Saturday Evening Mail, Volume 1, Number 28, Terre Haute, Vigo County, 7 January 1871 — Page 6

[For the Saturday Evening Mail.] LOST AND FOUND. BY THOMAS B. LONG. The long and weary hours of night Pass sadly by to me,

A-MMInc 'y the smouldering llRht, And thinking still of ihee. I Raze Into the mixers ml,

And call the past ngnln, I'ntil I fJiuildi In (In? drend ,4aW

t!iat

?-i,

undyiugpaSii.

I lram of nil the days ngon(V- As A mournful w:\king dream— Win in my .«ky thy prepuce Kliong ?3jiUc twilight's (5w-' i'-st beam Wh Sn my arms thy gentle form lb-posed,

bright and fair,—

A very bird that from ilic-turin Jlad nought a -du Iter ihe.-v.

Oh, heaven awake ait* not again Fiom that pntiahciiiK Nor bring to my lone h«\rt tlio pnlnwf-?

Kmnlahfd In my ps ime!

No mortal voice can t*ll! JSttt let my mind revert alono*** To tliu* too happy time. Before my 11f»-'-i blest peace was goinv

It may not be the faintest wmi'l JJUtuiU* the visions bleat And gazing from my neat around

Where I *o tain would lest— I «iw, a!a»! a vacant chair I'iuced closely to my o\s n,--As vacant as liie dismal air t?

That bears my anguNh-moan.

And yet—and yet It cannot be J5ut -he will come betime.*-! Meihinks I hear her voice—ah uje! ..

So full of silvery chimes! The rattling of her dress so nigh, Th--tread of little feet, P.tit, ah 1 the vision iiasses by,

Too brief, too bright, too sweet!

From eve till morn again, I Hit mo down unknown to grieve, Un-scen to hide my pain. tOn earth, alius! I'm nil alone,

No friend to cheer my way, Now Uml the l:ut and only one To heaven 1s called away. 'The summer leaves are brown and sere,

The (lowers bloom no more, Andsho la dead—why am I here, When nLl have gone before?

Ah, mot I'm weary. See! the light (•rows fainter in my hearth— rl'lli kers aud dIt into the night,

As Itlie riled from the earth. 'I'll elO.HO my eyes and sleep, for how Her bi exact! form I see, With heaven'sdar!!ght upon her brt.W—

Aud now -«he beckons me

Tho morning sun hne dim and cold Through lattice and through pimc But on that brow, by grief made old.

In life shone not again. A stnilo vrna yet upon his face, lustre in his eyes Were they—ah, \ylio can tell! a trace

Of Joy from l'anidise?

|Prom the Overland Monthly for .January.]

The Christmas Gift THAT CAME TO RUPERT.

A STORY FOR LITTLE SOLDIERS.

BY F. BRET HARTE.

It was Christmas season in California -- a season of falling rain and springing grasses. There were intervals when, through driving clouds and flying scud, the sun visited the haggard hills with a unir.iele, and death and resuriTction woi as one, and out of tho vcrv throPSv .t decay a joyotiw lifn stniKulod outward nnd upward. Even tho storms that swop down tho dead loaves nurtiirod tIn- tMider buds that took their places. Thero wero no episodes of anowv silencfl over tho (|uiekonin(j Holds' tho fiirmcr's plowsharo linrd followed tlio furrows left lv tho latest ruins. IVrhans it was lor this reason that tho Christmas evergreens which decorated tho drawing-room tool upon themselves foreign aspect, and o.lered weird contniHt to tho roses, seen ditn1y through tho windows, as the southAv*»t wind beat their soft faces against tho pane*. "'Now," said tho Doctor, drawing his •^oiiair closer to tho tiro, and looking mildlv hut (Irmly »t the semicircle of flaxen ads around him, "I want it distinctly understood before I begin my storv, that I am not to bo interrupted by anv ridiculous questions. At the tirst one 1 sh:ill stop. At the second, 1 i-iihoJl feel it my duty to administer a do.se of »st'r-oll, all around. Tho boy that move* his legs or arms will lie understood to invite amputation. I have 'brought my instruments with mo, and

•nover

allow pleasure to interfere with

bra

•on*,

,niv business. !)o vou promise?" YOM, sirl" ».iuf six Hinall voices simultaneouslv. Tlio volley w:ts, however, followed by half do.en dropping oiliest ions. ••Silencel llob, put your loet down, tuid stop rattling that sword. Flora ried and quick. I then tried toexnlain sit by my siile, like littlo lady, to him tint h» was ver\- weak, and that nnd lx*««» i.iple to the rest. Fung his senses wore very "acute, as most

peace which held the :ma, new toys, glue, cevarnish in a harmonithat passed all under-

apart me «»dor of ttr lioxes, »US couibin standing*

About fou..

