Saturday Evening Mail, Volume 3, Number 1, Terre Haute, Vigo County, 6 July 1872 — Page 6

V1» /-V p.

{Eitmctfl from an unpublished ]Mcju.j THE OLD HOMESTEAD.'

tJj*

BY E. S. HOPKINS.

The Cricket chirps beneath the old stone wall The tuneful be© hums fit her homely task, The rasping locust swells his quick alarm And all the sounds of insect breathing lite Have ushered in the concert of the day. The morning cry of "golden crested lowl That wakes the echoes ,'mong the distant hills, The swallows twittering 'neath the mossy •J. eaves,

The robin whistling from his sun-gilt perch And e'er the watch dog greets the rising morn With welcome bay reanfewered from the cliffs. Anon the shade imprisoned flood bursts forth ADd bathing hill and valley In its course Envelops in a crystal sea ot light Tie blooming landscape of Uiv homestead farm.

Tween emerald corn fields rustling in the breeze. And blushing clover with its fragrant breath, In rich mosaic bends the golden wheat. I The billowy meadows waving to and fro Flash back the sunbeams from their dewy crests. The woodland pasture sunk in twilight gloom, And harvest moon fast melting into space Before the swift advancing day completes A sunrise picture set in blue and gold,

While scent of new mown hay bears on the sweep, Of ringing blades whose wide cut swath recalls The sunny orange groves so lately swept With besom of destruction while the free Air off southern waters bows the lordly palm, Or stirs you maple leal with faintest breath We gently lift the veil of part regrets— Yet leave the quiet sleepers undisturbed— And turn the leaves of life's portfolio, .Selecting from its myriad views a sketch

Of quiet kome life 'mong the sons of toil.

The truest picture has a somber shade As backgiound, where in bold relief the prose And poetry of life are strangely writ. Few lives but have some music, though the strain Is oft discordant and the harsh notes jar, Till death divides the harp string and the chord Restrung gives forth a clearer, sweeter note. How starved amidst the plentltude of love The aching heart that finds no living throb, Responsive to its own, but sadly longs For something still beyond the bourne of k-rv,

esJ?h

'I* MlT

Days disappointment.

The weary round of days and nights succeed Each other In their cheerless drag where naught, But gold dust fills life's atmosphere, while thought Has little sympathy with human woe ,t If blended with the glebe the plough-share breaks.

When lengthening shadows drain near labors close, And melt at last in twilight's dawn, perchance The burden of this simple song may prove A legacy arresting In its slow Decay the love of rural life whose pure And homely Joys too oft are sacrificed Upon the altars of a vague unrest. 1 C* O O

From day to-day the clouds swung low Their treasured drops outpouring The future harvest'golden wealth 'The fresh turned sod instoring.

It seemed as if the Spring had been Too early waked from sleeping, The modest violets drooped with rain

And green tipped buda were weeping.

From time to time the gloomy veil uu Lent hopeful rays from under, While vainly strove the SUE to break

The drilling cloud asunder. At length his saddened dish sank down And nid the April's greenness, As to the north the wind swept round

With all of March's keenness.

[From the Overland Monthly.]...,.,

jWhai They Told Me At Wilson's Bar.

Tho mining Season was ended in the narrow valley of one of the Sacramen"to's northern tributaries, as, in fact it wa9 throughout tho whole region of "placer diggings for it was October of a dry yoar, and water had failed early in tho camps. The afternoon of a long, idle day at Wilson's Bar was drawing to a close. The medium through which tho sun's hot rays reached the parched oarth was one of rod dust, the effect of •which was that of a mellow Indian

Summer haze, pleasing to the eye if abhorred bv tho skin and lungs, compelled to tako it in, wkother brute or human. In the landscape was an incongruous mingling of beauty and deformity—the first, the work of nature the last., the marring of man.

