Crawfordsville Review, Crawfordsville, Montgomery County, 8 August 1857 — Page 1

THE DEPARTED.

There ww an eye in sorrow's hour Beamed on tnc with a mystic power *Ti« quenched, hot in tha stars of night,

I see its calm, unchanging light.

r- ^here VM a hand that once would twine Its flbgora lovingly with mine, ^Tiscold, bnt yet, the joyous thrill

It wakened then is with me still

There was a voice, at vesper hour, Sang to mo with a magic power *Ti» hushed, hut still it« echoes roll,

In thrilling strains, around my soil.

There was a heart wlioso love to mo Was mora than all beside could be "FJs still and yet the soul 'twas thero

Is round mo like tho summer air.

jj, SHE IS COMING.

There

lus

fallen a splendid tear

From the passion flower at the gato, •Bin is comiug—my love, my dear— Bhe Is coming—-my life, my fate.

The red rose cries: "Sho is near, she is near." And tho white rose weeps, "Sho is late The larkspur listens, "I hear, I hear,"

And tho lily whispers, "I wait."

She i.s coming—my own, my sweet— Wore it ever so airy a tread, My heart wouid hear her and beat, "Were it earth in an earthly bed. My dust would hear her and bent,

Had Main for a century dead— *. Would start and tremble under her feet, And blossom in purple and red.

The wife of John D. Hutton, of

Philadelphia, has left his bed and board, whereupon John waxes poetical, and advertises her and his business at the same time in the following doggerel "Aiy wile has loft my b#d and board,

For a few days, for a few day*: Flic left it of Lor own accord, When I WHS out from homo.

'•I caution all this amount, Now-a-dnys, now-a days,

•!i

IViji't trust heron my account, For she's never coming home.

"But still continue to mend umbrellas and parasols!"

r.th Young men who aspire in these perspiring days to be funny, should study the following old, but good one, and act accord-

Aiuelia waved her fan with fflua. And bei ng'in a playful mood

•i pave the airy toy to inft. And liutW me flirt it if 1 rouM.

The pleaKinp toil I quick began. Vet anxious thoughts my bosom hurtMa'NIFI'lle, 1 cannot KLIKT a fan, ]!ut if you please, I'll fan ri.iar.

Cxi" The irrevurend Mr. Kalloch has been preaching at Niagara Palls, whereupon sonic one gets off the following: No wonder we crowd thereto see the grand .sk'ht. Of the full rushing down in its terrible miirht Hut, on this occasion, hmv niiu more appidlin' To see at a jjiiin. botii the fall and the f.illen!

A E N II IN N

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A few days since one of our city bells was passing through Fourth street, escorted by a gallant, when, to her great annoyance, her crinoline began to exhibit as many crotchets as sho ever had in all her life. Her dress would not move gracefully or indeed at all. .Something must be decidedly wrong, and was. One of the gentle lady's hoops had broken, and being of metal, fettered her movements completely. She could not walk. Iler gallant offered to do anything. She declared he could do nothing.

The trecherous hoop, to her infinite horror, was coiling about oue of her delicate limbs, just where au embroidered garter confined her silken hose. Closer and closer the wire wrapped itself, as if it were enamored of what it touched. The lady could not stir, but trembling between fear and expectation streaehed out her daintily-kidded hands, imploringly, and said: "O dear, what shall I do."

Her gallant, knew there was no time to be lost—a crowd would soon gather—desperate diseases require desperate rtfnedies. He lifted the lovely girl, therefore, in his arms, and placing her upon a stone step, proceeded as deliberately as possible to remove the hoop. .** •'What are you going to do?" "Beiuove the hoop, if possible." -Well—" '•Well—" "Quick, then.", •'I begin."

And the lavender-colored gaiter, quite like Blanche Amory's, was visible, ami the deliciously turned ankle, and the beautiful swell of her faultless—stocking, and—* *—the hoop was removed.

Many roses bloomed, and died, and bloomed again, as she went home upon the arm of her escort through the golden sunshine, and of what both most thought, there was a profound and solemn silence.

Miss it has been observed, has not worn hoops since that half-fortunate and half-unfortunate da v.

A KILLING INVENTION.

