Indiana State Sentinel, Volume 27, Number 23, Indianapolis, Marion County, 23 January 1878 — Page 1

VOL. XXVII NO 23. IXDIANAPOLIS, WEDNESDAY MORNING, JANUAUr 23, 1878. T7HOLE NO. 214.

II OPE ON, 11 OPE ETIB

BT CIBALD MAitsIT. Hope on, hope ever! thoughts day be dark, Toe sweet hunburst may sniile oo thee tomorrow; , ' ... Though thou art lonely, there a eye will mark . Thy loneliness, and gnerdon all thy sorrow; Though thou must toll for cold and sordid men. With none to echo back thy thought or love thee. , .'.. Qieer op, poor heart! thou dost not beat In vln, , For heavenly consolation beams above Uiee, Hope on, hope ever. The Iron may enter in and pierce thy soul. But can not kill the love within thee burning; The teafs of misery, thy bitter dole. Can never quench thy true Heart's seraph, yearning For better things; nor crush the arduous trust, That error from the inind Bbal be effaced, That trutn shall dawn, an flower spring trom the dutst, And Love be cherished where Hate was em braced ! Hope on, hope ever! I know 'tis hard to hear the sneer and taunt With the heart's honest pride at midnight To feel the killing canker-worm of Want, While ncn rogues In their stolen luxury nestle: .... for I have felt it. Yet from earth's cold real. My soul looks out on coming things, and chtenul, .... The warm sunrle floods all the land Ideal, Apd still it whispers to the worn and tearful Hope on, hope ever! Hope on, hope ever! after darkest night Comes, full of loving life, the laughing morning. Hope on. hope evtr! Bprtngtide flushed with light. Age crowns old winter,' with her rich adorning. Hnne on, hope ever! yet the time shall come When man to. man shall be friend and brother, And this rid world fhall be a happy home, And all the earth's. family love one another. Hope on, hoie ever! ALL FOR LOVE. BT MRS. SAIXIE A. RAMAOE. Chafteb II. Will Phelps intended no harm. I doubt if men of bis class, men.of his temperament ever do intend any evil, when slowly they drift away from home and love. lie had grown weary of his wife, as he said to himaelf, "She is not stylish, nor even fashionable; she is growing old rapidly." Old, and only 19; a wife of two years, and already old to her husband's eyes. She tried hard to pkase him, buijwhen he saw the contrast between her timid, gentle manner, and Kate Mason's glowing, fascinating beauty, purity and worth counted for naught. And thus husband and wife unconsciously, day after day, grew apart, she with the shadow settling heavier over her; he with the recklessness of his nature leading hira into folly. Mo longer did he apologize for his frequent absence from home; no more did he either ask or allow her to accompany him to gay scenes or entertainments; everywhere and at all times he was the escort of Kate Mason. She was proud of her victory for her marriage had rather been distasteful to her pride, and she determined from the moment she saw his wife to bring him again mnder the fascinations- of her, smiles. She had no thought for the poor girl wife; she regarded her with feelings akin to contempt, for she could not appreciate the purity and beauty of her character. Miss Mason was a flirt, a coquette, not more by practice than inclination, and she was remorseless in her pursuit of those whose claims clashed against her own. She had hoped, prayed, even dared to expect that some day Will Phelps would marry her, but when she saw the dainty girlish bride he had chosen she felt that after a while he would tire of the wife who was se free and honest in her, love and admiration of her husband. Not long after society had begun to wag its gossiping tongue, coupling the names of the two, the dread news came to Mrs. Mason that she no lot g?r possessed her husband's love. lie had taken her, in obedience to her pleadings, to a party, but had scarcely been with her a moment after their arrival. Some friends chatted with her, pitying her loneliness, bat her eyes wandered from group to group, seeking everywhere for one form, and yet he came not to her, though the hours wore on. At last she determined to find him, and passing through the rooms she une to one dimly lighted and deserted. Here, weary and heartsick, she paused for a moment to recover her strength and her composure. The windows of the apartment opened on to a balcony, and there she soon noticed a couple promenading. It was her husband and Miss Mson, pacing with slow step the quiet place, entirely oblivious of their surroundings. Mrs. Phelps could not cry oat, and she was too faint to escape from the room. 8o, clutching the heavy curtain, she stood concealed from their sight They were chatting pleasantly when 'she first card their" word, but soon their mood 'hanged and they Ulked tenderly and lovingly. She chided him for some fancied neglect, and he begged her pardon with humility and penitence. Then she upbraided him for indifference, for a desire to .break "their old friendship," and for a thousand little offense, which she hinted -rather than told. "But I swear to you I am not indifferent I never forget you, but, waking, your face la ever before me; sleeping, it is ever in ray dreams. Would to Heaven I had never lost my place in your heart" She was leaning upon his arm, her face close to bis own, and her eyes speaking volumes of love to his. "You have never, can never, lose that Will Mr. Phelps. You .are lost to me; you are married, indyou must not be with me so much. I am going away to-morrow, and you can then forget yon ever knew me." "Going away, Kate?"