wl,°»

this time,"

beg:in tnw 'I attended a course of Iecturcs in a

rft

Oneof the

professors, who liable, kindly aliui^thourtb practical and heardt^o^o

hU bouM

on olgo very to a#, us» oniy «t

one of hte

eJre years of

•go was said to be tell you bow many I*: little follow could

Knglish ones he had c* BOW

Mai th«ut aoooadly, Tm not a

••ill

poetry—Latin or Knglish. Hut thero were'judges who said thev wero wonderful for a boy, and everybody predicted a splendid future lor him. J"'T®ry bodv but his father, llo shooti his head dotibtlnglv, whenever it was mentioned, for, as I have told you, ho was a practical, matter-of-fact man. "There was a pleasant party at the Professor's that night. All theohildren of tho neighborhood wero there, aud among them tho Professor's clever son, Rupert, as they called him—a thin little chap, about as tall as Hobby there, and as fair and delicato as Flora by inyside. INs health was feeble, his father said he seldom ran about and playtd with other boys—preferring to stay at home and brood over his books, and compose what he called his verses.

Well, we had a Christmas-tree just like this, and wc had been laughingand talking, calling oil" the names of children who had presents on tho tree, and every body was very happy and joyous, when one of tho children suddenly uttered a cry of mingled surprise and hilarity, and said:

Hrre's something for ltupert—and what do vou think it is?' We all guessed. 'A desk' 'a copy of Milton' 'a gol.i pen' 'a rhyming dictionary.' 'No? what then "•A drum!' "'A what?' asked everybody.

A drum and with Rupert's name on it.' "Surf enough there it was. A goodsized, bright, new, brass-bound drum, with a slipof paper on it, with tlio inscription

Fon Ri i'Kirr.'

I cannot bear the light d'\v, Tiie -(illness of the night

My hrain abhors tho noontide ray Aud UarkmW glowering fright. llul only thus from inorn till rve,

''Of course wo all laughed. :iml tho't it a good joke. 'You see you'ro to make a noise in the world, Rupert!' said one. 'Here's parchment for the poet,' said another. 'Rupert's last work in sheepskin covers,' said third, 'tiive us a classical tune, Ruppert,' said a fourth, and so on. Hut Rupert seemed too liiortiiicd to speak he changed color, bit liis lips, and linally burst into a passionate lit of crying, and left the room. Then those who had joked him felt ashamed, and everybody began to ask who had put the drum tliore. Hut no one know, or if they did, the unex pected sympathy awakened for the sen sitivo boy kept "them silent. Even the servants were called up and questioned, but no one could give any idea where it came from. And what was still more singular, everybody declared that up to the1"moment it was produced, no one had seen it hanging on the tree. What do think? Well, I have my own opinion. Hut no questions! Enough lor you to know that Rupert did not come down stairs again that night, and tho party soon after broke up. "1 had almost forgotten those things, for tho War of the Rebellion broke out the next spring, and I was appointed surgeon in one of the now regiments, anil was on my way to the seat of war. Hut I had to pass through tlieci'y where the Professor lived, and there I met him. My first question was about Rupert. The Professor shook his head sadly 'lie's not so well,' he said 'he has been declining since last Christmas, when you saw him. A very strange case," he added, giving it along Latin name, 'a very singular case. Hut go and see him'yourself,' he urged 'it may dist ra.rt his mind and do him much good.' "I went accordingly to the Professor's house, and found Rupert lying on a sofa, propped up with pillows. Around him wero scattered his books, and,what seemed in singular contrast, that drum told you about was banging on a nail, just above his head, llis face was thin :uui. wasted there was a red spot on oithftir cheek, and bis eyes were bright and widely-opened, lie was very glad to see me, and when I told him where 1 was going, he asked a thousand questions about the war. I thought I had thoroughly diverted his mind from its sick and languid fancies, when he suddenly grasped my hand and drew mo toward him.

Doctor,' said he, in a low whisper, 'you won't laugh at me if I tell you something?'