Most of our readers have heard of Jules Gerard, the French lion-killer, and his won- barely weathered the storm.

derful encounters in the jungles of Africa When Gerard came back to Paris the last time from his favorite amusement in Africa, he suggested to Devismc, the wellknown gunmaker of the Boulevard des Italians, the idea of inventing a ball that •would explode when it arrived in the animal's body. A Parisian letter-writer says M. Devisme went to work to realize this idea, the utility of which in the chase of lions, elepbents and other wild beasts, is but too obvious, and it is pretended that he has perfectly succeeded. The new projectile, is about the size of the Minie ball its penetrating force is equal to the common ball. Arrived in the animal's body it explodes like a bomb, and, of oourse, causes sudden death, If shot into the lungs of aaelephant, for example, the ball, in exploding, disengages carbonio acid gas, and the animal, which, from its size, might otherwise survive for a short time, will sad* denly fell jsphyiiatod.

MY THEORY, AND A FEW FACTS AGAINST IT.

I am not a "Spiritualist." My bells are never rung or my tables moved by unseen bands. I believe that the "mediums" are humbugs and impostor6 and I have no more desire to inquire into the tray in which they get tip their "manifestations" than I have to investigate the manner in which Signer Blitz or Professor Anderson per form their aleight-of-hand tricks. Of the two, I think these much the cleverer and more respectable performers. Nor have I any faith in ghosts, omens, presentiments, and supernatural warnings. I believe them to be the product of weak nerves or overexcited imagination.1. Any occasional co incidence between the omen and the event I hold to be purely accidental.

Such is my theory. In general it is perfectly satisfastory to me. But I own that I cannot reconcile with it certain incidents with which I was closely connected. I have propounded my theory. I will now narrate the incidents.

Many years ago five-and-twenty or thereabouts—two lads, Harry Burton and George Walters, entered my counting-room jon the same day. The}' were sons of old friends of mine, though they had never seen or heard of each other till they found themselves seated at the same desk in my office. There was a strange likeness between these lads not close enough, certainly, to make it difficult to distinguish them but none the less perplexing on that account. The complexion, the.color of the hair and eves, were altogether different, and there was no very striking similarity in I he general cast of the features. The likones lay rather in the absolute identity of expression. The glance of the eye and the turn of the mouth were the same in both. The tone of the voice was exactly alike. To the last I could never, by the car, distinguish which was speaking. Their movements and gestures were similar. In a word, their resemblance was spiritual rather than material. It was as though one soul animated two bodies.

It was not a little singular also—sinoc one came to us from Massachusetts and the other from Virginia—that they were dressed precisely alike. This continued to be the case ever afterward. I do not believe that there was any direct understanding to this effect, or that either of them was fairly conscious of it. Another coincidence was that they were born on the same day, and, as nearly as could be ascertained, at the very same moment.

From the first, these lads conceived a great fondness for each other. We read of love at first sight—theirs was friendship at first sight. They became almost inseperable.

In my counting-room George and Harry grew up to be two as fine young fellows as oue would wish to see, and gave promise of becoming capital men of business.— Partly on their own account, and partly from old friendship to their fathers, I bad them much at my house, and was by no means sorry to perceive a strong affection springing up between them and Agnes and Marv Clay, the pretty twin-nieces of my wife.

For a long time I was puzzled to guess how the couples were to pair off. Each of the young men seemed to be equally attentive to each of the sisters. I could perceive no division of affection. I used sometimes to wonder if each of the young men did not love both of the girls, and vice versa. However, I suppose there was a difference perceptible to their hearts. In due time 1 learned that it was to be George and Mary, and Harry and Agnes.

But God willed that the two-fold marriage was not to take place. Agnes was called to pass the portals of the Silent Land. This bereavement seemed to draw still closer, if possible, the bonds between the survivors and when at length George and Mary married, there was no thought that Harry should leave them.

In due time the young men Ifcft my counting-room aud established themselves in business, with flattering prospects.— Then came the great crash of 1837, in which so many of our mercantile houses went down. Among those which were swept away was the house of Burton and Walters. I would gladly have assisted them, but it was beyond my power. My own house, which had stood unmoved for a quarter of a century, was sorely shaken, and

George and Harry clung together in adversity as closely as they had done in prosperity. Together they had failed, and together they would re-establish their fortunes. They went to New Orleans and recommenced business under the old name. Success crowned their efforts, and before many years the house of Burton and Walters had gained a firm position in the Crescent City. From New Orleans up the Mississippi and Ohio, and across the lakes, they were known, personally and by reputation, at every point for business.