"Yes, I must; I dare not stay. But. I go sadly, unwillingly." "Then stay; I will not causj you one moment's pain. ' If either must go, let me be the one to wander, exiled by my own folly." "But you have your wife; I have nobody who cares for me. An orphan, brotherless, sisterless, I could eo and who would care?" "I would, dear Kate. Let me tell yotUhe whole truth; I love you, and for that love's sake I will see you no more." White as' the lace about her throat Mrs. Phelps staggered away. Wild with pain and sorrow, the words that had fallen from her husband's lips, the death knell to her fondest hoper, sounding through her brain, she was no longer his wife save in name, lie loved another, and for the sake of that love he was to leave her, was to leave home, and wander in other lands. Could she have heard the temainder of her husband's remarks she would not have grieved so. Remembering his honor and his wife, after a mad moment of passion, he talked banteringly with Miss Mason, and she, resorting to the artifices of a finished coquette, ignored the words of love that had escaped his lips. She knew that bhe must say no more or he would flee from her to his wife, and that he would appreciate the change for the better. In a little while they came into the parlors, where Mrs. Phelps, anxious and sad, sat'awaiting them. .Her husband noticed how wan and ill she looked, and though his conscience reproved him sorely, he had no thought that she knew his folly. "Will you plaae take me home, Will?" she said when he approached her. "Are you faint Maggie?" "No; but I want to go home. If you will call the carriage I can go by myself." I will go with you." No, that is not necessary; but you will come home soon?" He made ne reply, for he intended accompanying her; but after she was in the carriage some freak of fancy impelled him to return to the ball room, and ere he was aware ol it the night was gone. ' He look Miss Mason home and then, with an anxiety hp " could not explain ho hurried to his home. His wife, dressed for traveling, awaited him. She had been waiting for his comiDg, and when she heard his step she met him with a smile eo faint that it was the ghost of the merry glances she used to give him. "Will, I have a message from father; he is ill; I must go to him. I am all ready, and I start soon." "But isn't this sudden? is he eo very ill?" "Yes, so the telegram says. Could you go with me?" "No, but I hope to come to see you if you are detained." "lie may die. Will, and then you will be all that I have on earth." "Oh, he'll get well; your father isn't so old and feeble as you imagine. I hope yoa will find him better." Something that he oould not understand seemed to be in her tone, her appearance, but he dismissed the thought from his mind, and busied himself about her luggage. She had always wept bitterly when they were parted, if only for a day, but now she received his kisses with strange composure, though her lips were ashen and cold. "Will you write tome, Maggie?" were his parting words, and her reply haunted .him. for days, "Am I not your wife?" Ere she- had been gone an hour the second telegram came announcing her father's death. Instantly Mr. Phelphs prepared to follow her, knowing, her absorbing love for her father, and how shocked and paralyzed by grief she would be when she reached her old home, only to find it dykened by the great shadow of death. CllAPTER III. The funeral was over and husband and wife sat in the little parsonage parlor where their bright merry days of courtship had been passed. Mrs. Phelps had shed no tears over her father's coffin but the" terrible grief was written indellibly on her face. There had been a silence unbroken by either until Will had asked her as to her return home. "I must go, Maggie; I haye pressing engagements. When do yoH desire to return?" "Not at all, Will." "What!" ."No, I shall stay here, and yoa can go. It will be best so, better for us both." ''Why, Maggie, I do not understand you." "Yes, you do, WilL Our marriage was all wrong, and I ought to have known it I should have remembered that I was not the wife for you with your different views of life; your training . and social nature. I was a poor, shy, country, girl; unused to the world and its ways. You regret our marriage, and for your sake I do. Ouf baby is dead. There is no tie now to bind us together. You are free from any yows made when yoa believed yoa loved me. You can go back to the World; I will stay here." Mr. Phelps was dazed by the blow. He had never believed it was possible for his wife to