No, certainly not,' saiil I. "'You remember that drum ?'said he, pointing to tho glittering toy that hung against the wall. 'You Know,too, how it came to me. A few weeks after Christinas, I was lyiug half-asleep here, and the drum was hanging on the wall, when suddenly I heard it beaten at first, low and' slowly, then faster and louder, until its rolling filled tho house. In the middle of tho night, I heard it again. I did not dare to tell any body about it, but I have heard it every night over since.' lie paused and looked anxiously in my face. 'Sometimes,' he continued, 'it is played softly, sometimes loudly, but always quickening to a long-roll, loud and alarming, that I have looked to see people coming into my room to ask what was the matter. Hut I think, Doctor—I think,' he repeated, slowly, looking up with painful interest into my face, 'that no one heard but myse'f.'

I thought so, too, but I asked him if he had heard it at any other time. Once or twice in the day-time,' he replied, 'when I have been reading or writing then very louulv, as though it were angry, and trieil in tint way to attract mv attention awav from my books.'

I looked into his face,and placed my hand upon his pulse. His eyes were verv bright, and his pulse a little llur-

Tang shall too, if he likes. Now, wo people's are and how that when turti down u. i'.:s a little thero, that bo read, or grew interested and exeitod, •will do—just utough to make ho tire'or when he waa tired at night, tho look brighter, and to show otTt lie Christ-, throbbing of a big arterv niado the w»s fvuidloH. Silence, everybody I The beating sound he heard. lie listened to W who w*cks :m almond, or breathes

too loud over his raisins, will be put thanked mo, and in a little while I went •out of the room." away. Hut as I wag going down stairs, There waa a profound silence. Itob I met tho Professor. I gave him my ^lfti«l hi# sword tenderly aside, nnd nurs- opinion of tho —well, no matter *NL his l«a, thoughtfully. Flora, after what it WRS. ooquottlnhly adjusting tlio pockot ofher '"lie wauta fresh air and exereise,' little upnn» put her arm upon the Doc- said tho Professor, 'and some practical tor's shoul ".cr, and permitted herself to experience in life, sir.' i*0 drawn bc*ddc him. FungTnug, thoj "The Professor was not a bad man,

I title heathen page, who was permitted, but he was a little worried and impaiw«ui tills raro occasion, to share tho Chris- llent, and thought—as clever people are tuuj r.'vcis in tiM4r«»wingrKiw. survey- apt to think—that things which he did h1 the group with a smil6 thst was at not understand were either-silly or Inisweet and philosophical. The light proper. iing of a French chn-k on the ruantel, *41 left the city that verv day, and in orted by young shepherdess of the excitement of battle t?elds*and hoswmpfcxion and great symmetry pit-als I fbrgot *11 about little Rupert, w.vw the only sound that dm-: nor did I hearpf him again, until one turbs 'Vij,,, cihriHtmas-likc pe »ce of the day, inciting an old cla-smate in tho

with a sad smile of unbelief, but

aruiy, who had known the Professor, he told me that Rupert had become qnlte insane, and that in one of his paroxysms he had escaped from the house, and sa lis had never been found, it was feared that he had fallen in the river and was drowned. I was terribly shocked for the moment, ss you may*imagine but, dear me, I was living just then among soeues as terrible and shocking, and 1 had little time to spare to mourn oyer poor Rupert,

It was not long after receiving this intelligent* that we had a terrible bat tie, In which a portion of oar army was surpriaed and driven back with great •laughter. I was detached from my brigade to ride over to .be battle field ana assist the surgeons of the beaten division, who had more on their hands

(j 'I rri?RK-UAU'lE 'SATURDAY EVENING MAIL," JANUARY 7. i871.

than they could attend to. When roaehod tho barn thnt served for a temporary hospital, I went at once to work. Ah, Bob," said tho Doctor, thoughtful ly, uking tho bright sword froiy tho hands of tho half-frightenod Hob, and holding it gravely boforo him, "theso pretty play-tliings are symbols of cruel ugly realities.