To the east and to the west rose hills, whose rnggedneS9 was softened by distance to outlinos of harmonious grandeur. Scattered over the valloy between them

the

stately "digger,"or nut-pines,

grew at near Intervals, singly or in groups of throe or five, harmonizing by their pale gray green with the other halt-tints of earth, air and sky. Following tho course ol the dried up river was a lino more or les9 continuous, ol of tho evergreen oaks, whose round spreading tops are such a grateful relief to the eye in the immenso levels of the lower Sacramento and upper San Joaquin valleys. Depending from theso hung long venerable-looking beards of gray moss, as devoid af color as ovorything else in the landscape every thing else except tho California wild grape, which, so far from being devoid ofcolor wascorgcousenough in itself to lighten up tho wholo foreground of tho picture. Growing in clumps upon the ground it was gay as a bed of tulips. Clambering up an occasional tall tree, it flaunted its crimson and party-colored foliage with true bacchanalian Jollity, oaeh eafseomhig drunk with Its own red wine. There is truly nothing that grows in the Golden State more beautiful than the l»t«

of tb. Picture.

Tho reverso was this: the earth everywhere torn and disfigured by prospectnr^wiiose picks had produced tho efof some huge snout of swine ap-

atoSL BockV lluloe-boNO., ami

aSv ledB»r .Slftd heavily laden trains of freight

k-%

•romUie general level, the eight-mule

^to a swnd-«tm.

£^"known' each ej.col.tion.

"Ilulloa! tbar's Bob Matheny," "Howdy, old feller!" and many other such expressions of welcome greeting him on all sides, as he turned from blocking the wheels of his wagon, which else might have backed down the slight incline that led to the Traveler's Rest.

At the same moment that the handshaking was progressing a young woman, mounted on a handsome filly, rode up to the rude steps of tho hotel and prepared to dismount and Bob Matheney instantly broko away from his numeroas friends, to llft ber .Cpom the saddle, which act occasioned a sympathetic smile in that samo numerous circlo, and a whisper ran round it, half audible, to the effect that Bob had "bin gittin' married," "A dog-goned purty gal," "The old cook's puttin' on frills," and similar appropriate remarks, ad infinitum. In the meantime the young woman disappearing within the hotel, and Matheny occupying himself firstly with the wants ot his team, and lastly those ot his own and those of his traveling companion—gossip had busily circulated the report among the idlers of Wilson's bar that Bob Matheny had taken to himself a young wife, who was accompanying him on his monthly trip to the mountains. This report was published with the usual commentaries, legends, and and annotations as relevant and piquant as that sort of gossip usually is, and as elegant as, lrom the dialect of Wilson's Bar might be expected.

Late in the evening,a group of honest miners discussed the~matter in the Star of Empire Saloon.

He's the last man I'd a suspected of doing such a act," said Tom Davis— with a manly grief upon his honest countenance, as he hid the ace and right bower under the brim of his ragged ola sombrero, and proceeped to pla3'the loft upon the remainder of that suit—with emphasis, "the yery laBt man!" -jl

It's a powerful temptation to a fellow in his shoes," remarked the tall Kentuckian on his right. "A young gal is a mighty purty thing to look at, ond takes a man's mind off his misfortune's. You mind the verse on't ye, 'Sorrows I divide, and Joys I double

And give this world a world o' trouble," subjoined Davis's partner, with a good-natured laugh at his own wit. "It's your deal, Huxley. Look and see if all the cards are in the pack. Deuced if I don't suspect somebody's hidin' them."

Every keerd's thar that was in my hands,et you mean me," said the Keptuckian sharply.

Waal, that don't mean you. !A feller may have his little joke, I suppose.

Depends on the kind o' jokes. Here's the two migsin keerds on the floor. Now, if you say I put 'em thar its a little joke reckon I won't stand. Sabe

Come, I'll pay lor the drinks,old fel' if you'll 'low me to apologize. Waiter, drinks all round. What'll you take, gentlemen "Now, that's what I call blarsted 'ansotne," said Huxly, who was an Englishman from Australia:

Friend of me soul, this goblet sip, •Twill dry the starting tear: 'Tls not so bright as woman's lip,

But oh, 'tis more sincere! Hero's to ye, me hearties." Which brings us back to our subject," responded Davis' partner, commonly called "Gentleman Bill," as the glasses were drained a_id sent away. '•Do vou believe|in curses, Kentuck

B'lieve in cusses? Don't the Bible tell about cussin' Wasn't thar an old man in the Bible—I disremember his name—that cussed one of his sons, and blessed t'other one? I reckon I do b'lieve in cussin'."

