Rensselaer Standard, Volume 1, Number 19, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 25 October 1879 — Page 1

T2n© Stsin.d.£ird_ ItVLIABLY BMrVBLICAXUBiifIH ed Every Saturda y F « —BT— v MIBVIK O. CIBSEL. T2BMB: -"T one coy, one Year ——— •** *- “ six months —— * --yr three monta»_ 25 OrrtCß; In Lepold’s Stone Dgßdlng, op ! - stain, rear room. 2 u • i

| HER LOVER% - My flr»t--KT very flrmt—bM name was Wlji; A iuiii'U>ine leiiow—fair, with curling And kTve.’i ey«a. I have his locket alilL Ue went At Ualyeatou and settled tnere— At least, 1 teani so. Ab,d«» n», f dearmel Mow terrify lu love he used to Dei The second (Uobert Hill), he told his love The flrat eight that we met. 'Twas at a ball— , ▲ Jbotlsh bo - ! He carried off my EloVe. We wit oet half the dancea in the nail. And dined in the most outrageous way. Oh, me! how mother scolded ail next day! The third.wclte np my heart. From night ttlliuorx, . . , Kmu mors till night again, 1 dreamed of ' him. I treasured uiraroeebad he baa worp ; jgy tears and klaae« inudehl* picture dim. Htrange that 1 can feel the old; old flame When I remember Paul-tbat was Ills name! The fourth And fifth were brothers—twins Good fellows kind, devoted, tflever, too, Twas ruttoer diabi>e to yefhse thorn flat— Both In one lay; bet else-would 1 dot My heart was *Oll with'Paul, an <l he Juul YachtsaUling with the Mlaaea Oarretson! He neVer cared for me— t found that out— Ueaplte the loollsh clinging ol my hope; A few montlis proved it clear beyond a doubt. _ I steeled my heart: I would not pine or But msaSed myseirin gayety, and went To grace his weddlug when the cards were went. Bo these were all my loves. My husband? Oil, 1 met him down in Klorldaone fail—lUeli, middle-aged, and proey. as you know; He asked mt—l accepted: that is ailA kind, good soal; lie worships me; but then I never count hint liy with any other men.

THE WRONG PIG.

Old; Dr. Johns lived in a small village of Honeyhurst, and for forty years he had been the sole physician in the district where he resided. No one cared to enter the lists against him in that locality, for the simple inhabitants fully believed that there was not such another master of the healing art in the known world, and so he drove his red-wheeled gig over the lanes and byways of the country side without a rival, and dared and bullied the inhabitants in his rough and kindly fashion to his heart’s content. The doctor lived in a great rambling house, half-way down the village street, with a wide expanse of lawn in front, and his little brick office in one corner next to the sidewalk. His wife had died many years ago, so his household was conducted by a housekeeper. But as the doctor’s family was small and he loved society, he was hardly ever without a student, to whom he taught the healing art in the back office. Thus it was Charlie Horton came to Honeyhurst to study medicine with the doctor, and, as his predecessor had done before him, occupied the back office and north west chamber. He came from a town somewhat distant, and was unknown to the town folks, and, like every stranger that came among them, was made the subject of much critical examination, as he walked up the broad aisle of the village church the Sunday evening after his arrival. “Well, doctor, how are you?” said farmer Smith, as he leaned over the gate of his cornfield, next morning, as the doctor came driving by. “Ah, Smith, how do you do?” replied he, as he drew rein on the gray mare and stopped. “How’s your folks?” “Toler’ble, thank’ee; wife’s a little ailin’this mornin’. See you’ve'got a new youug man; see’d him yesterday at church. Goin’ to make a doctor out o’him, eh?” "Yes, I think so,” replied the doctor “Think ye ain’t got the wrong pig by the ear, eh, doc tor?” said the farmer, "Well don’t know,” replied the village ..Esculapius; “can’t tell yet.” Now “getting the wrong pig by the ear” was one of the doctor’s great expressions, in fact his favorite one. Like Shakspeare’s justice, he was “full of wise saws and modem instances,” and had a proverb or apt quotation upon every occasion. With him, if a man made a mistake, it was “getting the wrong pig by the ear.” Of course this peculiarity was well known throughout all the country about where he practiced, and hence the quotation of Farmer Smith. Time passed on and Charles Horton became fully domesticated in the doctor’s household. He was a fine young fellow, somewhat over-confident, perhaps, and. needed the rein a little. This the doctor was not slow to put on, and he mingled his instructions in the healing art with admonitions about “getting the wrong pig by the ear,” Until Charles was heartily tired of the homely proverb. But be was a good fellow, nevertheless, and a great favorite.