I turned to a tall,stout Vermonter," he cont inued, very slowly, tracing a pat torn on tho rug with tho point of the scabbard, "who was badly wounded in both thighs, but ho hold up his hands ami begged mo to help others first who needed it moro than lie. I did not at first heed his request, for this kind of unselfishness was very common in the army but be went on: "For God's sake, Doctor, leave mo here thero is a drummer-boy' o^ our regiment—a mere child—dying, if ho .sn't doad now. (Jo and seo him first. Holies over there. He saved more than one life. He was at his post in tho panic this morning, and saved tho honor of the regiment.' "I was so much moro impressed by tho man's manner than by tlio substance of his speech, which was, how ever, corroborated by tho other poor tellows strotched around mo, that I passed over to whorotho poordrummer lav, with his drum bosido him. I gave one glance at his face—and—yes, Hob— yes, my children—it wan Rupert. '•Well!, well! it needed not the chalked cross which my brother surgeons had left upon the rough board whereon ho lay to show how urgent was the relief he sought it needed not the prophetic words of tlio Vermonter, nor tho damp that mingled with the brown curls that clung to his pale forehead, to show how hopeless it was now. I called him by name, lie opened his eyes—larger, I thought, in the new vision that was beginning to dawn upon him—and recognized me. He whispered l'in glad you are come, but don't think you can do me any good.' 1 couldn't tell him a lie. I couldn't say anything. I only pressed his nd in'mine, as he went on "'Hut you will seo lather, and ask him to forgive me. No one is to blame but myself. It was a long time before I understood why tho drum came to me that Christmast night, and why it kept calling to me every night, and what it said. I know it now. The work is done, and I am content. Tell father, it is better as it is. I should have lived only to worry" and perplex liini, and something in me tells me this is right.' lie lay still for a moment, and then grasping my hand, said

Hark!'

"I listened,but heard nothing but the suppressed moans of the wounded men around me. 'The drum,' he faintly said 'don't you hear it?—the drum is calling me.' "He reached out his arm to where it lay, as though ho would embrace it. •"Listen!' he went on, 'it's tho reveille. There are the ranks drawn up in review. Don't you see the sunlight flash down the long line of bayonets? Their faces are shining—they present arms—there conies tho General—but his face I cannot look at, for the glory round his head. He sees me he smiles it is' and with a name upon his lips that he had learned long ago,he sire tolled himself wearily upon the and lay quite still. "That's all. No quest never mind what became Who's that sneveling? 1 —whore's my pill-box."

A TR UK WO

Ah Tom Twinkle ling among the dry bone in behalf of your sex, necessity of love beyond goods? Then let me give benefit ®f all, a few good hints the best way of securing this inc^B?iable boon.

Firstly, my dear friend, nialtfT'yoursclf worthy "of it. Believe me, every womanly woman desires to be looked up to with pride—depend upon, with perfect reliance—the man wlio is her husband. But do the young men now-a-days think half as much of the shaping their own characters, with reference to the inspiring the sincere respect and affect ion which is the foundation of abiding love, as of the shape of their coats, boots and gloves Are many of them worthy of such love as yon crave? And do nc.t expect such love from girls who aro devoted to chignons, paniers, Arc. Don't expO(tlove from an unloving nature. Hut if you are the least bit of a physiognomist, you will find somewhere" sincere true eyes, a frank sweet mouth, a face of genuine sincerity of oxprcsssion. He very thankful to find it, and don\ ask for everything else—paniers, puffs, and a father with brown-stone mansion. You must descend a little, perhaps, from your socalled level, and vou will find workinggirls—girls who have mind enough to employ whatever talent they may possess, and who are independent enough to work, rather than marry for mere subsistence—girls with an idol in their hearts—and you have no idea of how much ideality they" will lavish upon vou, if vou aro any way worthy of it. There are true, warm-hearted, sincere women in the world yet, but how are thev (generally) so badly mated? Wliv cannot some one invent a patent process for acquainting tho right people with each other? I believe in loving a man well enough to goto Kamchatka with him. if necessary to wear calico dresses and linen collars all one's lilot if he cannot afford silk (although privately, I have a nice appreciation of daint'v clothing): and to take as much pains'to look pretty in calico for liini as if it were velvet. Your having given such love to a man. should ho not endeavor to keep it There's the trouble, too—vou value it in the abstract, but life is'like a mosaic, made up of such li.tic bits, if it is only a warm, kind glance from the eyes we love, a pressure of the hand, a "word of appreciation now and then, make up the beautiful whole.

Don't grow careless, neglectful take caroof your love—the health of your heart—is you would of your health today. Don't expose It to cold draughts, tc* Cherish it let the loving heart feel vou value It beyond all gifts, and you are not likely to lie superseded by silk dressei or any earthly gauds. So, with my best wishes for your success, and an expectation of a wedding-card —adieu.—Arw York Mail.

A YOCXO lady at a faahionable dinner party pestered Dr. Johnson with a conundrum, a thing which the bluff old philosopher utterly detested:

Why is the letter like tho end of spring, Doctor?" Of course the doctor couldn't tell.