His interlocutor laughed softly at the statement and argument. "Did you ever know anybody to be cursed in such a manner that it was plain he was under a ban of unintermitting vengeance?"

Ef you mean did I ever know a man as was cussed, I ken say I did, onct. He was a powerful mean man—a nigger driver, down in Tennesse. He was oi fill to swear, an cruel to the Niggers, an' his wife besides. One day she died an' left a mite of a baby an, he was so mad he swore ho 'wouldn't bury her: the neighbors might bury her, an' the brat, too, if they liked." As he was a swoarin' an' a-tearin' with all his might, an' a-callin' on God to cuss him ef ho didn't do so an' so, all of a suddont, just as his mouth was opened with a oath, he was struck speechless, an' never has spoke a word till this day! —least wavs not that I ever heerd ov."

That is what I should call a special example of Divine wrath," said Gentleman Bill, deftly dealing the cards for a new game. What I meant to ask, was, whether any one, yourself especially, had ever known one man to curso another man so as to bring ruin upon him, in spite of his will to resist it."

Waal, I've heern tell of sech things can't say as I know such a man,without it's pob Matheny. He says he's cussed and I reckon he is. Everybody in Wilson's Bar has heern about that."

Not everybody, for I am still in ignorance of his story. Was that why r. Davis objected so strongly to his marriage? I begin to bo interested. Count me up another game, partner. I should like to hear about Mr. Mathy." na

You may tell the story, Davis," said tho Kontuckian magnanimously. "I want ter chaw terbacker fur awhile, an' I can't talk an' chaw."

Tom Davis gladly took up the theme, as it gave him an opportunity to display his oratorical and rhetorical abilities, of which he was almost as proud as he was of his skill in hiding cards in his sleeves, his hat, hi* hair and his boots.

Gentlemen," he began, hesitating a minute—while, attention being fixed on what he was about to say, he stocked the cards—"gentlemen, it's one of the cursedest things you ever heerd on in your life. It seems thar was a woman at the bottom of it—I believe thar allers is at the bottom of every thing. Waal, he stole another man's sunflower—I've heerd Bob say so, hisself— and the other feller got mad—mad as thunder—an', when he found his gal had vamoosed with Bob, he cursed him an' his carse was this: that as long as be lived all that he did should prosper fur a little while, an' jest when he begun to enj'y it, a curse Bhould come onto it. Ef it wor business, when he thought he was sure of a good thing it should fail. Ef it wur love, the woman he loved should die. Ef it wur children, they should grow up and turn agin him if they ihim thu same curse should be on them what they undertook should fail what they

l0"Didhtheldwom«n

nd torn

aSrSSSfw feSRSfiSs ?Sags«gSS!

he loved, die did

his children desert him asked the En-

glj.8HTsawff^ir^'seven

year arterhe

one

ov his boys was kill-

horse fallin' on him theothiZln had company down to Red «r. Vite?l«Sinf the old man a life for two year or more, run & takenVtbe lynchers-ao Jala wi§? I b'lieve

has a gal back

TERRE-HAUTE SATURDAY EVENING MAIL. JIJLY 6. '^7-2

in the States but his wife's folks won't let her come to Californy. They're a eddyoatin' her quite grand, and she writes a powerful nice letter. The old man showed me one, last time he was up to tho Bur, Hau'aomo as any schoolmarm's ever you saw. But Bob says he don't see what's the use soruQthln' allers does happen to him an' to his chillern." "Is that why ho thinks ho's cursed— beoause 'something always happens?" asked Gentleman Bill indifferently. "Sar'tin an' it's so, as sure as yer born. Nothin' ever pans out long with Bob Matheny. His beglnnln's is all good and his oudin's all uad. I reckon thar never was a man to Wilson's l$ar has bip cleaned cout. down to the bedrock as often as Matheny."

Is he a good man asked the Englishman, interested. "Never had a better man to Wilson's Bar." responded Kentuck, decidedly, as he cast his quid under the table. "He ain't a lucky feller.an' ho's mighty superstitious and tho liko but I make a heap of Bob Matheny. His luck and his cuss don't hurt him none fur me. It.s jest a notion, inebbe."