U so resolute;. but he saw there was no appeal from this verdict. He felt that it was J erst and righteous. In word and thought be had not been true to her, and he could not shield himself by a falsehood. "But, Maggie, what will yoa do?. How will you maintain yourself ?" "Father's little estate, with care, will provide amply for all my desires, and I will soon be able to do something for myself. As soon as you desire you can have a divorce, and then you will be free. I will not live the mockery of a life that has been ours for a year." "Yoa do not love me any longer, then. Yoa yourself are cold and cruel." . She paused as she stood in the open door: "Will, for love's sake I do this. I go from you that yoa need not go from me." (To be Continued.

BETWEEV TOE ACTS.

BEBTHA SCBANTOJf KlOL. Between the acts when the music swells, Pulsing aud flashing as was at nignt. When tue curtalu lulls, and we turn awhile To study the boxes, and nod and smile, In watching a face so white. Bee it grow changed as a cloud may skim Over the blue of a lake's clear rtm. . 11. Ob, old, sweet story of Marguerite! Grown sweeter and sweeter year by year; How your passionate music thrill and breaks, Like the tide of grief, when a fresh day wakes A maiden so wronged, so dear! Some leona of pain and loss you teach. As deep down into our hearts you reach. III. . Li all of the past forgot or dead Under a face that is calm and brave? And may not a shadow bteal now and then Back from the lichen and gratute again That cover an old grave ; Troubling the rest of a sweet, new dream, Dimming the gold of a bright tunbeani? IV. And no, as she listens, unaware, And smiles with her sweet wife eyes a;low, flow bitter his grief far a sin long coldHow hateful the secret his heart must hold. From this love that trusts him so! For even her face, so pure, so sweet, Recalleth a loss, dead Marguerite ! "Getting Religion" at a "Revival" Charles Dudley Warner's New Book, "Being A Boy." The New England country boy of the last generation never heard of Christmas. There was no such day in his calendar. If John ever came across it in his reading he attached no meaning to the word. It his curiosity had been aroused, and he had asked hh elders about it, he might have got the dim impressiou that it was a kind of popish holiday, the celebration. of which was about as wicked as "card playing," or being a "democrat" John knew a couple of desperately bad boys who were reported to play "seven up" In a barn, on the hay mow, and the enormity of this practice made him shudder. He had once seen a pack of greasy '"playing cards," and it seemed to him to contain the quintessence of sin. If he had desired to defy all divine law and outrage all human society, he felt that he could do it by shuffling them. And be was quite right The two bad boys enjoyed in' stealth their scandalous pastime because they knew it was the mo3t wicked thing they could do. If it had been as sinless as playing marbles, tbey wouldn't have cared for it. John sometimes drove past a brown, tumble down farm house, whose shiftless inhabitants, it was said, were, card playing people; and it is Impossible to describe how wicked that house appeared to John. He almost expected to see its shingles stand on end. In old New England one could not in any other way so express his contempt of all holy and orderly life as by playing cards for amusement. There was no element of Christmas in John's life, any more than there was of Easter; and probably nobody about him could have explained Easter; and he escaped all the demoralization attending Christmas gifts. Indeed, he never had any presents of any kind, either on his birthday or any other day. ' He expected nothing that he did not earn, or make in the way of "trade" with another boy. He was taught to work for what he received. He even earned, as I said, the extra holidays of the day after the "Fourth" and the day after Thanksgiving. Of the free grace and gifts of Christmas ha had no conception. The single and melancholy association he hsd with' it was the quaking hymn which his grandfather used to sing in a cracked and quavering voice While shepherds watched their flocks by night. All seated on the ground. The "glory" that "shone around" at the end of it the dolefu1 voice always repeating, "and glory shone around'' made John as miserable as "Hark! from the tombs." It was all one dreary expactation of something uncomfortable. It was, in short, "religion.'' Yon' d got to have it some time; that John believed. But it lay in his unthinking mind to put cf tne.VHark! from