Two years pastil away, and Charlie’s studies with the old doctor were drawing to a close, when suddenly the idea pop)>ed into his head that he would go to Paqs and finish his medical education with a coun-e through the Continental hospitals. Dr. Johns j*oohpoophed the idea and thought it utterly 4 “Wliy, boy,” said he, “what do you want to be gallivanting off to France for? What Lee have you got in yonr xianet now? Can’t you be satisfied with home learning, but must go and tack on some new-fangled foreign tomfoolery that will knock all your sensible knowledge out of your head? Go to Paris? Nonsense! Don’t get the wrong pig by the ear!” » But Charlie was not to be talked out &f his new idea. He was bound to go to Paris to htudy and see the world, and so one day he (lacked his trunks, bade his frieuds good hye, and, mounting the stage coach, was wheeled out of the village world. Bat before going, the old doctor called him into his office, and, shutting the door, thus began: “Now, Charlie, you are off to foreign • parts, and I hope you will enjoy yourself. Stick to your book* and get what knowledge you can out of those fellows over there, although I don’t suppose they know so much more than other people. But, never tlieless, you may learn a few things. I don’t suppose CPU be apt to go acting, as you have n too well brought up for that; and now I’ve got something here that I wan t you to take with you. It’e a recipe that it has taken me a good many years to find out. You will find it bf great value in your practice. It will cast you £5.” And the doctor, with a Very grave face, held out a huge yellow envelope sealed with red wax sad tied with a blue ribbon. Charlie was rather tifed'of ids long

THE RENSSELAER STANDARD.

VOL. I;

winded harrangue, for Although he liked the doctor, he considered him something of an old fogy. But tbe offer of hus recipe excited his curiosity. What was it? So he paid the £6 and becarnty the happy- possessor of the huge envelope and its mysterious contents. ' . -■ 4 “Take good care of it, Charlie, and don’t open it until you are out of the Country.” A day or two after, when at his hotel at Folkstone waiting for the steamer, he bethought himself of the mystic recipe, and hastening to his room he locked the door and opened his valise. There it was, safe and sound, in. all its glory of yellow envelope, red seal and blue ribbon. Charlie took it out; turned it over. It was very- solemn and ponderous; a perfect panacea for all the evils that flesh is heir to. He turned it over and over, and finally untied the ribbon, and, breaking the seal, drew out a sheet of foolscap carefully folded. Takiug it to.the window, he read as follows: ‘ Don’t get the wrong pig by the ear. “Dr. Matthew Johns.” Dashing the paper to the floor, Charlie burst out: “The old swindler, to cheat me out or five pounds in that way: I’ll come up with him, though. See if I don’t pag him off.” So he contented hiraseir witli concoctiug a geneme for venge-

ance in secret. Three years passed away before Charlie Horton finished his studies and returned home. Meanwhile he had changed greatly, and from a smoothfaced strippling, with the merest suggestion of a moustache, he was now bearded like the pard, aud looked so different that his mother hardly knew him. But he had not forgotten Dr. Johns, nor his promised revenge. It was Saturday night when the stage coach set Charles Horton down at the ! door of the village inn at Honeyhurst. He gave a false name to the landlord, and smoked a cigar with him utter tupper, and inquired about the village, without that functionary ouce suspecting his idenity. lu the course - of the conversation Charlie asked: “who it was that lived in the large house with a front garden down the street?” “That’s Dr. Johns—been here a good many years; Clever man. I’ll introduce you to h(m, if you wish. The doctor ami 1 are pretty good friends.” “Well,” slowly replied Charlie, as if considering it, “he ought to know his danger, and It would be best to tell him. It may not be too late yet.” And on they started down the street, toward the doctor’s residence. “What did you say was his name?” asked Charlie, as they marched along. “Dr. Johns.” “Johns —Johns,” said Charlie, thoughtfully.. “I knew a fellow in Paris —Charlie Horton by name—who said he had studied with Dr. Johns, an old man, and somewhat of a character. I wonder if your doctor is the same man?” “To be sure he is,” replitd the innkeeper, “I knew Charlie Horton well. He went to France three or four years age. You know him, do ye? Is he there yet? The doctor will be doubly glad to see you if you bring news from Charlie. He though a great deal of him.” By this time they had reached the doctor’s office, and ue greeted the landlord heartUy, and lookiug inquiringly at the stranger. The landlord introduced Chkriie as Dr. Holmes, and added that be brought news from Charlie Horton. At this Dr. Johns was oveijoyed, urged the pseudo Holmes to come in, and inquired affectionately .about his old pufil. Conversation was carried on for an hour, when Charlie, looking the doctor earnest in the face, said: “Dr. Johns, how is your health now?” “First rate, sir—first rate. Never felt better in my life!” and he certaiuly looked it. “You don’t find old age creeping oa, do you, sir?” blandly inquired Charlie, .hut still looking very intently into the “Well, a little stiffish in the joints now and then; but—bless you, sir—l can ride ,as many miles aud as many hours as I ever could.”