Notion or no notion," said Davis, wibh a knowing leer, "he's not the man to marry a nice gal like that 'an he's got up lo the Rest. Better let her be for souio lucky young feller as could make her happy. Don't you say so boys

While the laugh went round, the crowd that had been gradually collecting and listening tojthe story, began to move, and then to part, as the man so much talked of, forced his way toward the group of speakers.

Hold yer tongue, Tern Davis," said said Kentuck. "Hulloa, Bob! take my hand, won't ye I'll introduce ye to my friends. My partner is Huxley—a tip-top feller, as you'll diskiver furyerself. Davis pardner is Randolph—Gentleman Bill, we call him for short he's so nice and perlite. He's from yer State, too, I reckon."

Randolphs of Boonevllle," said Gentleman Bill, rising and extending his hand.

Mathney, who was a mild looking man of about fifty, with a hesitating manner and rather care-worn countenance, half concealed under a widebrimmed dusty black hat, instead of meeting half way the extended hand of his friends friend,thrust bis own in his

gandolph.

ckets

and gazed fixedly at young "Be ye Boone Randolph or

be ye hissperrit?" he asked hoarsely. Neither quite," said the young man smiling, yet a little flushed. "I am son of Boone Randolph of Booneville, if you know who he was."

Matheny turned and hurried out ef the crowd, followed by Kentuck, who wanted to have explained this singular conduct of Bob's toward hia friends. As there was no witness of their conversation, its meaning can only be guessed at by another which took

Ead

lace two hours later, after Matheny turned in at the Traveler's Rest. It was late, even for him, when Kentuck started for his lodgings at the other end of the long, densely crowded not only with buildings of wood and canvass, but choked up with monstrous freight wagons and their numerous horse and mule teams, for which there was not stable room enough in all Wilson's Bar. Stumbling along the uneven sidewalk, often touching with his feet some unhoused vagabond,Kentuck was about|to mount the stairs which led to his bedroom, when some one touched him on the shoulder, and the voice of Gentleman Bill addressed him:

I beg your pardon, Kentuck but you've been with Matheny, havn't you I want to know why he wouldnt shake hands. He told you, of course "Waal, I'm a friend of Bob's, ye know, Bill an' he is mighty rough on you, sure. Better not say ilotbin' about it."

That wouldn't suit me,Kentuck. I want to understand something about the matter which concerns me so evidently. Come, out with it, and I'll leeve you to go to bed."

Waal, you heerd Tom Davis blab this evenin' and you know that Bob's got the idee into his intelleck that the cuss of asartin man as he onct Wronged is a-stickin' to him yet, and never will let loose till he passes in 1i|b

Who was the man Boone Randolph, of Booneville." "My father?"

Yaas, yer pap. He'ar down powerful on yer pap, that's sart'in. Sez he to me: 'Loh! that's the ornary whelp of the devil that cussed mer Old's I am, I'd like to fight him, for the sake ov the man that I knowed onct. I feel my voung blood risin' he loeks so mighty like Boone Randolph.' But I tole him he wur a fool to talK ov fightin' yer: ye'd whip him all ter flinders." "I wouldn't fight him, of course: he's too old for me. And then he's just married, too, isn't he I have no wish to make that young woman a widow." "A widow said iventuck, laughing. "That girl's name is Anne Matneny but see ain't Bob's wife—not by along shot. Why, she's Bob's darter, as has just come out to see her old pap."

Well, I like that. I am less then ever inclined to fight the man who owns such a daughter. I must find a way to make friends with him, even if I have to quarrel with him to do it. Good-night,Kentuck. Tleasant dreams to you."

Gentleman Bill felt more than ordinarily wide-awake, whether it was from the novel excitement of the brief encounter with Matheny or not. When Kentuck had left him he stood for some time irresolute, with no wish for and no desire to go anywhere in particular. He looked up to the sky. It Was murky with filmy fog, clouds and dust not yet settled to the earth. Not a star waa visible in the whole arch ol heaven. He looked down the street, and his eyes, accustomed to the darkness, could just faintly distinguish the outlines of the wagons that crowded it. Every sound was hushed, except the occasional movement of a restless animal, or the deep sighing of a sleeping one. Not a light was burning anywhere along the street. While gazing aimlessly into the gloom he saw all at once, as it lighted oy a flash from the sky, a sudden illumination spring up, and a column of flame stand erect over the traveler's Rest.