During all these years their friendship remained unbroken. They had but one home, and a stranger oould never have told which was the head of the family. Mary was equally dear to both. She was seen with one as often as with the other, and

with both oftcner than with either. Her friends used jestingly to call her Mrs. 'Bur-ton-and-Walters,' and would ask her how her "husbands" were.

In their frequent visits to New York my house was invariably their home* They had passed the summer and early autumn of 1852 with ns, and were ready to return to New Orleans. Harry and George had business to transact on the river, which might detain them somewhat. Myself and wife were to start for New Orleans by sea in about a week and, at our earnest request, Mary was induced to remain to accompany us, while Burton and "Walters went overland. We all expected to be in New Orleans at about the same time.

On the evening of October 4th (I must now be particular about dates), George aud Harry took their departure. The separation was to be for so short a time that few regrets mingled with the parting. All that evening and the next day Mary was as gay and happy as usual. Why should she not be? What evil had she to apprehend? "Well, Mary," said I, as she was about to retire the next evening, "where do you

suppose your husbands arc now?" Jty

is the matter What lifts happened

Her voice sounded low and hollow, but she went on speaking with the utmost distinctness: "I was awakened by hearing his voice calling me. I know it was he. You can not distinguish his tones from Harry's I can. 'Mary! Mary he said and his voice sounded low and faint, as though it came from a thousand miles away. Yet it was clear and audible, as though breathed into my ear." "Why, you foolish child, you have been dreaming. It's all over now." "I was not dreaming. I was as broad awake as I am now. Could he call me and I sleep on "All a dream," said my wife. "I have had the same a hundred times when my husband has been away. "So I thought at first, aud I looked around, to be sure where I was. I saw ever)- object in the room. The moonbeams

aud

"In Buffalo, I presume I hope they are lighted up the room—both rooms—that in as happy as am. What a lovely night it which I lay in body, and that in which my she added, drawing aside the curtains husband's life was ebbing away—I saw there new faces. I heard eager voices whispering what tliey said I could not distinguish. At last I heard my husband's voice calling my name in a tone of deeper agony. Then for a moment all was still.—

and looking out into the. calm moonlight.— 'Surely nothing evil could happen on a night like this." And she bade us goodnight with her usual glad smile.

I was roused from sleep by au eager, continuous rapping at my chamber-door.—

It seemed as though sonic one, faint with mortal terror, was seeking entrance. Who's there?" I to the door.

It's me—Mary. For Heaven's sake let me in. Oh God I opened the door, and there stood, or athcr cowered, Mary Walters. Iler snowy night drapery was not whiter than her face. The pale dawn mingling with the faint gas-light in the hall made her look still more ghastly. 1 Ter large eye was dilated with horror her breath came and went in quick, convulsive gasps. "In Heaven's name, Mary, Mary, what

7"

I

asked, as I bore her to the sofa. "Dead dead Both dead—George and ilarry! I heard him call me, and I could not go to him. Oh my God, have mercy on me!"

Tho wild paroxysm soon passed away.— She became calm and composed. But a look of stony, unutterable woe settled upon her face more fearful than the wildest burst of agony. "Tell us what has frightened you, Mary. Was it a dream?" "A dream No. It was all real! I heard him call me with his dying breath, and I could not help him—could not go to him!"

came calmly in at the window, just as they ',avc

chair by the bedside. It partly hid the "If

SERIES" VOL. IX, NO. 3. CMWEOBDSVILIiE, MONTGOMERY COUNTY, INDIANA, AUGUST 8, 1857. WHOLE NUMBER 7*1.

and the chair partly hid it, so that I could only partially make it out. It seemed more like the cabin of a vessel than an apartment in a house. But there he lay, in mortal agony, calling upon me. I saw all I heard all. I knew that in my body I was lying here in your house, yet in soul I was there too, I knew everything that passed there and here. Iheard every foot step that passed along the pavement here. I saw all the while everything in my room. I saw the calm moonlight shining coldly ttirough the half-drawn curtains. I was there too. In soul I was in that dark room. I saw the death-dews gathering on his forehead. I heard him calling my name. I heard too, as I remember, something that sounded like the rush of waters popplin against the side of a vessel. Then all was dark. I could sec nothing but I heard my husband's groans of agony. I heard him again and again call my name. The clock on the mantle struck successively three, four and five so I knew that I had lain in speechless, motionless agony, three hours. Day began slowly to break here

there—here calm and bright, there gus

an(j

overcast. Then, as the gray dawn

Some one said, 'It's all over. He's dead.