“Doctor Johns,” said Charlie, very impressively, “do you ever meet in your practice people who look and feel the perfect embodiment of health, and yet whose constitutions are being sapped by a fatal disease and they not conscious of it?” “Well, yes, I have met such cases,” replied the doctor. “And did you,fever apply them to yourself, sir?” asked Charlie in solemn tones. “Why, Dr. Holmes, what do you mean?* Do you think that my constitution is undermined by a secret disease? Nonsense, man!” and be laughed outright. Then Charlie began. He told the old doctor all that he had told the land-* lord, and much more. How he had many such cases. He knew the doctor felt his age, and he cleverly used those symptoms, twisting them about,showing that it was not age, and in two hours’ time the doctor was so thoroughly frightened that he believed his end liable to occur at any moment, and besought “Dr. Holmes” to do whatever lay in his power to give him relief. Dr. Holmes promised to think it over during the night. Dr. Johns would not hear of his returning to the inn, but insisted upon bis taking a bed at his house. Charlie, with a grave face,finally consented: but before going to bed he advised the doctor to take an “anodyne,” assured him that there was no immediate danger, and cleverly managed to slip an emetic into the doctor’s glass of rum and water, which he always took before retiring, and had done so with great regularity for thirty years. About the middle of the night the old housekeeper called Charlie up in

great haste and terror. Dr. Johns was very sick, and had asked her to call Dr. Holmes as soon as possible. Charlie went to tbe bedroom and found him tossing around and groaning at a great rate. He felt now he bad an attack of the disease mentioned by Charlie, and besought him to do what he could spfeeduy. Charlie made an examination, looked grave, and shook his head.. ’‘Bad, is it, Dr, Holmes?” asked Johns, faintly; ~t ell me the -worst, sir.” « “It is a bad case, Dr. Johns,” said Charlie. “I can only do one thing, and that is a costly one. I can give you a prescription, but it will cost you £2O.

RENSSELAER. INDIANA, SATURDAY., OCTOBER 25. 1879-.

I am obliged to aifribat for it, as I obtained it under peculiar circumstances. It may give you relief. I hgve seen it used with very good results.” “Twenty pounds?” asked the old doctor, -eagerly. “All right; I willJgive it, sir. Wliat is the prescription? Here is the money.” Charlie wrote on a slip of £%per, folded it up and banded it to. the-noc-tor. Heireceived, It eagerly, opened it with trembling hands, and, by the light of thfc bed room lamp, read: ' “Doh’t get the wrong pig by the ear. “Dr. Charles HORTON.” With one bound the doctor v is out of bed, but “Dr. Horton” baa vanished. “Charlie,” said Dr. Johns, next day, “I’m getting old; you must come and take my practice. Your twenty pounds will help to,give you a start.” The doctor says he never got the “wrong pig” but ouce.

Puget Sound's Wild Beauty.

Jobn Muir In Ban Kranclsca Bulletin, Puget Sound, so justly famous the world over for its excellent timber, is an arm and many-fingered bond of the sea, reaching straight down southward from a little above the head of the sea, reaching straight down southward from a little above tLe head of the Straits of Fuca about a hundred mile% into the heart of one of the flneet forest regions on the face of the globe. The scenery is perfectly enchanting, smooth blue lake-fike water reaches, wooded shores sweeping onward in beautiful curves around bays and capes, aud jutting, promontories innumerable. Islands, too, with soft, waving outlines, passing and overlapping one another, ail richly feathered with tall spiry evergreens, and doubling their beauty in reflections on the bright mirror waters. A more charming composition of sky, land, and water I have never yet beheld. Sailing from Victoria, we had the Olympian range before us to our right, risiug in bold relief against a dark blue sky, a jagged zigzag of black crests and black peaks along the top, from 6,000 to 8,000 feet high, glaciers and ragged-edged fields of snow beneath them, the former inclosed in wide

amphitheaters at the head which opens down through deep, spacious, forestfilled valleys to the Straits of Fuca. These valleys mark the course of the Olympiau glaciers at the period of their greatest extension, when they poured their tribute into that portion of the great Northern ice-sheet that overswept the south eud of Vancouver Island and filled the strait between it •ad the mainland. All the way up to Olympia, a hopeful little town situated ou'the end of one of the longest waters of the sound, the scenery is so perfectly life-like in the clearness and stillness of the water anJ the leafy, flowery luxuriance of the sheltered shores, that it is very hard indeed to realize that we are on an arm of the salt sea. One is constantly reminded of Lake Tahoe—the same bright water, the same picturesque winding of the shoie lines, with their dark green conifers; only here the trees staVid closer together, and the backgrounds arc lower and far more extensive, while on doubling cape after cape, and rounding the uncounted islands that stud the shores, new combinations break on the view in endless variety, suffl. ient to fill and satisfy the lover of wild beauty through a whole life. Bom times the clouds come down, shutting out all the land, and leaving us with only a level water view, as if at sea; then, lifting a little way, some islet would be gtfven us standing alone, with the tope of its trees dipping out of sight in gray trailing mist fringes. Then the long ranks of spruce anti cedar bounding the water’s edge would appearvand when at length the breaking clouij mantle cleaie:l away altogether, the collosal cone of Tacoma would be seen in spotless white looking down over the dark wood from a distance of fifty or sixty miles, but so lofty and so massive and so clearly outlined as to impress itself upon us as being just back of a strip of woods only a mile or two in breadth.