the tombs" enjoyment as long as possible. He experienced a kind of delightful wickedness in indulging his dislike of hymns ana of Sunday. John was not a model boy, but I can not exactly .define in what his wickedness consisted. He had no inclination to steal, nor much to lie; ani he despised "meanness" and stinginess, aud had a chivalrous feeling toward little girls. Probably it never occurred to him that there was any virtue in not stealing . and . lying, for honesty and veracity were in tne atmosphere about him. Ho hated work, and he "got mad" easily; but he did work, and he was always ashamed when he was over his fit of passion. In short, you couldn't find a much better wicked boy than John. When the "revival" came, therefore, one summer, John was in a quandary. Sunday meeting arid Sunday-school he didn't mind; they were a part of regular life, and only temporarily interrupted a" boy's pleasures. But when there began to be evening meetings at the different houses, a new element came into affairs. There was a kind of solemnity over the community, and a seriousness in all faces. At first these twilight assemblies offered a little relief to the monotony of farm-life; and John liked to meet the boys and girls, and to watch the older people coming in, dressed in their second best I think John's imagination was worked upon by the sweet and mournful hymns that were discordantly sung in the stiff old parlors. There was a suggestion of Sunday, and sanctity, too, in the odor of caraway seed that pervaded the room. The windows were wide open also, and the scent of Jane roses came In with nil the languishing sounds of a summer night. All the little boys had a scared look, but the little girls were never so pretty and demure as in this their susceptible seriousness. If John saw a boy who did not come to the evening meeting, but was wandering off with his sling down the meadow, looking for frogs, mavbe. that.boy seemed to him a monster of wickedness. ' After a time, as the meetings continued. John fell also under tha general impression of fright apd seriousness. All the talk was of "getting religion," and he beard over and over again that the .probability was if he did not get it soon he never would. The chance did not come often, and if this offer was not improved John would be given over to hardness of heart. His obstinacy would show that he wss notone of the elect. . John fancied that he could feel his heart hardening, and he began to look with wistful anxiety into the faces of the Christians to s-e what were the visible signs of being one of tha elect John put on a good deal of ft

manner that he "didn't care," and he-never admitted his disquiet by asking any questions or standing up in meeting to be prayed for. Butbe did care. He heat d all the time that all he had to do was to repent and believe. But there was nothing that be doubted, and he was perfectly willing to repent if he could think of anything to repent of. It was essential, he learned, that be should havea "conviction of si n." Th is h e earnestIv tried to have. Other people, no better than be, had it, and he wondered why hs couldn't have it. Boys and girls whom he knew were "under conviction,". and John began to feel not only panicky, but lonesome. Cynthia Iludd had been anxious for days and days, and net able to sleep at night but now she had given herself up and found peace. There was a kind of radiance in her face that struck John with awe, and he felt that now there was a great gulf between hira and Cynthia. Everybody was going away from him, and his heart was gettiag harder than ever. He couldn't feel wicked, all he could do. And there was Ed. Bates, his intimate friend, though older than he, a "whaling," noisy kind of boy, who was under conviction and sure he was going to be lost How John envied him. And, Jretty soon, Ed. "experienced religion." ohn anxiously watched the change in Ed.'s face when he became one of the elect And a change there was. And John wondered about another thing. - Ed. Bdtes used to go trout fishing, with a tremendously long pole, in a meadow brook near the river; and when the trout didn't bite right off, Ed. would ''get mad," and as noon as one took hold, fle would give an awful jerk, sending the fish more than 300 feet into the air and landing it in the bushes the other side of the meadow, crying out "God dam ye, I'll learn ye." And John wondered if Ed. would take the little trout out sny more gently now. John felt more and more lonesome as one after another of his playmates came out and made a