Because^*s the beginning of June,,T was the solution. Now, Miss, will you tell me why the letter is like a pig's tail

The young lady gathered her scattered thoughts for a few momenta, then said: "I give it up.**

Because it's the end of pork, Miss!" The Doctor was troubled no more with conundrums.

AX UXPr, KA HA NT PREDIC. MEST. Mr. Oliver resides in tho Fourteenth Ward, in a house which |s one of it largo row of uniform sise and appearand^. On a moonlight night last week tlio noise mado by tho cats on his roof was simply awful. Mr. Oliver lay in bed trying in vain lo get to sleep'snd grinding his tooth in rage, until at last the uproar overhead became unendurable.

Mr. Oliver crept out of bed softly, HO that his wifo would not be awakened. IIo put on his slippers, seized a boot with each hand, and, clad in the snowy rob of night, lie opened tho trap-door and emerged upon tho roof.

There were thirty or forty cats out there holding a kind of a General Synod in the cool of the evening, enjoying the bracing air and singing glees.

As Mr. Oliver approached, the cits moved over to the iieit roof. Mr. Oliver advanced and flung a boot at them. Tho cats then adjourned suddenly to the summit of tlio adjoining residence.

Mr. Oliver projected another boot,and went over after the first one. In this manner the Synod retreated, and Oliver advanced until tho end of the row of twenty houses was readied, when tho cats arranged themselves in a lino along the parapet, milled up their fur, curved their spines, and spat furiously at Oliver.

That bold warrior gathered up his boots and determined to retreat. Ho walked back over a dozen houses, and descended through a trap-door. He went down stairs "to tho bed-room, and opened the door. There was a man in the room, in the act of walking up and down with a baby.

Before Oliver had recovered from his amazement, the man flung the baby on the bed, and, seizing a revolver, began firing rapidly at Oliver, wounding him just below tho belt, in the southwestern tail of his undergarment.

It then dawned upon Oliver that ho had come d.iv. a the wrong trap-door. JI i' proceeded up stairs again suddenly, tho man with the revolver practicing at him in painful manner.

When Oliver reached tho roof, he shut the trap very quickly and stood upon it.

Tho man fired through the boards twice, and then instantly hooked the door inside.

A moment after, Oliver heard him shouting, "Murder! Burglars!" from the window.

As soon as the neighbors knew there was a man on the roof, they all flew up stairs and fastened their trap-doors,nnd Mrs. Oliver fastened hers, with the firm conviction that some predatory villain had entered while she slept a'ud stolen her Oliver.

When he tried the door it was fast, and Mrs. Oliverwasscreaniingso fiercely that he could not make himself heard.

Bv hi Time liie street was filled with policemen, all of whom were blazing away at Oliver with their revolvers, whiie the young men in the houses across the street kept up a steady fire with pistols, shot-guns,and miscellaneous miss-iles.

Oliver, with every advantage for foring a correct opinion, said that Gettysburg really was the merest skirmish'to it. lie hid behind a chimney, and lay up against the bricks to keep liiinselt warm, while the policemen stationed themselves all around the square to capture him when he slid down o: of the water-spout

But Oliver did not slide. Ho sat on tho roof all night, with the bitter air circulating among his tootrilling garments, listening to the yowling cats and tho occasional shouts from the picket-line below, and thinking of tho old Jews who used to pray from their housetops, mid wondering it Mussulmen were ever shot at or bothered with cats and policemen when they practiced their evening devotions on their roofs.

Then Oliver wondered how it would do to take oil' his night-shirt and wave it over the edge as a flag of truce

He concluded not to, because of the danger of a bullet from some misguided policeman not familiar with tho rules of war.

When daylight came, tho neighbors rallied in a crowd, armed with all kinds of weapons from howitzers down, and mounted to the roof.

Oliver was taken down and put to bed, and he now has more influenza for a man of his size than any other citizen of the Fourteenth Ward. He says he is going to move as soon ns ho gets well —ho is going to move into a house that is next door to nobodj', a house that stands in tho middle of a prairie of some kind, nnd he intends to stencil his name in white ©n tho trap-door of it.