Only Forty-Nine Years Ago.

Baltimore American. Just forty-nine years ago—that is, September 15, 1830 —the first passenger railroad in England, the Liverpool apJ Manchester railway, was opened with great ceremony. A year before a prize of £SOO had been offered for the best locomotive engine, which had been .won by Robert Stephenson’s Rocket, Upon which were subsequently modeled the old grasshopper engines of the Baltimore and Ohio railroad, their appearance being suggestive of- their name. Eight* 1 locomotive engines had been completed and placed upon the line, and all had been tested with entire success. To every engine was attached four passenger carriages, each containing twenty persons. The first engine, the Northumbrian, drew the most distinguished guests—the Duke o f Wellington, Sir Robert Peel, aud other members of the Ministry. It had one line of the double track to itself. The other seven locomotives, with their carriages, followed each other on the other Mne. The procession started from Liverpool at 11 o’clock, with flags, music, fine weather, and great enthusiasm. Seventeen miles from Liverpool they stopped to take in water, and hi order to afford the Duke of Wellington an opportunity of seeing the procession. the seven locomotives, with their carriages, were ordered to pass slowly by the Northumbrian standing on its track Several gentlemen had alighted while the locomotives were taking in water, and one of them, Mr. Huskisson, member of Parliament for Liverpool, and an earnest supporter of the railroad cause, catching sight of the Duke of Wellington, between whom and himself there had been some po-

litical coolness, ran eagerly across the track to shake him by tbe band. At that moment the order wasgiven for the seven engines to move forward. Mr. Husklsson was bewildered. The Rocket, which was the leading engine, struck him while he was still in doubt where to flee. The wheels went over bis leg and thigh, and he expired that evening. The accident cast a deep gloom over the day’s festivity. The trip was concluded, that people waiting along the line might not be disappointed, hut all rejoicing and gayety was at an end. The next day the railway was opened for passenger traffic, aha carried 140 persons froin Liverpool to Manchester in two hours. The brigin&l calculations of the construction had been based on probable returns from heavy merchandise traffic—coal, cotton, and iron. They had formed no high expectation of any great emolument from transporting

passengers. But tbe railway was hardly opened before an average of 1,200 persons daily were willing to trust it with their lives. In a few years it was found that the enonnous traffic was too heavy for the original rails, and it befan«e necessary to relay the road at considerable expense. But though September" 15,1830, is the greatest day in railroad annals, being that on which the world’s first 'railroad was opened complete, our own Maryland railroad preceded the Liverpool and Manchester in Utility. The first sod of the Baltimore aud Ohio railroad was broken for its construction July 4,1828, aud by the next year horse cars, assisted by one locomotive engine, were carrying passengers and traffic between Baltimore, the Relay House, and Ellicott’s Mills.

The Sun's Power.

In an interesting and eloquent paper on “The Sun Source of Power,” just pub'ished in the Scientific American, Prof. Langly takes the following method of-giving some,idea of the work performed by the sun’s heat on our earth, which receives only a small fraction of the enormous quantity sent out yearly from the center of our system. Assuming the area of Manhattan Island to be twenty miles and the annual rain fall thirty inches, he shows by a simple calculation that this small portion of the earth receives 1,398,920,000 cubic feet, or 38,781,600 tons, of rain in a year. “The amount of this,” he says, may be better appreciated by comparison. Thus, the Pyramid of Cheops contains less titan 100,000,000 cubic feet aud weighs less than 7,000,000 tons; aud this water, then in the form of ice, would many times replace the largest Pyramid of Egypt. If we had to cart it away it would require 3,241,800 cars carrying 12 tons cacli to remove it and these, at an average length of 30 feet to the car, would make six traius, each reaching in one continuous line of cars acooss the cbminaut, so that the leading locomotive of each train would be at San Francisco before the rear had left New York.” A day’s rain fall of one-tenth of an inch spread over the United States represents ten thousand million of tons, aud would take, he states more than all the pumping-en-gines whieh supply Philadelphia, Chicago and other large cities depending more or less on steam for portable water, working day and night for a century, to put it back to the height to which it was raised by the suu before it fell. It has been found by carful experiment that the effect of the heat of a vertical sun in the month of March, acting on a square foot of the earth’s surface, after having lost a .portion of its energy through absorption by our atmosphere, is equivalent to 0,132 horse power, and other problems with equally startling results can be readily framed from this other accessible data.