profession. Cynthia (she too was older than John) sat on Sunday in the singers' seat; her voice, which was goicg to be a contralto, bad a wonderful pathos in it for hira, and he heard it with a heartache. "There she is," thought John, "singing away like a angel in heaven, and I am left out." During all his after life a contralto voice was to John one of his most bitter an 1 heartwringing pleasures. It suggested the immaculate scornful, the melancholy unattainable. ". If ever a boy honestly tried to work himself Into a conviction of siD, John tried. And what made him miserable was that he couldn't feel miserable when everybody else was miserable. He even began to pretend to be so. He put on a serious and anxious look like the pthers. He preterded he didn't care for play: he refrained from chasing chipmonks and snaring suckers; the songs of birds and the bright vivacity Of the sum mer time that used to make him turn handsprings, smote him as a discordant levity, ije was not a hypocrite at all, and he was getting to be alarmed that he was not alarmed at himself. Every day and night he heard that the spirit of the Lord would ftrobably soon quit striving with him, and eave him out The phrase was that he would "grieve away the Holy Spirit." John wondered if he was not doing il. He did everything to put himself in the way of conviction, was constant at the evening meetings, wore a grave face, refrained from play, and tried to feel anxious. At length he concluded that he must do something. One night, as he walked home 'from a solemn meeting, at which several of his little playmates had "come forward," he felt that he could force the crisis. He was alone on the sandy road; it was an enchanting summer night; the stars danced overhead, and by his. side the broad and shallow river ran over its stony bed with aloud buk soothing murmur that filled all the air with entreaty. John did not know then that it pang, "Bat I go on forever," yet there was in it for him something of the solemn flow of the eternal world. When he came in sight cf the house he knelt down in the dust by a pile, of rails and prayed. He prayed that he might feel bad, and be distressed about himself. As he prayed he beard distinctly, and yet not as a disturbance, the multitudinous croaking of the frogs by the, meadow spring. It was not discordant with his thoughts; it bad in it a melancholy pathos, as if it were a kind of call to the unconverted, What is there in this sound that suggests the tenderness of spring, the despair of a summer night, the desol&teness of young love? Years after, it happened to John at twilight to be at a railway station on the edge of tbe Ravenna marshes. A -little way over the ptirpls plain he saw the darkening towers and ncird "the sweet bells of.Imola." The holy Pontiff Pius IX. . was borri at Imola,and passed his bay hood in that serene and moist region. As the train .waited, John heard from miles of marshes round about tbe evening song of millions of frog?, louder and more melancholy and entreating than the vesper call of the bells. And instantly his mind went back for the association of sound Is as .subtle as that of odor to the prayer, years ago, by the roadside, and the plaintive appeal of the unheeded frogs, and he wondered if the little pope had not heard the like importunity, and perhaps, when he thought of bimself as a little pope, associated his conversion with this plaintive sound. John prayed, but without feeling any worse, and then went desperately into the houstand told the family that ho was in an anxious state of mind. This was joyful news to the sweet and pious household, and the little boy was urged to feel tht he was a sinner, to repent, and to become that night a Christian ; he was prayed over and told to read the Bible, and put to bed with tne iojunctiOn to repeat all tbe texts of Scripture and hymns he could think of. John did this, and said over and over the few texts he was master of, and tossed about in a real discontent now, for he had a dim notion that he was playing the hypocrite a little. Bat he was sincere enough in wanting to feel, as the other boys and girls felt, that he was a wicked sinner. He tried, to think of his evil deeds; and one occurred to him indeed, it often came to bis mind. It was a lie; a deliberate, awful lie, that never injured anybody but himself. John knew he was not wicked enough to tell a lie to injure anybody else. This was a lie. One afternoon at school, just before John's class was fc recire iu geography, his pretty cousin, a young lady he held in great love and respect came in to visit the school. John . was a favorite with her, and she had come to hear him recite. As it happened, John felt shaky in his geographical lesson of the day, ani he feared to be humiliated in tbe presence of his cousin; he felt embarrassed to that degree that he couldn't have "bounded" .Massachusetts. So be stood up and raised his hand, and said to theschoolma'am, "Pieise. ma'am, I've got tbe stomachache; may I go homer And John's character for truthf aluess was so high (and even this was even a reproach to him), that his word waa instantly believed,

