'thrown into the lion's
den.
Almosi y miracle ho escaped the
j lion thdRvas in the way, but it was
only to fall into (lie arms of the great
white bear, wlucliactually got one, of
his claws inserte<%iuto the seat of the
terrified lad’s trowT^s. Captain Dur
and saw the danger, an^pshed to save
him trom the bear's claws—insert a
saving clause as it were—so ho cleaved
hold of the boy, and a very exciting
struggle ensued between him and the
hear for the boy’s posession. The bear
was firm, Durand 4as firm, and the
pants were firm, s6 that the result fora
while was doubtftA, the hoy, meantime
in danger of beifc pulled to pieces
between them. ^
At length the captwn cried for help,
when another kccper^Aed up stairs
and took a hand also. The bear
wouldn’t give way, the man wouldn’t
give way, but the pants did give way,
and the rash youth was saved. They
placed him upon a stand in the center
of t\ic room, and ordered him to com
piei-e ms survey oi tne collection trom
that vantage ground, and to leave it
only at Ms peril, when they retired be
low to recover from tlioir exhaustion.
Hardly Imd they done so, however, be
fore there was another yell up stairs,
and they found the wretched boy this
time in the grip of the moukevs. He
bad disobeyed orders, and ventured
too near the cage. He was released
and very tenderly led down stairs by
the ears.
Eren while passing through the low
er room the elephapt made a sweep at
him with his trunk, the wild buffalo
kicked at him, the camel made mouths
at him, and even the parrots showed a
disposition to pick his eyes oiit.
Tic got away alive, hut greatly
freighteoed, and don't want any more
of it.
The fact is the animals recognized in
the country lad a representative of that
numerous class of mankind for whose
diversion they have to he hauled all
about the country, in all kinds of
weather, and over all sorts of roads;
land they experienced a sort of natural
jdesire to he revenged upon him.
Hook Farming.
There was a farmer who hesitated not to
hirl all manner of invectives against farm
in'and those who consulted books for ad
viie. By long experience and practical
observation, ho had become quite success
fulin the culture of grapes and trees.
His fields were clean and fair, and highly
prodictive. His trees were vigorous, well,
adjusted, and profitable.
Intonvcrsation with a friend, he related
his experience in regard to raising grapes
and tries, entering into the minutest de
tails, sitnetimes becoming quite eloquent
when describing his victories over the en
ttuiius wmi'ii iiucst uiL-ui.
“Ilia mowledgc,” lie said,"was gained
by dint of applicaton, by actual experience
and hard libor. It was none of your hook
knowledge, written by men who knew
nothing about farming.” “Well, said a
friend, if all this valuable information
gained by assiduous labor and observation
of so many years, and which you have so
| e early described, were written out and
published, which would you have a young
and inexperienced man do—take this as
he finds it from your pen, or go through
the same tedious process that you have
gone through with, including vexatious
and losses?
The question puzzled him, and he was
silent for a uioment; but was obliged at
last to confess that, after all there was
much that was valuable in books, because
combining and relating the results and
experience of practical cultivators.
j&yln Arkansas, Elder Knapp,
"While baptizing converts at a revival
meeting, advanced with a wiry, sharp
eyed old chap into the water. lie ask
ed the usual questiou, whether there
was any reason why the ordinance of
I baptism should not be administered,
j After a pause, a tall, powerful looking
kchap, with an eyejikeu blaze, who was
loaning on a long rifle and quietly
looking on, remarked: “Elder, I don’t
want to interfere in this ver business
any, but 1 want to say that is aud old
sinner you have got hold of, and I
know that one dip won’t do him any
good. If you waut to get the sin out
of him you’ll have to anchor him out
in deep water oyer night,”
.r*
Mathematical Joke.
A student writes to the College
Courant as follows :
Once I had ray revenge on mathe
matics, not on abstract mathematics,
j nor yet on applied mathematics, bnt on
| mathematics concrete, and imperson
i ate. The creature was a calculus man.
(a kind of suicide.) and had taken
prizes. I hated him. I was standing
I in fYont of Uip excellent book and
stationery emporium of Messrs. Brown
& Cross, in the nourishing town of
(Hartford, thirty-six milies north, when
I saw tlwy^retch coming down Asylum
strcflfront the depot. It had a
carpet-hag in its dexter grip, and was
I evidently just fro^ Academus. My
eye rested on Policeman X, who was
•noning his manly form on the adja
cent corner. ; I beckoned to him, and
he came with stately tread.
“X, my bov)” said I, pointing to the
approaching ArObimedcs, “do you sec
that chap with the earpet-kv?"—itself
a suspicious circumstanced®
“Yes,” says X. 4
“He's a suspicious character.”