Utilizing Cider Pomace.

At this season of the year, and especially when apples are plenty as now, there is much fruit manufactur ed into cider, the pomace after pressing is often troublesome to dispose of. Some have found it pays well to feed this pomace to stock, which usually eat it greedily. If placed in layers six inches thick, wRh twelve inches of straw between the layers, it will not ferment, but will keep in good condition till fed out, provided it is kept from freezing. Cattle, sheep or horses will eat straw readily, if it has been used to dry pomace, and frequently improve in condition, even if fed nothing but the straw and pomace. A cider manufacturer, in Connecticut, says he always filled a thirty or forty foot barn full of straw and pomace, on which he wintered a large flock of sheep, bought lip in the fall for this and sold them fat after shearing in the spriug. He allowing the sheep to eat all the pomace and straw they would, and in so large a mass it kept secure from freezing, except at the outer edges, so that it was always fresh and soft wheu fed. In making cider with tiie now common hand mills, we have usually pressed about a bushel of apples at each time, and tnc resulting cheese will usually last a horse one day, with hay or straw in addition. This feed makes the horse’s coat silky, ami makes him lively when driven.

Predictions About 1880 and 1887.

In a pamphlet recently published the the author, Prof. Grimmer, asserts: “From 1880' to 1887 will be one universal carnival of death. Asia will he depopulated, Europe nearly so, America will lose fifteen million of her people. Besides plagues we are to have storms and tidal waves, mountains are to ‘toss their heads thro’ the choicest valleys,’ navigators will be lost by thousands owing to the 'capricious deflexures of the magnetic needle, and islands will appear and disappear in mid ocean.’ All the beasts, birds aud fishes will be diseased, famine and civil strife will destroy most of the human beings left alive by plague,” and, finally, “two years of fire”—lßßs to 1887—will rage with fury in every part of the globe. In 1887 the “Star of Bethlehem” will “reappear in Cassiopia’s Chair,” the immediate results being universal war and portentious floods and shipwrecks. North America is again to be involved in a civil war unless a “Napoleon” arises to quell it, but during these terrible days the Pacific States Will be a veritable paradise of peace, compared to the hellish strife that will be waged throughout tlie world. The few people that may manage to survive till 1887 will have reason to be thankful.

A Beautiful Thought.

When the summer of youth, is slowly wasting away on the nightfall of age and the shadows of the path becomes deeper, and life wears to its close, it is pleasant to look througn the vista of time upon the sorrows and facilities of our earlier years. If we had a home to shelter aud hearts to rejoice with us, and mends have been gathered around our firesides, the rough places of the wayfaring will have been worn and smoothed away In the twilight of life and many dark spots we have passed through will grow brighter and more beautiful- Happy indeed are those whose intercourse with the world has not changed the tone of their earlier feeling, or broken those musical chords of the hearts whose vibrations are so melodious, so tender, so touching, in the evening of their lives. The lecture system has been abolished in teaching physics at Syracuse University and text-books adopted '

ROSS'S MIDNIGHT RIDE.

We were on the up-grade, and the six hones were slowly pulling their best. We were in a forest of mountains, and spiked over its top by a row of pines standing straight and stiff against the horizon. 1 Exceptionally fine weather it was, the stage-driver said, for this time of year. I was out on the box, you will understand, because it made me sick to ride inside, and for this onee I was glad of it Suddenly, as we were crawling on the up-grade road, round a projection ahead of us appeared a woman on horseback. Our driver tightened his slack reins, and gave a low peculiar whistle to his horses. Six pair of ears straightened briskly, the lagging hoofs picked themselves up and quickened their pace, and every horse began to Kso that we fell into a smart trot horsewoman ahead shook her bridle, and, without warning, her pony stretched into a sharp gallop, and os its flying feet struck the ground she rose in the saddle like a bird with a light, easy, graceful motion of the shoulder and a careless pose of the head. So we passed one another in fine style, and as she dashed along the road she was quite an excitement to me.

I saw the corners of the driver’s mouth jerking in a half-smile. He clicked to his horses, hemmed a bit, arranged his coat-collar, then fixed his gaze between the ears of the offwheeler, and said he: “That’s Rosie Maguire I” “Indeed?” T said, my eye-brows twisting into an interrogation point. “Yes’m; Tim Magufee’s daughter over into ihe town, and as soon as we get up this mount and strike the Bunker grade we II be In there in less than an hour.” Rose Maguire came into these parts alone with her father when he opened the “hotel.” Being without a mother, she had no bringing up, and early took to horses. There wasn’t a young man thereabouts but had his eye on Rosie Maguire for a wife by and by, if she’d have him. But Rosie she tossed her head at each and all, though she threw a glance at them from under her lashes. Among these admirers was a homely fellow who’d have given hand and foot for little Rose—one John Winstanley by name, but called, for short, Johnny Win. If ever there was one man at whom she snuffled up her little nose it was Johnny. She ordered him to her stirrup, and never noticed him when he came; she cut him dead without a look, and again speared Him through with a glance; she smiled upon the veriest good-for-nothings when he was near, and at times he wished he had been a dog that he might shrink into a corner by himself, so hurt and small he felt.