Call Burton.' Then I heard a voice, apparently from another room, saying, 'Good God Burton is dead!' With a strong

exclaimed, springing wrench I burst the invisible bonds that had held me. The distant scene faded away. I saw the dawn streaming in at the window, and heard the clock on the mantle strike six. I rushed down to your door, where you found me.''

I could not but be impressed with the earnestness with which she spoke. Still I put the best face on the matter. "You were nervous, Mary. Your fancy and your fears were unduly excited. You have had a severe attack of the night-mare. It's all over now. Before night you will

have a dispatch telling you that all's well." "Mr. Winter," said she, "you have known me from a child. Did you ever know me to be nervous and fanciful? I was not disquieted. I had no evil forebodiugs. I never went to rest a happier woman than last night. I never slept more calmly than I did until I was awakened by my husband's cry. I was never more fully awake and conscious than I was during those long hours of deadly agony. I tell you that I heard my husband's dying voice and I shall never hear it again with my living cars. I tell you lie is dead—they arc dead. I must go this very day after them. I shall never sec them living, but I must look on their dead faces. 3Ir. Winter, you will help mc now. I must go."

Her piteous look moved me. "Yes, Mary, I see that you are bent on it. If we do not hear good news to-day, you shall go by the evening train." %:0

Toward noon a telegraphic dispatch was brought to mc. I gave it a hasty glance, and hurried to Mary. "Here, my child, is good news Is not this a consoling message from two dead men Listen: 'Buffalo, October 6, 8

a

did when I retired. I saw my dress on a hours afterward.

open grate. I saw the clock on the man- before I can reach them. tie. I heard it strike two. I was half re-1 warning. I heard his djing \oice. I assured, and said to myself, 'It was a

ling, 'Mary Mary I tell you it could be fixed idea and I left her with a promise only his voice. Do I not know it Could I ever mistake it It seemed as though my name was wrung out from his lips by the agonies of death. I tried to spring up. I was powerless. I could not move a limb. I tried to speak, but could not utter a sound." "Oh, the night-marc, Mary. ou must not lie upon your back, child."

"It was not the night-mare. 1 was not lying on my back. Listen to me. I lay upon my side looking toward the grate, which was partly hidden by the chair, upon which hung my clothes. As I lay, incapable of speech or motion, a picture—no, not a picture—a real scene slowly opened up far within that grate. It was far off—how far I know not—a thousand miles perhaps but there it was. I saw it. My husband was lying in a narrow room, lighted by a single lamp, in the extremity of mortal agony. I saw Harry bending over him, vainly endeavoring to relieve him. At intervals I heard him call my name in the same fearful tones that had awakened me—tones that never yet came from human lips until the seal of death was upon them. The little room where he lay was only half-lighted

Start for Cleveland in an hour. All well. —B. & W.' Now, how about your dreams?" "It was no dream," she replied. "I saw him dio. I heard his last cry with my own mortal cars. His living voice I shall never hear agaiu. But I may look upon their dead faces. I must go. Will you aid mc?" "But, Mary, you heard—or thought you heard—all this in the night and here you

message from them. ali\c and well,

th°y

are nut 11(3:1,1

uuist

dream.' Then again I heard his voice eal- I*1

uow' the*

g°- you help me?

was

V!l'n

t0

to sec her safely on her way. My friend Marston was to start in a couple of days for New Orleans by the western route, and at my earnest entreaty he agreed to hasten his departure and go that very evening.

At Buffalo they met a score of persons who had seen George and Ilarry leave for Cincinnati in perfect health. Marston and Marv lost no time, and followed on their route. As they had intended, Burton and WTalters had twice stopped over a train to transact some

business. At Cincinnati^3

Marston and his companion learned this at Cincinnati, and remained over night for the Forest City. Although the Fox had eighteen hours' start, it was hoped that the Forest City would overhaul her at Cairo.—

In this they were disappointed. No sooner had they touched the wharf than Marston recognized an acquaintance. "Hallo! Wilson," he shouted. "How are you Is the Fox in?" "Yes, and gone—an hour ago." "Did you see Burton and Walters "Yes, they were on board. I saw them off." "How were they Mrs. Walters is with me. She got frightened, and would follow after. We hoped to overtake them here." "She need have no fear. They were never better. They intend to stop at Memphis. You'll overhaul them there."