.1 HEROIC EXGIXEXIl. There transpired on Long Island, last week, an act of heroism which deserves to be chronicled among the most notable annals of moral courage. The Flushing Railroad crosses the very deep Newtown river by means of a drawbridge, about eleven miles from New York, and a mile from Flushing. Tho five o'clock evening express train from the city was tearing through tho darkness at a rapid rate, with three hundred passengers on board—mostly gentlemen returning home from their business. On nearing the bridge the engineer saw the draw was open. Death yawned before him and his passengers. Nino hundred and ninety-nine men out of a thousand would, under such circumstances, havo sprung off upon the soft marshy land on either side of the track, and let tho passengers go to destruction. But this brave man resolved to go down with his engine, or stop the train. Having shut off steam, he sprang to the patent brakes aud worked them with herculean will. The train was going at a rapid rate, and only a few feet intervening. But the engineer's will and energy worked wonders. The engine plunged over the side of the bridge with the engineer at his post, and tho tender carried over upon it. The front passenger car, however stopped just a few inches from the edge of the draw, and a terrible cafaMtropjM was averted. The water is over feet deep, and had the cars gone over there would have been but little chance of escape for any one inside. Miraculous to relato, the engineer himself w»sdelivered from the death to which he had consigned himself. As the engine went down into the river, he tumbled out at the side, and, being a good swimmer, swam to an abutment. One of the boys employed on the train was thrown in the river by the concussion. Notwithstanding the current was very swift and night pitch dark, the engineer swam abont until he rescued him also* The travellers on the road are now making up a parse for this gallant fellow. The railroad company ought to give him a life insurapee policy lor 910,000 *nd pay the annual dues.—JV. Y. Cor. Cburier-Journal,

A SKLI^RAISKD MA*.—Hocker, who made a fortune by selling self-raising flour.

TNTKRE8TINQ RENINFSCEXCES.

,.it A COLUSA IXDIJLN CHIEF'S CARRIER. Tho Colusa correspondent of the Nor thorn Enterprise, writing under ttiene% tte plmnr of "Sioc," furnishes Jto following bit of history:

Tlio first whites who commenced a settlement in Colusa found a large rancheria of Indians occupyiug the site of the present town. Thev called themselves Coruse Indians, which name the whites corrupted, or at leaat changed to Corlusa—hence the present name of the present county and town of Colusa. Most of tho Indian nations, or tribes, being for many miles both,up and down the Sacramento river, VCTC allies of or tributariet of the Coluse* and thev wero tho most powerful of all the nations or tribes in this part of California* Less than half a century ago the Colusa rancheria alone could number 2,000 warriors, at least so say some Of the early hunters and trappers who first visited the Sacramento alley. Of this powerful nation Sioc was, in 1850, and had been for a long time previous, the absolute monarch. Although the number of his-subjects had become much reduced by smallpox, cholera and diseases which accompanied or preceded tr.o intlux of gold hunters in '49, Sioc remained king, not only III name but in deed, till his death, somo ttme, I think, in '5(5.

In'51, when the present writer came to Colusa, thero were njit more thau from 300 to 500 w-arriors'rehirtining ,but over these, Sioe, till tho day of his death, reigned an absoluto monarch, with tho power of life and death in his own hands. True, ho had bis ''council of old men," but all had to bend to his iron.will when once he had decided upon a "measure. Although but a Digger Indian, he looked every iftch a king. At that time [1S51] I10 must have been at least sixty 3roars of age—probably more. He had lost one eyo in some of the numerous battles in'which ho had been engaged, Rut the remaining one was still bright and piercing' 'over six fee high, well proportioned,- and still straight as an arrow, he seemed born to rule, and rule he did—not so much by iovc, we confess, as by fear. His subjects had but little love foriiim, but they wore afraid to rebel. AS late as 185:2 he caused several of his subjects to be put to death for tin* violation of his commands, althoi. ^.i the fact was not known to the whl.e's till some tinio afier. Ho was nev known to ask a favor, of a white .11, and had but little to say to them, but was reserved, reticent nikl proud—not only to his own peoplri but to the whites. Although he foresaw the power of tho latter, ana felt that the destiny of his own people was fixed, and their final extinction unavoidable, to some of his people who wished at one time to make war-upon tho whiles, ho said: "It is useless, for they arc as numerous as tho leaves of the forest." When time shall have mellowed the stern truths of history, some futur6 Cooper may weave the garland of fancy around tho name of Sioc, and cause it to live upon the pagos of romance, beside tho Uncas and Ching-a-Chooks of. moro ancient days, and hand him down to posterity as the last King of tho ColitSe. So much for the original Sioc.

