Saturday Evening Mail, Volume 3, Number 45, Terre Haute, Vigo County, 10 May 1873 — Page 8

8

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SOLITUDE. w| e-i remembered1 how kind *fd _____ i:«-i)iie had been the rou^b-btardrd To rest, far up the mountain's height, on

Alone at last, Ethel J" he said smoothlngdown her hair. "Do you remember how once j'ou wished that }*ou could live apart with me, upon some desolate island, away from all the cares and jealousies of the world It was the dream that sometimes possesses every schoolboy, and is no more likely to be realized with us than is the attainment of some magical gool fortune from the 'Arabian Nights.' Aud yet, after all, what Is this but an embodiment of it Coral reefs and billows do not close us in, to be sure but yonder are the white walls of the snowy SI' rru standing guard over our valley, and nearer by are pine-covered bills begirling us, and all around is an outward sea of desolation which few can pass. It is to us an island of verdure." "And I could really stay here forever, deorge," she answered "with you alone, and to see only you for the rest of my life. Why, alter all, since everything here is so beautiful, should we go again into tho outer world, and meet its storms and contentions?''

And when the winter comes, dear pet, and our pleasant green turf is sunken |lx feet or more beneath the snow drills, and our biscuit-barrol is emptywlibt then? So that, you sec, romance must have its short-lived day, indeed and even we, though no storm or famine Bhould ever come, would tire at last of the sameness of tho scene, and long for some change. You will soon be quite well again and, in the pleasant society of «ur S*n Francisco friends, now awaiting us. will care little for this secluded life, even if you ever remember its existence."

It must be so, indeed, dear George though it seems to me I can never torget this spot, so lovely. But, after ali Ft must be only io the society of our friends that wo can find lasting happiness and even those who are not near to us—our kind acquaintances who have Journeyed hither in our company —I hope to meet again, some day. Old Rollick, who carried me a mile through adrift of snow, that time yon were too ill to help me and poor Bill Carthrlght, who took me out to see the buffalo silled. How rough they we reswearing around the camp-flree, at night, when they did not know that I was near I and yet, always to roe so gentle and protecting,

She cloned her eyes for a moment, striving to realise more vividly the scenes and eyents of the past few months. Nearlv a year ago, she bad started overland with her husband, to whom a flair prospect of professional success had suddenly opened io JBf Dortui*. Those were days when vessels slow!/ crept around the stormy Horn, and the isthmus steamers were few and uncertain, and when, to many minds, the tedious overland route was the Kiftit and most speedy. Cheerfully she had made ready to go with blot and, alter all, It seemed only looking forward to a very few months of easy land-carriage—they would be at their destination in the fall they thought. But the laber was greater than had been expected the time was much protracted, and winter came upon them while they were yet among the mountains, and they were obliged to settle down In some ravine and wait until spring. At times, the provisions had threatened to

S've

out, and there bad been two or ree not bloodless attacks flrom marauding Indians and so the winter had patsed, amid goffering arid danger, Yet. for the bright side to it all, there was rabeh io think of with pleasure,

men

L^lfhn.a

I count not solltnde. ',

To wander on the rocky coast when stars look on the #ea. And listen to the restless waves beat ever plaintively— Like memories which upan the snores of time uncenaSnt? brwtk To hear the wind unto tUe night In strange coinplainlnn",p«*flk—

I count not solitude.

To At amid old rnins which o'erlook some sluggish stream, As thro' their erombllng arches steal* the pale moon's shadowy beam To near the mournful owl lament o'er some decaying toinb, As the tirelew bat Its restless flight wings thro' the gloom— couut not solitude. To dwell with strangers and to feel thyself e'en doubly stinnge To ieave thy home, thy country—all, nor find in the exchange One friend where fate has cast thy lot to feel thon dost Intrude 'Mong those who for thy we".Cure show but slight solicitude—

Ah ttii* is solitude. K. R. 1

SCANDAL.

A whisper broke the air— A soft, light tone and low, Yet baibed with shame and woe

Now migtit it perish only tlierr. Nor farther go. Ah! inc, a quick and eager ear

Caught up the Utile meaning found, Another voice had breathed it clear, And so It wandered round From ear to lip, from lip to ear,

Until it reached a gentle heart, And that it broke."

[Overland Monthly.]

Only an Episode.

A little, brown, weather-stained tent, pitched against the gnarled trunk of an old oak two persons standing in front, inotionlosg and silent as statues he with one arm outstretched, so as to grasp the forked end of the tent-pole, and with his other nAti thrown protectlngly about her Blender l'orm she nestling confidingly against his side, and with one hand placed lightly upon his shoulder—this was the pleasant picture.