and he was dismissed without any medical examination. For a rioment John was delighted to get out of school so early; but soon his guilt took all tbe light out of the summer sky and all - the pleasantness out of nature. He had to walk slowly, without a single bop or jump, as became a diseased boy. The sight of a woodchuck, at a distance from his well known ho!n, tempted John, but he restrained himself, lest so ra body should see him, and know that chasing a woodchuck was inconsistent wit h the stomachache. He was acting a miserable part, but it had to be gone through with. He went home and told his mother the reason he had . left school, but he addod that he felt "some" better now. The "some" didn't save him. Genuine sympathy was lavished on him. He had to swallow a stiff dose of nasty "picra," the honor of all childhood, and he was put in bed immediately. The world never looked so pleitsant to Joha, but to bed he was forced to go. He was excused from all chores; he was not even to go after the cows. John said he thought he ought to go after the cows much as he hated the business usually, he would now willingly have wandered over the world after cows and for this heroic offer, ic the condition he was, he got credit for a desire to do his duty; and this unjust confidence in him added to his torture. And he had intended to set his hooks that night for eels. His cousin came home, and sat by his bedside and condoled with him; bis scboolma'am ' had sent word how sorry she was for him, John was such a good boy. All this was dreadful. . He groaned 'in 'agony. Besides, he was not to have any supper; it would be very dangerous to eat a morsel. The prospect was appalling. Never was there such a long twilight ; never before did he hear so many sounds out doors that he wanted to investigate. Being ill without any illness was a horrible condition. And he began to have real stomach ache now; and it ached because it was empty; John was hungry enough to have eaten the New England Primer. But, by and by, sletp came, and John forgot his woes in dreaming that he knew where Madagascar was jus; as easy as anything. It was this lie that came back to John the night he was trying to be affected by the revival. And he was very much ashamed of it, and believed be would never tell another.. But then he fell to thinking whether the picra," and the going to bed in the afternoon, and the loss of his supper, had not sufficiently paid for it And in this unhopeful frafne of mind he dropped off into a sleep. ; ' - And the truth must be told, that in" the morning John was no nearer realizing the terrors he desired to feel. But he was a conscientious boy, ana would do nothing to intertere with the influences of the season. He not only put himself away from them all, but he refrained from doing almost everything that he wanted to do. There came at that time a newspaper, a secular newspaper, which Lad in it a long account of the Long Island races, in which the famous horse Lexington, was a runner. -John was fond of horses; he knew about LexiDgton, and be had looked forward to the result of this race with keen interest. But to read tbe account of it now lie felt might destroy his seriousness of mind, and in all reverence and Simplicity he felt it be a means of "grieving away the Holy Spirit." He therefore hid away the paper in a table drawer, intending to read it when the revival should be over. Weeks, after, when he looked for the newspaper, it could not be found, and John never knew what "time" Lexington made, nor anything- about tbe race. This was to him a serious loss, nt by no means so deep as another feeling that remained with him; for when his little world returned to its ordinary course, and long after, John had an uneasy apprehension of his own separateness from other people, in bis insensibility to the revival. Perhaps the -experience was a damage to him ; and it is a pity that there was no one to explain that religion for a little fellow like him is not a "scheme."