It was rain, rain, rain, and the roads became so unsafe it was thought risky to run the soft spots in the track, down which the water had soaked, leaving the surface clear and smooth. It came so bad that one morning the paid driver made it his business to beg off on account of the worry the trips gave his wife. “Then I’ll go myself, for the mail must be brought,” said Johnny Win. “But if you Dreak a neck there’s no oue to cry for you.” It was Rose said it, having overheard him. i “All the same, Miss Rosier I’ll go, and perhaps the neck’ll break easier because the breaking grieve no one.” Carefully he drove, and wearily he watched the road, and it rained* aud rained. Drops fell as big as an egg, aud broke upon branches and stones. Five o’clock, was stage time, but no stage came. Supper came and went, people droped in for the mail and went home; the clock struck 7 and still no stage. “He’s probably waited over, finding the roads too bad to get in by daylight,” said one. “No,” answered Tim Maguire; “Johnny’s got too much git up and git an’ reglar grit to be beat by a road. Depend upon it, boys, he’s in trouble somewheres with that stage and horses. It ’ud be worth a man’s life to find out, though.” It wasgood eight when certain assurance was brought that the stage was of a surety really on the road, on Its back trip, by a horseman who had met and passed it struggling along off among the hills. Many were the hands raised, palm outward, in dismay then; but when the men took a look out of the window into the dead darkness, and heard the roar of the stream, and the swish of the falling rain, they shook their heads, and coming back, spit at the stove once more. And when the clock was on the stroke of nine, a small form, a tiptoe and a-tremble, stole out the back doorway. Out to the stables Rosie flew straight as a sent arrow; and her own little bay mare whinnied as the small hand had slid rapidly down her flanks, as the bridle went over her neck, and saddle across back. She gathered herself together, and with a bound like a rabbit she was off and away in the dark.

And then began the wild ride of ffiosie Maguire! As they touched the top of the mountain the rain had ceased, but a dull and sullen silence fell from the heavens, and a watery, blear-eyed moon looked out and the clouds had jugged its edges till it seemed like a torn tear. “Oh! where are you, Johunj Win, and how shall I find you at all?” Despairing eyes peered through tha dark, and its daraer imaginings and fancy pictured a dead man far down the hillside. Such sobs broke through her lips that they came to be agony just of themselves.

But like a hero fighting in battle, she struck them down, hovering upon her saddle out of very fear, ana shrinking first to one side, then to the other, uncertain as to where danger lay. But, hurrah! my brave': little rose, my brave bay mare! What is that really down in the gulch this time, its fore wheels in a rut, and the water playing like a mill race through them? As you live, six horses, weary and worn, stand patiently in harness, and, lo! a man on the ground with abroken leg, aud the reinsln his hands, waiting the painlul night thrbugh till day and help shall come. Nay, never scream, my girl, nor jump from your saddle so. You’ve found him, Rose, you’ve found him, spite of road, ana rain,and night, and your two slender wet arms frantically clinging round his neck are like angel touches to him. Now, chirrup to your horses Johnny Win, and get your stage out of the rut as you lie on the ground; then up, man,

over the wheel, dragging your leg after you. Slowly aud cautiously along the road they went, the tired mare following behind. Through the meadows and the hills, and the voices of the night, robbed of their terriors now, went Rose and Johnny, and the stage and pretty mare, across the treacherous streams and the thousand ravines, and the stones that lay by the way. and the shadows that had sprung like wolves to the dainty stirrup. The breaking of the day brought them to the highest peak of all, and the fair down grade was all that lay between them and rest. Then tile horses picked up there ears, the wheels spun, and down they whirled, with Rose’s own little foot helping on the brake. Well, well, but it was glad they were to see the houses, though not a soul was ’ stirring; what Johnny’s broken-limb, and Rosie’s cheeks feverish with excitement, the night she had spent, the deed she had done, which must go to the world, and the blushes of her shame and confessed love! r

Astonished the hostler was when he came running, half asleep, and there was Tim Maguire staring aghast from an upper window, and a dozen others round by the lumbering stage. But Rosie’s ride was ended, and down she stepped aud slipped away to hide her face in her own-pillow. It was ended, but the no<se of it went abroad through tbe mountains, and though that was a year come the 19th day of January, the folks have never done talking about the ride she took in the night over the roads.

Tragic Death of a Chief.