5 XJLS&ON TQLDE MA lilt I ED. An English paper announces that Nilsson is engaged to M. Rosseau a French gentleman of moderate fortune, and that after h.T marriage, which will not take place at present, she intends retiring Ir^m the stage. This announcement will lie accepted not wit": as much incredulity as surprise—M least, the part referring to" NilssonWMcaving tho stage. In favor of a contrary, supposition, and that, too, after tho ahnouncement of leaving and formal faiewell had been made, Americans can point to the return to the boards of Mrs. Crowe (Kate Bateman), Mrs. l'addock (Maggie Mitchell), Mrs. Jennings (Madeline Henriquest ), and several others lcssdistinguished. Tho only eminent American actress that actually left the stago when she said she would, was Miss Charlotte Cushman, and even she re-appeared at least twice to help on the Sanitary Commission. Jenny I.ind, who is'a countrywoman ot Nilsson, really did leave, however—and so the latter may, if a coincidence of nativity can bo ingeniously perverted to indicate an eqaality of determination. Jenny Lind, however, is reported as very sorry that she did leave, and now to be compelled through poverty to resume as an instructor the art which, in her prime, she incarnated without a successful rival. Odds would bo offered against the probability of Nilsson's soon leaving the stage. Tho histrionic and lyrical professions hold their queens longer than any other. Nothing intoxicates— as nothing succeeds—like success, and the public discovers tho incapacity of singers and actors long before they lind it out in their own case. Opinion, nevertheless, is not divided as to the propriety of a retirement being real and permanent when it is declared at all, for nothing is moro provoking than tho fitful changes from private to public life in which artists indulge—unless wo except their inability to discern when they havo survived ths poworto please.

Hrookh/n Engle,

Mil. L1XCOLXS OETTYXBUJIU Oil A TJOX. Wc have recently learned from a gentleman who long sustained confidential relations with Mr. Lincoln, many interesting facts concerning the inner life of that remarkable man. An incident or two will here suffice. It appears that on the day that Mr. Lincoln went up to Gettysburg to take part in the anniversary exercises on the great battle-field of the war, he was suffering constant aud intense anxiety of mind on account of the condition of his favorite son "Tod," whom he left sick at home. His thoughts frequently recurred to his much loved boy, and he seemed sad and depressed and complained of feeling unwell. Under these circumstances, Sn a little country hotel in view of the battle-field, Mr. Lincoln wrote the greater part of the immortal oration which has been read and admired wherever the English language is read or spoken. The first part of the oration, which had been prepared before leaving Washington, was written with pen and ink, but the part composed after his arrival at Gettysburg was with the short stub of a lead pencil, on straggling sheets of paper of unequal breadth and length. The original rough draft with all its interlineations and erasure* to now in the possession of the private secretary to the late President. It was with this mixed and miscellaneous manuscript in his hand that Mr. Lincoln stood upon the battle-field and in a clear, load voice delivered those great thoughts which thrilled then, and will thrill always the human heart to fta profbundest depths, and will live and brsalhs throuh t{i* centuries be* fore aa, Mr. Lit-coin was disappointed in Mr. Breratt'a machine oratorr, and that it reached everybody's "adl Oshniy'e (Mart, bat was Ml re. (feat •tanaalf had said aajr14 not willinglj let (0.) JowmdL

THE MEA§URE OF

ABIWI{

world usually accoitls tne mertt of ability to those who achieve success ill alky tfeld of effort, andrttUt fight. Mucosas itthaevideuc8.Qfidjjlitj£=a ty to. a*|joceJt—nothing more. Roal 'nienlSTcaliber 18 not evidenced by success, unless that success is attained in some occupation or profession which requires great mental ability for its conduct. t,

A man may succeed in wearing a verv small pair of boots, if his' understanding is sofiieicir.ly narrow and men succeed as often through deficiencies as through "Wpoftcicncies. A man sits daily 1% fsant of the JVi&une #fice in this eiljy makes a living Iw whittling with his feet. This inuu^lias no arms and has by long practice acquired the power to, hold a piece of woed with tho toes of ono foot, while!Ww whittles with a knifo held in the toes of the other foot. It Is quite aortbtrotf^iudging from tho appearance of thta individual, whether, had* ho been endowed with arms, he would have achieved eithor the notoriety ho now enjoys, or havo made half the money ho now pockets from the wonder-loving grou|o who gather about him. Such success as lie lias attaiued has been won through virtuu of his deficiencies..