A IX hOBTS. Don't try to do too much. A man undertook to make his wife learn to eat with her fork the other d iy, and now he wears a beefsteak on his eye. The pathway of the reformer has always been a good deal like, Jordan. . John W. YoHPg belongs to the council of the Utah legislature. And it has twelve other polygamists in it And of the twentysix assemblymen twenty-two have "plural wivrB;" four are apostles and thirteen are bishops and presidents of districts. Only one county is represented by Gentiles. A pretty much married set of solons. Old Brigham's soul is evidently marching on. Mr. Colfax arrived at- the Barton housf. Warren. 111., the other morning, at 3 o'clock, and as the landlord didn't know him, and he told tbe landlord that he wasn't going to bed, but would take an early morning train, "raini host" asked him to act as clerk, keep up the fires, and wake up the porter and servant girls. All of. which the ex vice president faithfully did, being, however, recognized by a guest in the morning. Superintendent Shattuck, of Denver, say) what onght to be, but is not apparent to every one that whenever the people want teachers with brains to train their children, and are willing to. pay for such, the brains will be found forthcoming. When the rural population take into their inner consciousness tnis fact that a school of one month under a, teacher who is really and truly apt to teach, is absolutely worth more than six months under a mediocre then the order will go forth,. '"Incapables to the rear," and they will bear and obey. Mrs. G lines' brown eyes are described as being as quick and bright as a bird's, and her laugh has a ring to it that, shows that much fun remains. A halo of auburn crimps around her face lends her. a still brighter look, and to the unknowing she cou'd easily pass for half her age. Some years ago, in speaking her mind to Chief Juxtice C iatf, Mrs. Gaines told hira that she should battle before the bar until she was 150 years old. "And to think, madam, that this is to be kept up for 123 years longer," said the chief justice, as he bowed to the aciiycwidow. , - According to the Boston Herald, Mark TWain has made a characteristic apology to Longfellow, Holmes and Emerson for the irreverent wanner in which he caricatured those Boston divinities at the Whlttier dinner. The text of the letter has not been 'made public, but it is understood that he said to them in snbstance that he was a fool, that he knew it b it that God made him a fool, that he was God's fool and couldn't heln himself, and that they ought to have a little compassion en him for God's sake, if not ior nis own. Ana uoeion, wnicn reaas the apology as a self searching and most abject ooniession, and shuts its eyes to the keen sarcasm so neatly veiled beueath it, forgives the mad bouorist and pities him.

THE XI OX EST FASHEB.

(TO AS OLD T(75K.) Happy I count the rarmei's lire. Its various rounds of wholesome toll; An honest man with loving wife, An oflspring native to the Boil. Thrive happy, surely !-In his breast Plain wisdom aud the tru-tiniod; Hi path more straight from east to west Than politician eer trd. His gain's no loss to other men; His stalwart blows inflict no wound; Not busy with his tongue or pen. He questions trutui ul sky and ground. Partner with seasons and the sun, Nature's co-worker; all his skill Obedience, ev'n as waters run. Winds dIow, herb, beast their laws font A vigorous youthcod, clean and bold; A manly manhood, cheerful age; . His comely children proudly hoid . Their parentage bet heritage. Unhealthy work, false mirth, chicane, Oulht needless woe, and useless strife O cities, vain, inane, insant How happy is the farmer's lire! Fraser'a Magazine. STATE SEH8. Local shippers report the grain trade gooa. about 70,000 bushels of corn being shipped, daily. Mitchell Commercial: The Oold weathx' of last week killed about one-fifth of tha peach buds in this vicinity. A transcript was filed in the supreme) court yesterday in a case in which a man 75 years old is sued for seduction. Piute Indian custom makes the squaw property as much as a pony or a blanket, and the right Cf the husband to kill hia wife is never disputed. The authorities never interfere with tribal customs and TPPTilaf irn nf tha Pin tea Mr. J. H. Piercy, deputy auditor of state, yesterday returned from Evansville, where he spent three days inspecting tne condition of the People's savings bank. . He called in