Sioux City (la.) Journal. Pea Ridge (Dakota) Agency, Sept. 11. —Ten Cheyenne Indians, three men, six women and one child, nearly all of whom were participants in the Cheyeune outbreat at Fort Robinson, and subsequently turned over to Young-Man-Afraid-of-His-Horses, left this agency with twenty-two horses they had stolen from different bands of Ogalallas, on the night of the 7th, intending to go across the country ou the east and north sides of the Black Hills to Fort Keogh, where those Cheyennes are who were captured by Lieutenant Clark last spring. It seems that Spotted Wolf (or Racer), the leader of the band, had for some time previous been inleve with Dull Knife’s daughter and her hand being refused by Dull Knife, he concluded to steal her and leave for the north. On Monday morning, Sword, of the Police, with five policemen, rede doWn to Young Man Afraid’s camp and took the trail of the renegades ana vigorously pursued them and overhauled them on Sage Creek, west of the Black Hills, and about 100 miles from this agency, on the morning of the 9th. • The police found them in camp, and after shaking hands with them Sword told them that he had come to take them back to the agency; that If they would go back peaceably they would not be harmed, and on their arrival at the agency they would be turned over to Young Man Afraid, who was responsible to the Good Father for their good behavior. Spotted Wolf said he would die before he arould go back. Sword told him that he had been ordered by the agent to briDg them back, and he intended to take them back, peaceably if he could, forcibly if he must; that is, alive if he could, and dead if he must, for, iu order to force a Cheyenne Indian to do anything he does not want to do, means that you must kill him first and argue the case afterward. He then drew his men up in line and ordered the runaways to mount audcome along, whereupon Spotted Wolf threw his blanket and squarred himself for a fight, and, in true characteristic style, resolved to follow the teaching of his aucestry—to die rather than surrender. He died. The other two men and the women were persuaded to give in and return. In answer to an inquiry whether Spotted Wolf was instantly killed, Fast Horse said he was. “Sword and I shot him through the heart. Hump in the right eye, Iron Bull in tbe left eye, aud Lone Bear through the top of the head.”

Red Bear—not a policeman—who went with the police force, proposed that they treat the women as all captives are usually treated by Indians, but Sword said: “No. When we were wild and used to go on the war path and take captives, we treated them cruelly and barbarously, but now that we are peaceable Indians living at an agency, and ia the employ of the Great Father, let us treat them with due respect, like white men tre »t their prisoners.” They arrived at the agency at 6 o’clock last evening, and the prisoners were, by order of the agent, again turned over to Young Man Afraid and the horses returned to their respective owners. ' t . The agency police merit praise for their bravery and fidelity, and for trying to do away with their old heathish customs, and for adopting the oivilized mode of living.

The Woman Who Shot.

N. Y. Cor..Plttaburg Telegraph. An even better known representative of American womanhood sat near me at the Westmoreland Hotel the other day eating a bowl of soap. I knew the moment I looked at her that she was a woman with a history; no longer young, her face bore traces of suffering which the powder which had been brushed over it could not conceal. A grey veil which trimmed her round hat was brought down in graceful folds either side her face; slim, tall, and sensitive, with an air of morbid melancholy and accute sensibility, this woman was that would be noticed anywhere. The waiters watched every movement she made, and Dr. Dorm us, who was eating his luncheon, appeared as intent upon her as though she were the object of a chemical analysis. After pushing the attentive garcon his fees, sue rose, and there was a rush among the waiters to open the door for her. “Who is it?” I asked. “That is Laura D. Fair, the woman who was tried few* murder.” I looked again, and saw the woman in gray going slowly and alone across Union Square, which seemed all at once a sad and terrible place, full of the atmosphere of crime and suffering. Laura Fair had recently been lecturing at Chickering Hall on the subjected California, which must be a very wicked place indeed, i all she says is true. However, let us see what she will fsport of the East when she retraces her steps to the Golden Gate

T!b.e Sta,n.d.Snd_, BBXMBLAKB, JXD. RATES OF ADVERTISING » One column, one year...,. U ........ Half column, one year. a) 00 Quarter column, one yfear......_ 30 00 Eighth column, one year 10 00 Busnrxss Cards. J 6.00 a year. Kmadino koticb. A cent* a line, JOB PAINTING Of ell kinds neatly and cheaply executed Rates on application, m

NO. 19.

“I told her I’d never smoke another cigar,” he said, softly, “and I won’t A pipe’s plenty good enough for me,” and he gracefully drew A match over the leg of his trousers. “Nothing is made in vain!” exclaims the divine; but the next moment, as an Aggregation ol silk, lace aud feathers Sweeps up the aisle, he realizes that something is maiden vaiD. ‘ A stranger asked a resident of Milford, Del., “Are you always troubled with mosquitoes here?” “Mosquitoes!” was tlie answer, “swing a pint measure arouud aud you'll catch a quart of them.”