“Confidence cove?”asked X,survey
ing him with a practical eye.
“No,” said I. “The inference does
credit to your sagacity, but he's worse
than a confidence man.” I here ap
proached my mouth to X's ear, and
whispered impressively. “He took a
mathematical prize last summer in
New Haven. I’ll swear to it.”
A look of puzzled horror slowly
oversproad X's somewhat immovable
conntcuance.
“Where did he take it from?” he
inquired hasflv.
“Oft' a .hall tabic. He was nabbed
coming out with it.”
By this tirno my unconscious victim
had arrived opposite. I saw a look of
stern determination, mingied with sly
acuteness, steal into X's face, and grasp
ing his billy, he stalked suddenly across
the street, and tapped my mathemati
cian on the shoulder. I vanished at
once into Brown & Cross s, and began
turning over some plates of Core's on
tno counter. Alter some tittle conver
sation I saw my prey walk off, looking
red and indignant, while Dogberry sol
emnly recrossed the street, wearing an
expression of quiet satisfaction, as for
duty well performed.
“Well ?” said I, reappearing.
“He’s a sly one, Guvnor,” says X, but
bo can't gum the Hetford boys. He
may come it over them Now Haven
pleesmen. Them kind's mostly Pad
dies ; but he can’t gum me, be gord I”
“What did you say to him ?’’I asked.
Says I, “Look a’here, my covey, you’re
known here, you arc. You'll take that
next train south if you know what's
Imalthy for you.’’
“What in thunder do you mean?'’
says, he.
“How about that little mathematical
prize that you took iu New Haven last
summer,” says I, “and here I tipped
him a wink kinder ktiowin'. I guess
that astonished some; he just looked
sick, you hot. So I nodded my head
at him, and says I, ‘You’d better bo
keerful now, my covey, for Number X
has got his cyesMn von, and he’s up to
a dodge or two, if you bo from New
Haven,’ and witli that I come across the
street, and I guess lie won't play any of
his prize tricks in Hctfonl. Much
obliged to you, sir, forputtiu' me up to
him. Good mornin’.”
Don Piatt's Farewell to .Hulilns.
I am pained to write it hut with the
.present Congress departs our Mullins.
He goes out never to return. No more
shall that voice, which sounded like a saw
.mill with a bad cold, he heard ringing
through the halls, awakning echos and
I laughter inextinguishable. -4h, me.
Whv will mv .Mullins en? What a dull
time we will have when his eloquence is
lost in the wilds of Tennessee.
The best things of my Mullins are not
i reported. The reporters fail to do him
justice. He charged down on the New
York Chanter, the other day, on mules,
and it took Chanter’s friends three days
; to dig him out. “I will stand here, Mr.
j Speaker, roared Mullins, till the Angel
j Gabriel snaps his last gun. I will stand
| here till the pis-ants carry me out piece
I meal through the key note. I will stand
j here until the Archangel fires the crack
i of doom amid the wreck of matter and a
j crush of boards, and Asia tumbles into
j Africa, leaving the polar star to gleam
j like the eye of hell upon a mighty void
i of collateral chaos.
Mullins is on very familiar terms with
the Angel Gabriel, and introduces him
on all occasions. But the hours of Mul
lins are numbered. In a few days ‘*Si
lcRce will, liko a poultice, come to heal
these lloss of sound. D. P.
Health of Farmers.—There are
seven resons why farmers are healthier
I than professional men, viz:
1. They work more, and develop all
the loading muscles of the body.
2. They take tlieir exercise In the
open air and breathe a greater amount
of oxygen.
3. Their food and drinks arc com
monly less adulterated, and far more
simple.
4. They do not overwork their brain
ns much us Industrious professional
men do.
5. They take their sleep commonly
during the hours of darkness, and do
not try to turn night into day,
6. They are not so ambitious and do
not wear themselves out so rapidly in
the liiyve contest of rivalry.
7. tfheir pleasures are ’ stipple and
'less inhausting.
-A
A Curlouw case or Roguery.
Tho New York Post relutes a singular
j occurrence. A professional gentleman,;
who is a groat lover of choice books, re
. ceived one evening a package of six rare !
j volumes, estimated at (1600 in value, for
his examination and possible purchase,
with the message that, if he concluded
j not to buy them, the boy would call again '
i for tho package at 10 o’clock next morn
I ing. The bibliophile looked over the vol
I urnes with delight, was enraptured with !
| the inimitable typography, yet detcimined
! that sixteen hundred dollars was too large
a sum to invest in such literary vanities.