assistance, and after a thorough examination of the assets he pronounced the bank en- -tirely solvent. Albion New Era: The B. and O. companyare doing all in their power to decrease: drinking and drunkenness among their employes. As soon as they learn of a workman being drunk they d if charge him at once. In this manner they have succeeded in making Garrett one of the most moral towns on the line in this respect. Michigan City Enterprise: The n amber of convicts in the northern prison is C25, which is a reduction of 2. The largest number ever within tbe walls was GS7. The reduction is due in part to the law enacted by the last legislature which provided that in cases of larceny the amount stolen must be $15 in stead of $5 to make it a state's prison offense. Brownstown Banner: The contract for building the narrow-gauge railroad from the Wabash to Switz City was let last week to .Lyon, 1 hacker, Buel v Co to be completed by the 1st of July, 1878. The road is already completed from Sullivan to Wabash, and the iron laid. Roll on the narrow-gavge ball. Portland Commercial: At the present time there is but little sickness throughout the county, and scarcely any chills and fever. With the system of drainage that has been commenced and tbe amount ci ditching that is now being done by our farmers, it is safe to predict that Jay countywill soon be one of the most healthful, as well as productive, counties in the state. We are glad to notice that our farmers appreciate the great necessity of thorough, drainage, and are earnestly engaged in the work. Auburn Courier: The farmers of Elkhart cdunty have made grand use of the mild, open weather through December by turning over their sod ground and getting it ready for spring planting. Nothing pulverizes such ground half w well as the fretting and thawing process of spring, cleaning it of the eggs and larva of worms and insects which prey upon the crops. Winter plowing also enriches the earth by absorbi"" the fertilities properties of the snow atd spring rams. Land thus worked hardly ever fails to produce heavy summer crops. reeding Fowls. Poultry Worid.l It is not feeding well to throw corn, grain and soft feed promiscuously to your flocks, in quantities double and treble what they require for the time being. This is waste, and tends to cloy the fowls, who frequently show signs of indigestion, loss of appetite, and indifference to their food under such a plan of treatment It is not feeding well to offer food to fowls at any time or no time, as the mood may take you. Have a system in feeding, and give them three times a day, at least a regular allowance of varied food all they will eat up clean, and "look slyly over their shoulders for more." It is not feeding well to stint the birds (particularly when confined, where they can not forage for their partial subsistence) and furnish them with only half rations. This is starvation, net economy. Give then enough--not too much and of that which is good for them. So they will thrive, because you will then be feeding them well.It is not feeding well to stuff domesticfowls with oily scraps, stale raw meat, sour maal and nIH rtflTitarVion with K-if liftTa mere labor and care, you can give them a moderate and systematic allowance of cooked meat, fresh scalded meal daily and softened scraps, or table offal free from mold and offensive acids. If you wish to sicken and disgust your penned np fowls with their fare and yourself alike, follow the former unwise course; but do not cajole yourself into the notion that under this plan you are 1 1 . - J : n ii Feeding well rr ans that yoa afFjrd your poultry sufficient for their daily needs, of a . quality and in quantity that will best appease regular habitual ( not a transient and vicious) appetite. All they can take np at a time, comfortably, without gorging, is ample. Let the periods for feeding be triple daily, for old fowls, and four or eight times a day for young stock. Give them plenty of fresh clean water to drink; alternate their -cooked vegetable food with sound grains; give them a range, if yoa can, where they may pick up part of their living, and never allow them to gt desperately hungry through your neglect Thus . you may pride yourself upon your system of feeding well. A Boston man, who was sent to prison ths. othsr day for forgery, had been so noble, sopure and so innocent that the jailers on searching him saw where the angel wiDgx. had commenced to sprout