The Forest, City remained at Cairo for two days. From here Marston wrote mc a full account of all that had happened.— Mary, he said, was unmoved in her opinion. She was not wild or demonstrative, but calm and sad. "The bitterness of death is passed," she said, in reply to all attempts at encouragement. "I shall never behold them alive, but I shall look upon their dead faces. You are very kind I thank you for it. But they arc dead. I heard his dying words." "What nervous things women are!" moralized Marston.—

I wonder what she will say when she meets her husband!" This letter reached nie by the evening mail of the 12th. I will own that I was greatly reassured by it for in spite of myself, I could not wholly divest myself of lingering, feeling that something was tmiss.

Some friends dined with me that evening. Among them was Watson, of the Telegraph Company. I told them of the whole affair, and made light of Mary's vision and her journey. I took some blame to myself for permitting her to go on such a wild-goose chase. Perhaps I was not altogether unselfish, for my wife and myself had anticipated much pleasure from her company on our voyage. "But you know," I added apologetically, "when a woman takes a whim into her head, there's no beating it out. To do Mrs. Walters justice, this is her first offense of that kind."

So we chatted gayly, over our wine and cigars, of ghosts and omens of dreams visions, and apparitions of spiritual rap-

pings and table-turnings distributing the blame for these things pretty impartially ^c'

Late in the eveuing a telegraphic dispatch was left at my door. It was addressed to a mercantile friend, who had sent it up to me. "Ila! here's something about Burton and Walters," said I, as I ran my eyes hastily over it. "What is it Head it." 'Memphis, October 12. Cotton so-and-so. Jones all right. Smith and Parker failed. River low. Burton and Walters both dined here to-day. Tell Winter.' "Dined! Well, that docs not look much like dead men. "I'll wager that at this very moment Mrs. Walters is enjoying a pleasant supper with her two husbands," said Watson. "After all she's a woman out of a thousand. Here's a happy evening to them! What a pair Burton and Walters arc—always together. I do believe if one should die the other could not survive." "They were always so," I replied.— "You know they were brought up in my counting-house." "Yes, aud they are a credit to you," said Watson. "Give me another cigar. Thank you. Don't trouble yourself for a light— this will do."

which I had flung upon the table.

"Ha! What's this?" he cried, as his eve fell casually on the concluding words. "Confound their carelessness. They're always making blunders. Didyousce how this reads Burton and Walters died here to-day.' That's how the careless fellows

wili bc a 3 written

It

druggie against this

U-

fort

So it was a little indistinctly written indeed, but it was evidently died, not dined. "Of course," said Watson, "it should be dined. "Though, for the matter of that, it's about the same thing in Memphis, judging from a horrid dinner I once got

We reached the office, and Watson took

scat at

they were almost overtaken George and clicking of the machine was heard as his Harry were only six hours ahead. The

river was too low to allow the usual steamers to run when fully loaded. But the Forest City was to run down the next day without freight to Cairo, and there take in a cargo. Just as they had decided to wait for her, they learned that the little Fox, which, it was said, could run in a heavy dew, was about to start. They took passage on her, and set off without delay.

correct. Mrs. Walters came down on the Forest City this afternoon.'"

to stop a day or two at Memphis

Ashe spoke lie took up the dispatch the faint hope that the progress of the dis-jPrcscncfl'rcated-

ease might be arrested. We chafed hi cold limbs, and administered the most powerful stimulants. 1 once happened to look on Burton's face, and was shocked at its aspect. He said, however, in answer to

over

1

there. I almost died of it. As it is, there's no creat harm done, for wc know terrible paroxysm convulsed the frame ofj what it should have been. But it might have done a world of evil. Suppose Mrs. Walters had been here! I'll bring those fellows up with a short turn. Come down to the office with mc, and sec how they'll catch it."

instrument. The sharp

message flew over the wires

What do you mean by your blunders? \ou sent on word that Burton and Walters died, instead of ditied, as it should have been. Mind your p's and^'i." "Your ?i's you should have said, Watson." "It's all one Wait half an hour, and see what they'll say to that. They know I mean something when I blow them up."