Now Wilson's Bar did not boast afire company. At some seasons of the year, had afire broken out, there would nave been a chance of its extinguishment, inflammible as were the materials oi which the place was built but just after the long, hot aummer. when the river waa all but dried np and every plank in houses, fences and sidewalks sojiruch tinder.a fire should it'get under headway would have everything its own way. Seeing the danger, Gentleman Bill started down the street on on a run, shouting, in his clarion tones, that ever-thrilling cry of "Fire! fire! fire!" till it seemed to him he must wake the dead. But it was that hoar of the night, or rather morning, when sleep is heaviest and the watchful senses off their guard. The teamsters, who slept in their wagons, were the first to be aroused but they, seeing the peril

Sagration,

which might come to their teams, and destruction to their property, kept by their own. The inhabitants of the dwellings awoke more slowly, and oame pouring into the street only in time to see Che roof of the Traveler's Rest falling in, although the lower story was not yet consumed.

Nobody knew much about tho detail* of the pcene that ensued. The current of heated air produced the usual rush of cold wind, which spread and led the flames, until, in half an hour, all hope ol savlug any part of the principal street in the Bar was abandoned and tho people were flying lor safety to the outskirts of the town.

Qn a little eminence, overlooking the burning buildings, together stood Gentleman Bill and a young woman he had rescued from smoke and flame just in time to save her from suffocation. To-

ether they looked down upon the cOnand together listened to the horrible medley of sounds proceeding from it. ..

If I could only know that my fathor is safe?" was the moan of Anne Matheny, as she gazed intently upon the scene of distress.

Seeing the fright and trouble in her eyes, her companion cunningly diverted her attention for one moment to the weird landscape stretching away toward the western mountains. It was the samo scene she had beheld with such interest twelve hours before but in a different aspect! The murky heavens'reflected the red glare of the flames on every object for miles around tinging each with a lurid gloam like nothing in Nature. The dark neutrals of the lar-off mountains, the graygreen ot the pines, the sere color of the parched valley, the dark dull green of the oaks garlanded with hoary moss, and the gay foliage of the wild grapeall came out distinctly in this furnaceglow, but with quite new effects. Iu the strong and strange fascination of the scene, Doth these young people, so singularly situated, forgot for three minutes, their mutpal anxiety. Longer it would have been impossible to forget it.

Do not you think I might look for my father, now, Mr. Randolph,"—supplied that gentleman.

Oh, thank yon !—Mr, Randolph I do not see how you could,really and without intending it in the least, but simply through his embarrassment, Randolph glanced hastily at her scanty dress, which thereby she blushingly understood to be bis objection.

If I could get only a blanket from father's wagon! Do you think it would be possible? Would you be running a risk to try for a blanket, do you think, Mr. Randolph? II there is any risk, please do not go but I am so anxious—so terribly anxious."

He knew she was,and knew the reason she had for her apprehensions: so, although he mistrusted the result of his errand, be answered simply: "Certainly I will go,, if you are not afraid to be left hero alone. I shall be In no danger."

Oh, thank you—thank you You will bring me a message from my father?" "I hope so, indeed,since you desire it so much. I think you had better sit down on this newspaper, and let me cover your shoulders with my coat." "No, indeed. If you are going near the fire you will need it to protect you from cinders.

But Randolph quickly divested himself of his upper garment, and laid it lightly over her shivering form then quietly charging her to ieel no alarm, and as little anxiety as psssible, strode rapidly away toward the fire. Fifteen minutes afterward he returned with, a blanket which she rose up to receive.

My father? Did you see my father?" I did not see him. He must have taken his horses off a little distance for safety, and you may not see him for several 'hours.* Do not Indulge in apprehensions. In the morning we shall find hin: it. is almost daylight now."

He pointed to a faint light along the eastern horizon but her eyes were -.blinded with tears. "It's not like my father to leave me so long—at such a time, too! He would not care for his horses, nor for anything but me. Oh, can he havo perished!"

She spoke as though the awful significance of her loneliness had just dawned upon her. Randolph, from whom the thought had never been absent from tho moment he saw the pillar of flame shooting up over the Traveler's Rest, was startled by the suddenness of her anguish and an expression of grief came over his face, noticeable even to her inattentive eyes, and which comforted her by its sympathy, even in the midst of her great alarm and distress.