“I’ll subscribe for that paper,” said Vanderbilt, laying down an agricultural journal he had been reading; “its editor is a man of high attainments.” His eye had caught an article headed: “Water Your Stock Regularly ” r‘ ; l wish I were you about two hours,” she said, with great tenderness. “And, why, my dear?” he asked with considerable interest. “Because,” she said, toying affectionately with his watch chaiu —“because then 1 would buy my. wife a new bonnet.” But even in the most favorite elite circles I never heard a better repartee thanone delivered by a plain countryman oft horseback overtaken an acquaintance trudging along on foot. “May I ride behind you ?’ ’ asked thepedestrian. “Certainly,” replied the horseman, but not on the same horse.” A prominent attorney, while fishing a day or two since, poiuted out to his companions a sign-board, remarking:!' ‘‘•The fellow who put that up is a liar.” “V/hy?” asked his companion. Because that sign reads ‘No fishing iu this brook,’ aud I caught the best trout in my basket directly under that board.” At a trial of a criminal case, the prisoner entered a plea of “not guilty,” when one of the jurymen put on his hat and started for the door. The Judge called him back and-informed him that he could not leave until ther case was tried. “Tried?” queried the juror. “Why, he acknowledges that he is not guiity!” * .

When two couple of young people start out riding in ia two seated carriage, they are as happy as four loving clams until the slifuies of evening upE roach, and the couple in the front seat' egin to realize that the crying need of this great, free and majestic country of ours is— seated carriage with the front seat behind, i “Will the angels come down for me with a chariot and horses when I die?” asked a little boy of his Sunday school teacher. “I guess so, if you are a real good boy.” said the teacher. / Tbe little follow’s eyes sparkled with ahtieipation as he eagerly exclaimed: “And, oh! do you think they’ll let me set on the front seat and drive!” The young men who stand round the church doors on earth, watching the people come out, and .smiling on the girls in an emetic sort of way, will some day hang around the gates of heaven while decent people go in, and the first thing they know the gate is shut forever, and they will have to get accommodations elsewhere. A friend ( and neighbor has a relative, a practical Christian, who has a forcible way of putting things. The other day the subject of death-bed repentance was under discussion, when he said: “Some mea think they can live any kind of life, yet save their souls by a so-called repentance a, s few hours before death; but 1 have my doubts as to bow that kind of washing will dry out when hung out on the heaivenly clothes-line.”

The round yellow pumpkin that the housewife has in her eye for a nic% batch of inch and a half deep pies with . under crust as brown as a berry, does not always show up when cooking day comes round; but down behind the garden gate at the first approach of darkness sbe can see a fiendish face all aglow with fire. That’s her favorite pumpkin, and the only wax candle she had is inside of it. , “A light Squeeze*’ is an unfortunate title for a new book. An old maid will never —no, never!—ehter a book store and ask a spruce young clerk for a “Tight Squeeze,” although she may want one very badly. And a much beruffled aud banged youug lady will hardly ever call for “a tight squeeze” so publicly when she is already squeezed so tightly that she can hardly draw her breath. And a young man—well, a young man doesn’t go to a book store when he wauts “a tight squeeze.” Late in the after noon one of the police discovered a boy about 9 years old curled up in a corner of Machinery Hall, and made inquiry: “Bub, what are you doing here?” “I’m lost!” was the laconic reply. “How long since you have seen your friends?” “Well, I left dad about three hours ago, Iguess.” “And you’ve been lost ever since?” “Yes.” “Well, it’s too bad.” “Y-yes, it’s a sad case,” said the lad, trying to appear very brave, “but I’ll bet that while I’m doing all the losting, dad’s doing most of the feeling bad!”

Cleveland Penny Press. A gentleman who came from Toledo, yesterday, described one peculiarly striking meeting of two old veterans. One was Hon. Elihu B. Washburne, of Illinois, owner of one of Hie largest flour mills in the world, and the other was a man named Jensen, a poor machanic who runs a stationary engine in Toledo. Jensen and Washburne were Chained together in Libby Prison, among a lot of others, one time, to be bung In retaliation for some fancied abuse which had been inflicted by the Federals on the Rebels. They hung all the men to the right of Jensen and Washburne, whose turn would have come next had not a contradiction of the report inhumanity of the “Yanks” come to hand and caused the hanging bee to be postponed. Jensen, fresh from the engine room, hesitated to speak to Washburne, who has become so big a gun since the war, but when Washburne recognized his former comKnion in misery he grasped his greasyF nd while his eyes were not above shedding a genuine tear or two. At* recent wedding the bridegroom being an officer, wore his side-arms at the nuptials. A little wide-awake brother of the bride was attacted by the display of weapons, and as he had another sister, whose true love was a carpenter, he boldly inquired. “May, when Jinkingß comes to marry Milly, will he wear his saw by his side?”

CONDIMENTS.

Rebel Prisoners.