In due time the bell tinkled, and the answer came. Wateon read it off word by word: 'B. and W. came down on the Fox last

night. Both died this morning. Dispatch it."

the clock strike six.

wharf. ilson, how arc you the For?" "Yes. Burton and Walters—" "I know they were on board. They are ii know where they arc Mrs. Walters is with mc. We've come sfier them. It's a singular story. I'll tell you some time." I "Mr. 3Iarston, they arc dead.'' I "Dead! You are jesting. We heard of them at Cairo two days ago. They were in perfect health." "Would to God were jesting! But it i.s too true. The Fo.c came in late last evening. Burton and Walters came at once to my store-boat, which lies off the wharf. My partner has been absent for a week, during which time I have not slept at home. 'Come boys,' said I, 'you do not want to go up to the town tc- night turn in here, and keep boat for me, and I'll go home.' Just as 1 was about Walters en id that lie felt a little out of sorts, and asked for a glass of brandy. "'There! I'm all right now,' said he, when he had drunk it. '(Jo home to your wife Burton and I will keep boat for you.' I •'Just as day was breaking I was aroused by a violent ringing at my door. down, I found Burton in a state of high excitement, amounting almost to frenzy. "Walters is terribly sick,' said he. 'I was afraid he would die in the night.— Where shall I find a physician? down to the boat.' "Leaving an urgent summons for a physician who lived close by, we hurried down On the way Burton told me, as well as he could what had happened. They 1iad retired shortly after 1 had left. Walters had

bid them good-night,

complained of a slight uneasiness, but said a night's rest would put him all right again. Just at two o'clock Burton was awakened by hearing his companion calling '.Mary Mary in a tone of anguish. He was sure of the hour, for he heard the clocks strike at the moment. The sufferer grew momently worse, llis agonies

ai1'^

between dreams, uight-marcs, roguery, and upon his wife. folly summing up the whole matter in the comprehensive word, "Humbug."

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HarnM-

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Mary ir.ct him r- Fie entered the cabin: Mr. r.ion," said she, cnmly, "there i.s

110

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When the 1-orcst ttt/ reached .Mem- ,. _r neetj i:ot attempt to soften the bh»w. plug Marston saw an acquaintance on the ... ,, ,,

Did

attempt hi? to disguise f!i' truth.

I reau it all in your face. But that I was r.ot needed. 1 know that they are deed. Tell me how they died. 1 can

bear it. The bitternessof deathyyas.

passed a week "go-" And bear ii the (li

Iravely and noMv, a great woe.jU

as a woman always bcai

a ii-

I s'arled with giving my general theory a't'ont omens, presentiments, aud spiritual manifestations. Hero are tho facts, which I can not reconcile with my theory. For their perfect accuracy 1 vouch. 1 still hold to my theory. But cannot reconcile them.-

A

AL'ITAL

srOKY.

yoars shoe an excentric old geni­

us, whom, for convenience, we will call Barnes, was employed by farmer living in a town some six or seven miles westerly from the Penobscot river, to dig a well. The soil aud substratum being mostly sand,

fftcr

'ntor^a^s ^1C '-died despaiiugly

Burton knew not what to

do. He would have gone for a physician, but he knew not where to seek one besides, Walters implored him not to leave him. At length he could bear it no longer, and was on the point of going in search of a physician, when, by some accident, the lamp was extinguished, and lliey were left in darkness. He had forgotten the position of the plank which formed the only connection between the boat and the wharf, and it was vain to endeavor to find it by groping in the blank darkness among the boxes and the bales with which the boat was encumbered. For two hours lie remained in the dark with his suffering friend, with which lie called for his absent wife. As soon as the earliest dawn enabled him to find his way lie set out in search of aid. "The physician reached the boat almost as soon as we did. It was still early morning, and the daylight, mingled with that from the lamp, which we had lighted again, shone ghastly upon the hollow face of the sufferer. The first glance which the medical man caught of poor Walters was enough. "'It's the cholera,' he whispered, hoarsely. 'He is in the last stages of collapse. He cannot live half an hour.' "Still we did all that could be done, in

havi:,S

1

l'^grcssed

ward about forty feet, found one morning, upon going to his work, that the well had essentially caved in. and was full nearly to the top. So, having that desire which men have of knowing what will be said of them after they are dead, and no one bc-

in.i astir, he concealed himself iu a tjoinr -yet rank growth of burdock by the side of a board fence, near the mouth of the well, having first left his frock and hat upon the windless over the well. At length, breakCome ^:i"sk ready, bov was dispatched to jcall him to his meal, when lo! and behold! {it was seen that Barnes was buried in tho grave uneonciously dug by his own hands, i'l'lie alarm being given and the family assembled, it was decided first to eat breakfor the coroner, tho minister, and his wife and children. Such apathy did not flatter Barnes' sclfestcein a bit, but he waited patiently, determined