The day had dawned when Anne Matheny lifted her tear swollen face from her knees, and looked upon the smoking ruins of Wilson's Bar._ It was but a blackened heap of rubbish yet somewhere in its niidst.shefelt assured were buried the charrea remains of her father. Each -moment that he came no*# deepened her conviction, until at last her companion ceased his efforts to inspire hope, and accepted her belief as his own. Then, with the inconsistency of sorrow, Bhe violently repudiated the suspicion of her father's death, and besought him piteously to seek and bring him to her side.

It was while obeying this last command that Gentleman Bill encountered Kentuck, who, after the confusion of the fire was over, was, like himself, looking for Matheny. When they had consulted together, the two returned to the place where Anne was awaiting them.

There is one request I have to make Kentuck: which is, that you will not Inform Miss Matheny of the enmity ol her father toward my father and myself. It would only distress her. Besides, I should like to befriend her, poor girl! and I could not, if she lookupon me with her father's eyes."

No, 'tain't no use to tell her nothin about that, sure enough. It's mighty curus, though, 'bout that fire: not another man got hurt, not a mite and Bob Matheny dead! I'll be hanged if it ain't mighty curus. I hope ye won hurt the gal, bein as yer the son of yer father." -'v' "Hurt her! I'd

Gentleman Bill did not say what he would do but Kentuck, glancing hls way, caught a perfectly co^rehenBible expression, and muttered softly to himself: ...

Waal, if that ain't the dog-goQdest, curusestsarkimstanceIever*?^* f,'' the first pop! Waal, I'm not the feller to come atween 'em, ef thet ther notion. Fair play's my rule.

To Bill, aloud, he said: Reckon you'll hev' to let me be her uncle for awhile yet. Yer most too yoang a fel-. ler to offer to take care of a gal like that. Bob Mathney's darter has a right to what leetledust pans out Kentuck's claim. Thet'a my go."

Just at this moment Anne, who had been watching for the return of her friend seeing two figures approaching, uttered a cry of joy and ran forward to

JJ imi

meet them. The shock of her disappointment at seeing a stranger in plaqe of her father,caused her nearly to swoon away in Kentuck's arms, "Neow, don't ye. honey," he said, soothingly, in his kind, Kentucky dialect. "Sho! don't ye take on. We's all got to die, sometime or nuther. Dou'n mind me I'm yex pap oldest friend on this coast-I»eVr prospected au' dug an' washed up with him sence M9 and a kinder comrade a man never bed. In course, I consider it my duty an'privilege to see that yer took car'of. The Bar's purty much cleaned eout— thet'sso but I'!!

soon

sighing

hev a cabin up

somewhere and ye can just run my shebang anyway yo like. Reckon 1 can find some nice woman to stay along with ye, fur company,"

This was just the kind of talk best calculated to engage the attention or one in Anne's situation—half soothing and half suggestive—and by degrees her father's old iriend succeeded in arousing her to face her loss, and the prospects of the future.

They told me at Wilson's Bar, only last October—it mu6t have been about the anniversary of the fire—that in two or three months Anne had recovered her spirits and health so far as to essay teaching the little llock ol children at the Bar, with flattering success and that in two orthreo more it began to be observed

that Gentleman

Bilipnow

more commonly called Mr. Randolph, out of respect to Miss Matheny—generally happened to be in the neighborhood of the schotfi house about the hour of Closing, in order that he might walk home with the teacher. In truth, the youwtc people bad taken to looking and

after each other in a way

that provoked remark and augured a wedding.' As Anno insisted on completing ner term of teaching, as well as on taking a little time for preparation the wedding did not couie off until the first part of September.

On this occasion—the only one of the kind Kentuck had ever had anything to do with—the rudo, but generous hearted Kentuckian made a point of displaying his hospitality on a scale commensurate with his ideas of its itnportance and the elite of Wilson Bar were invited to eat, drink, and dance from dusk till dawn of that memorable day. As far the brido, she looked as lovely as it is the right aind duty of all brides to look—even lovelier than the most and tho groom was the very prince of all brides to look—even lovelier than the most and the groom was the very prince of bridegrooms—so all the maiden guests declared.