We reqolleet reivding some jrpars ago an account of 4 wonderful dancer whose chief attraction was that ho had but ono leg. With this log ho did what singlo legs had been deemed incnfiu'We'of doing, and though his dancing/fell short of a first-class two-legged performance, yet it wss-reaily wondcrltil for ono leg, and so oyo log tlrcw liousfip, whe^e probably two would havo failea'tojueaso the public.

As with physical dcfccAs»so,withliueutal. Tho piano playing of the blind negro idiot "Torn,'"' whose performance is certainly \Vonderful tbr a blind idiot, would loose a-great portion of its charm if he wero once understoodito be in full possession o£ the intellect allotted to ordinary mortals. He succeo.ls 111 making li great impression because ho lias, or is supposed to havo, two grout defects.

It often Is the case, on the other hand, that men fail because they have -minds too largo for their business. These minds will be, must be, occupied with higher things than the trivial details of business, and the petty cares, to neglect which is to insure ftiiluro in most commonplace vocations.

Success, then, unless measured by tho character of the field iii which it is achieved, is no measure of mental or physical power. Is a man successful? ln what is ho sucoessfu.1? Is he a successful dandy like Beau Bruinmcl a successful knave like a modern railroad grabber well known in this metropolis a successful dry-goods clerk or a successful lawyer and statosmau, like Clay and Webster a successful divine, liko Whately or a successful toucher, liko Arnold

Success is, it is true, a measure of ability, but of great ability pirty when it is itself tested by tlio higher measure of lofty aims, wise purposes, and good deeds.—Scientific American.

II T'SSIA AND AMEliL A.' There is a very prevalent and natural hesitation in admitting among the possibilities that throaten peaco just now the hostility of America to ngland. For our own part, wc havo said little or nothing on that head—contenting ourselv, with pointing out that tho German grievance instituted at the beginning of tho war, .and nourished ever since, is very like tho. American grievance, and tliat any favorable opportunity might combino themi It mtur be as well to point out that tho fire wherewith they might oasily be fused, is kindled already. Tho German influence over American polities is known to bo very potent. The outbreak of tho war between France and Prussia was hailed with vast enthusiasm by. that part of tho population of the United States which wields this influence. Recent events, if they travel in a certain direction, may endanger or embarrass the German successes in France. Tho embarrussment, should it come into operation at all, will bo mainly wrought by the hand of England, working against a possiblo arrangement between, Russia and Prussia for their own advantage and to England's harm. In thatcaso(andof.ourso wo aro only considering tho contingencies of actual war), is it not likely, is it not all but certain, that tho German influence in America would bo instantly araved in support of a movement h'ostilo to England? German sentiment, equally with American sentiment would be a once inflamed, and by tho samo agency the Gorman uud tho American grievance would bo united This hostility—in which tho Irish olomcnt would join—might well bo more urgent than tho American government could withstand it would certainly bo powerful enough to glvo that government a pretense which might cover any apparent shabjjiness in seising upon an opportunity for the reparaiiou, or revenge, which tho whole country longs for.—Pali Mall (JazztUe.

VALUE OF W1VES IN CHINA. Not long since a young English merchant look his youthful wife with him to Hong Kong, China, where the couplo wero visited by a wealthy mandarin. The latter regarded tho UMIV very attentively, and seoined to dwell with dolight upon her movements. When she at length left tho apartment, ho said to tho husband, in broken English (worso than broken China):

What give yon for that wifey-wifo yours?" Oh," replied the husband, laughiug at the singular error of his visitor, "two thousand dollars." "Only two thousand dollars for that wifey-wife?" asked tho mandarin.

That was all," replied the merchant. "Well," said the mandarin, taking out a book, with an air of business, "sposo you givo her to me I give you Jive thousand."

It is difficult to say whether the young Englishman was moro amaxed or amused but the very grave and solemn air of the Chinaman convinced hlin that he was in sober earnest, and ho was compelled, therefore, to refuse the offer with as much placidity as he could assume.

The mandarin, however, continued to press his bargain. I give you seven thousand dollars," said be "yon take 'em

The merchant, who had no previous notion of the cssh value of the commodity which he had taken out with him, was compelled, at length, to inform bis visitor that Englishmen were not in the habit of selling their wives after they were once in their possesion—an assertion which the Chinaman waa very alow to believe.

The merchant afterward had a hearty laugh with bis prstty wife over the affair, and told her that he had just uisooversd her tali «alna( aa he had that moment bam oOarad aeven thousand dollars for her—a very high figure, wives were going in Cnina st that timet"