ITe thcrolore instructed his wife to de
liver them with her own hands to the boy
the next morning. At 10 o’clock next
day a boy appeared and received the pre
cious literary treasure. Fifteen minutes
later another boy came and enquired for
tho books. He knew nothing of the first
i boy. A message was dispatched to the
j absont husband who promptly caused a ,
card to be printed, offering 8150 reward |
for the missing volumes, and had a copy |
placed in the hands of every policcim.ii in j
New York and Brooklyn before 1 o’clock. !
The day passed by, and the next, and no
intelligence whatever of the lost property.
I he third day, in tho morning, comes the
original boy who carried off the package
bringing it back with him, and saying J
that a mistake had been made, that the
contents did not belong to Mr. Somebody
as was supposed.—He did not wait to be
questioned, but immediately disappeared.
The books were found uninjured.
A search for the person he named reveal
ed that there was no such person, and that
the street number given was represented
by the Tombs! The police say it is a trick
of frequent occurrence with the thieves to
send a boy along a dozen blocks of build
ings, to ring at every door and ask for
“the bundle for which he was to.call at
10 o’clock, upon the chauce that at one
house out of a hundred there would be
such a thing expected. In the case of the 1
rare volumes, the rogues cither knew !
nothing of their viflan, or found the hue
and cry too hot for them, and so returned
the property as dangerous and unavoid
able.
Master Shrimp’s Composition.
Ma is my mother. I am her son. Mas
name is Mrs. Shrimp ; she is the wife
of Mr. Shrimp, and Mr. Shrimp is her
hasband. Pa is my father. My name
is John George Washington Shrimp.
Pa’s name is Shrimp too, and so is Mas
My ma has ama! She is my grand
ma. She is mother-in-law to Pa. My
Pa says Mothcr-in-laws ought to be ve
toed. I like my grandma better than
Pa does. She brings me ten cent
stamps and bollivars. She don’t bring
any to Pa. Maybe that’s why he don’t
like her.
Aunt Jerusha is mv aunt. When Pa
was a little boy she was his sister. I
like,my sisters. Dickey Mopps has a
little sister, Her name is Ilosa. I take
her out riding on my sled. Aunt Je
rusha don’t like her. She calls her
that “Mopps girl.” I think Aunt Je
rusha ought to be ashamed of herself.
Aunt Jerusha lives with us. Some
times I think ma had rather have her
live with somebody else. I asked
Aunt Jerusha once why she did not
marry somebody and set up for herself.
She said that many and many a man
wanted to marry her, but while her
poor Susan Jano was in such a state of
health she couldn’t think of leaving!
Besides she said what would become
of your pa?
Aunt Jerusha sometimes has a state
of health too. On washing days she
has the headache, and does her head up
in brown paper and viuegar, and I have
tn mnko tnnst for hnr at t.lio kitolion firo. !
1 make some for myself too.
Aunt Jeruslia says that nobody
knows what she has done for that boy.
That boy's me again. I told Pa what
she said. He said it was just so. No
body did know. Ma said that Jerusha
means well, and that she's pa's dear !
sister. I don't see why that's any rea- j
son she should always Jscold me when
Ieat cabbage with a knife.—
i ‘-Master Shrimp.”
-—...
A Funeral Discourse.—The Macon
(Ga.) Telegraph says: “Cresswell ?” j
| Cresswell?”—We never heard of that ;
: name but once before; and Macaulay, ■
\ or somebody else, tells a story about!
| old Mother Cresswell, a notorious
panderer to the corrupt minions of the I
court of Charles II. Old Mother I
Cresswell died, and the Court Chaplain j
wagered a cask uf Burgundy with that |
monarch that he would preach a
funeral sermon bvor the old beldame,1
in which nothing but good should be I
said of the dead, and it'should all be
true. Charles accepted the wager, and
the chaplain wou it by saying, “That
however lightly irreverent persons;
had been accustomed to speak of the |
honored deceased, it was equally cer
tain that she was born' well, married ;
well, lived well, and died well; for;
she was born a Hopewell, she married
a Cresswell, she lived in Camberwell, t
and died in Bridewell."
! _ _ I
•9*A good sort of a man in Main
was recently asked to subscribe for a
chandelier for the church. “Now,”!
' said he, “what’s the use of a chandelier ? '
After you get it you can’t get any oue !
- to play on it.” '
if
'ESk.
r,
1 * .»
Aotv,
time, wP
charged/
All a<fV,.„
FaUeilng $tic«|n -
In the first place the sheep must have
comfortable quarters —must be protected
from storms, and housed at night, the floor
should bo sprinkled frequently with plas
ter to absorb the ammonia that would arise
from the manure.—This matter of comfort
is of more importance in fattening stock
than most farmers are willing to acknowl
edge.—They should have an opportunity
to drink at least twice a day—say 9 or
10 o'clock in the morning and 4 or 5
o'clock in the afternoon, during the win
ter.