On the following morning, when the young couple were to go away, ^Vnne kissed and cried over Kentuck, her second father, in a truly gratifying fashion and Randolph behaved very gentlemanly and kindly—ss, in fact, he always did and Iventuck put on paternal airs, blessing his children in all the honeyed epithets of a true Kentuckian.

Alas, that the legend does not end here! It the reader is of my mind, he will wish that it had. But if he is of that sanguinary soit who always in sist upon seeing the grist the gods send to their slow-grinding mills, he will prefer to know the sequel. As I have already told you, it was in September they were married. On the morning they left Kentuck the weather was extremely hot, with queer little clouds hanging about tho mountains. They took the road up the canon, toward McGibeney's ranch—laughing and chatting as thev rode along side by side, Anne replying to every lark singing by tho roadside in a voice almost as musical.

Well, if it must be told, there was a cloud-burst on the mountains about noon that day. Not four hours after, they "had taken leave of h.m, Kentuck received their poor bruised bodies at his very threshold, brought there without the interposition of human hands. Wilson's Bar will lon'g remember that day. The fire took chiefly that which could be replaced but the flood washed out claims, ruined aqueducts, and destroved lives of men and brutes, carrying away with it the labors and hopps of years.

MiliftiitoiiHiAiHtttitt

::u: [From the New York Ledger.] .i THE NEW ENGLAND WOMAN. ft.' if. ul

BY FANNY FEKN.

.v.-: & tr r-. y.iJesi As if one could make a mistake a New England woman How can you know her? First, by her wardrobe. She will own a water-proof and Indiarubbers, and nice umbrella, beloro thinking about a diamond ring, or the latest style of dress hat, or gold bracelet. She always dresses with a view to the thermometer, and prefers a blanket shawl of the best fabric, under doubtful skies, to a silk velvet dress and paper-soled shoes.

Before deciding on her spring outfits she looks at the capabilities ot the dresses already on hand. Over one that has a spot upon it she places a bow or ruffle over another a new "topskirt," thus saving the cost of making two dresses at lea$t. She buys the materials for two bonnets, and makes them herself, with the garnishing flowers and feathers, quite as tastefully as the best milliner

a well-stocked library,

uSSh owning "point-lftce over-

£SCr««i for the hour of the day and the the best of her

VOU

never

pood judgement It M. npolo-

»^tWW rr

£g

chance to bruise your nnjrera,

the New nwljnd "J™" Srecter^S 331? be bSU, -IK, reoul" proof of the same before she believes it, or turn you tho cold shoulder.

The New England woman pute away her furs before the moths get at them, and her cellar floor is as clean as her parlor. In short, she Is a woman possessing aU the virtues and none of the weaknesses of her sex who have the misfortune to be born out of New England. I myself am aNew England woman. .-,4,*

The word carat, used to express the fineness of gold, is so called from an Abysslan bean, which, from the time oi its gathering, vanes very little in its weight, and for this reason is used in Africa as a weight in gold, as it is in India for gems and pearls. It is, with us, an imaginary weight, used to express the proportion of gold te a given mass of metal. Thus, if an ounce of gold is divided into 24 parts or carats, then gold 20 carats fine is that in which 20 parts are pure metal, and 4 parts silver, copper, or some other alloy.

GOLDEN PARAGRAPHS.

Charity can tolerate even intolerance. The domestic affections are the alphabet of love.

No man ever did or ever will do his doty and by If your neighbor's offense is rank, don let yours be ranoour.

It is not tho varnish on a carriage that glyes it motion or strength. That which is done for self dies. Perhaps it is not wrong, but it is peculiar.

A silver chain around a dog's neck will not prevent his barking or biting. Let rto one overload you with favor* you will find it an insufferable burden!

The froth of the head generally becomes venom when it reaches the heart.

No man can avoid his own company, so he had best make it as good as possible.

A book is your best friend, because you can shut it up without giving offense.

If motives were always visible, men would often blush lor the most brilliant actions.

Indolence is to the mind like moss to a tree it bindeth it up so as to stop its growth.

They are fools who persist in bein^ quite miserable because they are not quite happy.

The best penanoe we can do for envying another's merit is to endeavor to surpass it.

Mr. Alcott says he calls a man a practical who can make another see bis own ignorance.