:in(1 thcn SCI,fl

Lo hear what was to be said, and see what was to be seen. ••Presently all parties arrived and began "prospecting" the scene of the catastrophe, as people usuaiiy do in such eases. At length they drew together to exchango opinions as to what should be done. The minister at oncc gave it as his opinion that they had better level up the well and let Barnes remain 'for,' said he, "he is now beyond the temptation of sin, and in the day of judgement it will make no difference whether he is buried five feet under the ground or fifty, for ho is bound to come forth in either case." The coroner likewise agreed that "it would be needless expense to his family or the town to disinter when he was so effectually buried," and therefore concidcd with tho minister. Ilia wife thought that, as "he had left his hat and coat, it would hardly be worth-while to di" him out for the rest of his clothes and so it was settled to let him remain.— But poor old Barnes, who had no breakfast, and was not at all pleased with the result of the inquest, lay quiet until the shades of evening stole over the landscape, then ho quietly departed for parts unknown.

After remaining incognito for about three years, one morning he suddenly appeared (hatless aud frockless as he went) at the door of the farmer for whom he had agreed to dig the unfortunate well. To say that an avalanche of questions were rained upon hint as to his mysterious reappearance, &c., would convey a fecblo idea of the excitement which his bodily-

"I dragged him to the door of the ad- by those who were so distressed and sorjoining cabin, and heard him fling himself rowful over his supposed final rcsting-

heavily into a berth. In a few minutes ajP^ace-

poor A\ alters. offered to a firm in Comincrcial-row, at the "'It's the last,' whispered the Doctor. ]ow price of twenty-five cents per bushel, "He opened his eves wide, looked eager-. by a gentleman from Covington, Kentucky, ly around, and cried out, 'Mar-*: Mary i,j |The gentleman offered to contract for five if hundred or one thousand bushels, at diga tone which still rings in my It wa.- ,. 9

TI.ears.

the last effort of nature. His eves closed,

his jaw fell, his convulsed limbs straight-j

"I rushed in, and there, lying upon his-,

friend." "How shall I break the tidings to Mrs. Walters?" said Marston to himself, as he returned to the Forest City. "Poor woman! It will kill her." His heart failed him as he stepped on board. "I cannot do

But .the old man bore

it all quietly, and, at length, informed them that, on finding himself buried, he waited

for

them to dig him out until bis patience was exhausted, when he set to work to dig himself out, and only the day before

my inquiry, that lie was well: but he look-j succeeded, for, his ideas being somewhat ed twenty years older than he had done confused by the pressure of the earth a» the evening before. I the time he was buried, he had dug very "You can do nothing more, Mr. Burton,'i much at random,

an'^

said the Doctor. 'He can not hold out a directly to the surface, he came out in the quarter of an hour. Lie down for a

few

minutes. Wc will call you when all is

instead of coming

town of Ilolden, six miles east of the I c-

1

nobscot river.

No further explanations were asked for

Tr

noticed a wagon-load of potatoes

l.i 'gmg-time, at trie same price, inis is

gomething

of a falling off in price compar-

ccj with

ened themselves. E,nq. ISM. He was dead. At that moment I heard

the prices of last winter.—Cin.

".

Hoors.—Ladies, a whisper in your pn-

yate oar

^r(j ^Qu

"'Poor Burton," said the Doctor. 'He \Cw York, the broader the skirt the nartnust be told,' and he stepped into the next rower the line between the saint and the cabin. In a moment I heard a great cry. cyprian and that the women who wear the '"Good Heavens! Burton is dead, too!' largest "habits," are generally the loosest

aware that

here in

I a N. 1. Mirror.

---<>---

facc in the berth where he had flung him- PaTln New York, a note or draft given self, was Burton lifeless. He mast have by parties of undoubted^ credit is called died at the very same instant with hia

cla69

New Orleans it ia and in Boston as

PaPer J,1}

known as "fire proof," "gilt edged paper."

f&"A jolly doctor of this city, told us the other day that people who were prompt in their payments always recovered from their sickness, as they were good customers, and physicians could not afford to lose them.