Of food, corn and hay should form the
base, and these ought to be steamed, if
convenient, or cooked iu some way. In
doing so, both time and food will be sa
ved—we mean time in fattening. As
many farmers have not yet provided them
selves with a steaming apparatus, We will
consider what is the next best thing to
be used as a substitute.—Every farmer
has fuel, either wood or coal and a kettle
or boiler by which he can cither boil or
scald the food. Corn may be fed wholo
if it i3 either steamed or boiled, but not
otherwise; if ground the meal may be mix
ed without hay and either steamed or
3called, He advise that the hay be cut
and cooked as a matter of econor^y and
fed in troughs. All food should be Wdjn
troughs—nothing on the gronnd. A,V a ^
of turnips or potatoes cooked/. \ v
?ivon two or three times a week, to4, J
tage. Rock salt when they house. t , KJf '
The quantity of food to bo giv'en sk
:ime must be regulated hv the appetite *
Begin with small feeds and increase little
by little, but never more than will be eat
en up olean. If at any time there is food ®
left in the troughs after the flock have all
been satisfied remove it at once, clean * ’
the troughs and a smaller feed next time.
This will applv to the hav as well as
grain trough. Peed as much as they will
eat under the above regulations and re
strictions. »
—American Stock Journal. O
The I'ses or daitf,
Ihe Pacha vested by the fountain,
the flowing waters of which made an
oasis in the desert. His horse and his
camel cropped with delight the green
herbage near the fountain. Their
shadows lay strongly and darkly upon N
the grass "
“How beautiful,” said the horse, “is
that dork form which moves as I movo;
what grace, what symmetry it shows!
I can hardly eat for looking at it.”
“It is well enough,” said the came),
“hut look at tliis one which moves ^
with me. It has ail the symmetry and
grace of the other; and then, too, ft
has that pretty little hump on its back.’’
A Dervish passing by, who knew
the language of all the beasts, exclaim
ed : “How good is Allah, who gives to
every creatnro its duo shftre of vanity,,
so that defects seem to their owuor%
especial beauties aud merit*:1" “*t
(^Hillings, the celebrated musical,
composer, boasted that there was'no
point connected with the Bcienco of
music that lie did not understand. A •
wag sent him a note, requiring an *
interview with him, on a particular " 4
day, to consteHyabouta difficult ques
tion in music, whic1rhe-»i^4j.no'ot!l0r
man could answer. Hillings prOi»0t]y
met him, and said to him : “Whatever
your question may be, I pledge myself
to answer it, as there is nothing con
nected with the science that I have not
mastered.” “My questiou is an impor
tant one,” replied the wag, with the
most serious face imaginable ; “indeed
av uAAui.ts mic wuuiu wunu, iiIIcl lias
never yet been answered.” “Let me
hear it,” said Billings, growing excited, f
“It is this,” said the other; ‘ ‘when a
man snores in his sleep through two I
octaves, that the whole house can
hear it, do yon consider the sounds f
produced to be vocal or instrumental . L
music?” ■
“Thk Couet Mcst Cave.’—Garnett M
Andrews, of tiie (Yazoo City) Missis
sippi Democrat, tells this anecdote of
“one of Georgia's most celebrated
militia commanders”: Col. Steelman
was a great lawyer, as well as a£rcat . i*
soldier. Arguing, once, to sustain his
pleadings against a sweeping demurrer
of the other side, he concluded his re- f*
marks to the learned Judge, who was
inclined to rule against him, in these
memorable words; “And now, may it
please your Honor, having given my
own views of the law, I will read
the Court what Mr. Chitty says upo
the points at issue; and if I am wrong,
then I will cave; but if the Court if
wrong, by G—the Court must cavpl”*- -
For the information of philologists, w
remark, in parenthesis, that this w
tho origin of the slang term “to cave
What’s that?” asked Mrs. Pa
tingtou, looking up at the Place Ve.'
dome, during her lute visit to Parf
“The pillar of Napolean,” she
answered. “Well, I never did!” She
exclaimed; “and that’* his pillow—
was a great man* to use that! But it’s
more like a bolster. And it's made ef
iron, I do believe. AhiTsaac, see
what it is to be great, How hard hja
head must have rested on his lroaieal
pi“0W!” * ‘
jsU-Some married folks,-*-*'—
love like their jewelry, for \
eyes; thinking it-too precious* . .
day wear at the fireside. (
•> .' IV ■