They say that fortune is blind, and she certainly, as a general rule, make? her favorites so.

A man might often earn enoupj money In the time he wastes in l,« wailing the want of it.

Idleness is hard work for those vl are not used to it, and dull work i\ those who are.

Courage, the commonest of the vi tues, obtains more applause than dl cretion, the rarest of them.

The intelligence and education people are the passports of a country eminence and prosperity.

Honesty without sharpness is lil& sword without edge or point—very well for show but of no use to the owner,

Tho pleasantest things in the world are pleasant thoughts, and the greatest art In life is to have as many of them as possible.

Hope is a pleasant acquaintance, but an unsafe friend. Hope is not tho man for your banker, though he may do for a traveling companion.

Scarcely anything in life is so sweet as the repose of Sunday—the soothing suggestions of its devouter ofiices, jts silence, its calm, its immunities.

Without virtue there can be no truo happiness but we want love joined with virtue to eive us all the good which this world is capable of bestowing.

Wit and gaiety answers the saoie purpose that afire does in a damp house —dispersing chills and drying up mould and making all wholesome and cbcerful.

Remember that every person, however low, has rights and feelings. In all contentions,let peace be rather your object than triumph. Value triumph only as the means of peace.

Knowledge cannot be acquired without pains and application. It is troublesome, and like deep digging for pure water but when once you come to the spring, it will rise up and meet you.

He that can enjoy the intimacy of tho

reat, and on no occasion disgust them familiarity, or disgrace himself by servility, proves that he is as perted a gentleman by naturo as they are by rank.

The ancients believed that birds possessed a rare knowledge of human affairs. As they were continually flying about, they were supposed to observe and pry into men's most secret actioa*. and know all theii doings., We iiieft in the Greek poets with many allusions to this belief.

Pew sufficiently praotiee the habit of self examination. Thixmgh life i"an is liable to error, and requires check, rebuke, and counsel. He should personify his own conscience. He sboiiM be his own good spirit, hovering over himself in moments of passion, teinpttion, and danger, and reminding himself that he owes a duty to his Maker with which the opinions and con*equencesof the world have nothing to do.

couldn

owns boots and shoes.for all kinds or weather, before buying °f silk stockings also a good assortment of plain but well-made p^eh.' before "hankering" after a real Cash

mILe8hSrs'

WORD ABOUT WATER

It is now a point pretty well established that dysentery, typhoid fever, and other fatal diseases, possibly cholera among them, ar© caused by animal and vegetable substances dissolved in the water. Therefore, all supplies ol water for drinking and culinary or bathing purposes should be carefully inspected. All wells should be weil covered. No sewer should be near well, and the wash of all accumulations of filth should be carefully prevented from being carried into any water-sup-, ply for the house. It is well to remember that we may get accustomed to drinking impure water and not know ft, unless other senses than taste art's: consnltod. A proper attention to tb s.| subject, and a determination to use only wholesome water, would not only prevent many diseases, but often stvc the life of some beloved momber of tho? family. These sensible things are said by Dr. A. h. Wood, editor of The Herald of Health, and ho tolls in tho subjoined Summary "How Water jetH Foul 1. The water which falls from tho clouds becomes foul by falling through the srnokv, dirty air, and by the matter from the roofs of houses on which it falls. 2. Spring and river water becoineK foul by freshets. 8. Well water is contaminated by surface impurities, sewerage, cesspool*, and by the soil through which tho source of supply is accumulated. 4. Itiver water is spoiled for domestic uses by the refnse of slaughter-hous-es, gas-works,and the various manufactures that pour thei? refuse into it. 5. Cistern water gets filthy by the settling of such impurities as are washed from the roof, by leaks in the pipe, and by not being well covered.

At Cohoes a maiHlied some twenty years ago, leaving a widow and infant daughter. A large share of property was bequeathed to the child, but in case of her death before the ago of twenty it was to go to her cousin. She grew up delicate in health, and as she approached the fatal limit the mother andwusin bargained over her chances or life. Finally the cousin sold his chances of the inheritance for $4,000,

bfCHwe the girl died before sho

wa*twenty

he sued the mother to re

cover the entire property, alleging that deceived as to the state of the girt shealth. The courts say that won't «o he must stand by his bargain.— Rochester Union and Advocate.