Thus thev stood, and gazed earnestly and with 'fixed attention toward one edge of the little valley. At that point there was an opening, which gave access to It but so cunningly had nature hidden It with a projecting spur of rising ground, and a clump ot pines standing in front, and seeming to guard the pass, that no one would have dreamed of the existence of such an opening •were it not for the little cavalcade omerglng outwardly through It, at that moment—eight men, travel-stained in dress, and all with rough, tangled, uncombed beards each armed with pistols, worn openly at the belt while two of the number carried short ritles, flung across their saddles. In single lile, they passed through the valley's gate, each one turning around before Be disappeared from view, and waving a inuto farewell to the two motionless spectators In front of the tent. A moment longer, and the last of the cavalcade had vanished from 6ight. Then these two watchers, alter straining their gaze forward for yet auother instant, ns though striving to pierce through the intervening grove and hillock, nnd thus gain one more glimpse of their friends, moved from their fixed position, ancl sat down upon the green turf at the foot of th® tent—she dropping her chin against his knee, and looking up Into his face.

who had been of

Sor

their

n^rty bow

»i»Ri vtnda 1' hose men, b*rn to wood-craft and

iSS^tKnesigh I h.intinK_uucouth in manners as well To mark the shades of evening fall athwart yon churchyard rude Far down the vale to watch the deep nlng shadows In the Wood—

as In dr*ss, and sometimes terrible in their mutual quarrels—had always vied with one anothtft" to save her from discomfort how, in her immediate presence, they had tried to lay aside their roughness of speech and action—putting on, l»efore her, an instructive courtliness which was almost real grace and which, as it came from the soul, was worth morethan the grace of royalty. All this she could not but think of with grateful homage to their rude excellence ot heart and she sadly wondered whether *he might ever see any of them again. Pleasant thoughts, upon the whole, among so much that bad been painful and it was singular how diffently these memories stood out before her, as she now looked at them from opposite point of view. It was not until the early spring that the lit tie camp In the mountains had broken up, and they had succeeded in reaching the borders of the Stanislaus—the first confines of civilized life. Therefore, she had now led that career of hardship and trial for nearly ten .months and it seemed almost like her real, normal existence, so boldly did it assert it&ell agaiost the most feeble memories of her former life of eastern comfort. But on the other hand, it seemed already fading away, like an uncertain dream, as she turned her mind to the new civilization crystaiizhig about the Golden Gate, and to the many dear friends there awaiting her. She was now within a few days' journey of them, and the perils of the landward route were all behind her. Should she not soon see those dear friends again? Not quite yet, perhaps. During the pa$t two weeks she bad fallen ill. She had bravely borne up during the winter's work but, now that it was at an end, the reaction had come, and she had appeared weak and listless. It was merely that she needed n-st, all said and though now so near her new home, it might be that the toil of the journey of even those few days would imperil her. Only rest and inaction, and freedom from present caro, were needed and while, upon tb.e stoppage in the first mining settlement, her husband deliberated on what should be done, one of the band sncceeded in solving the question. He had found this little nook among the bills, and scarcely a mile from the settlement—so near, indeed, that, in the stillness of the warm breezeless day, the sound of the evermoving rockers could be heard but, apart from that, far enough off to have been, asyet, uniHvoded. It lay among the hills, a secluded, unappropriated paradise. The little stream, that ran bubbling through its centre, gave pleasant verdancy to the sward, and decked its own borders with many-colored spring flowers. The noble oak-trees that studded the plain would afford shade and shelter. The air was warm and balmy for the closing in of the pine-covered bills shut out any roughly tempered winds, and in this sheltered nook she could remain, and rest herself from part toil for, doubtless in a week or so, ihe would be so far restored as to be able to resume her jou rney. Therefore, the few of the party who now remained—for many had already straggled off toward other mines—postponed for yet a day their further onward journey, that they might assist in one final contribution to hercomfort. Together, they pitched the little brown tent beneath the largest oak-tree, scarcely allowing her husband to give his aid- so jealously did each one wish to do for her all that he could. They placed, conveniently at one side, and covered over, a generous supply of all such

Hialltles of food as could be purchased many miies around diligently searching out for her many delicacies which it would not, at first, have been supposed the mining towns could furnish. They gathered piles of long grass for the hoVse—her husband's horse, indeed, but which she had often ridden, when tired of the hard jolting of the baggage-wagon. And then, with ft few rough words of farewell—which said so little, perhaps, but meant so much in the inner depths of their earnest souls —they turned away, and, as we have seen, slowly filing out of the valley, left the two to their new life. A very pleasant life, indeed, it seemed tobe the air was so warm and balmy, with the freshness of the new spring, the green turf at their feet so soft and abundant the babbling of the little stream so cheerfully responsive to the whole tone,of their feelings, as they sat together, and, in perfect freedom from care a.ul toll, gazed before them and all animated nature seemed so tame and friendly birds that were new to them, hopped closely to their feet, and, undismayed, chirruped a welcome even the brown hare, that skipped across from one side of the valley to the other, turned to gaze at them, not as though be was frightened at the iutrusion. but rather with an inquiring look, and then passed on, with no qulckergnlt thau before. So snugly, too, did they seem *hut in by the mountains from all contact with the outer world—the linecovered bills closing in steeply around those few green acres of sward and scattered oaks and at the further end, over a lower outline of the chain, the snow-crowned peaks of the Sierra Nevada, lifting themselves, white and glistening, like an outer line of sentriesIt was like some newly found Arcadia. And, again, there crossed Ethel's mind the thought, that it would be pleasant to live there always.

At least," she said—not as though having any thought about herself, but rather as a matter of tasteful fancy, wide and univeral In Its application— "at least, if not a place to live in—away from all friends—it seems a place todie and be buried in. Think, George, what a treasure of loveliness this spot would be to some large city, if within pleasant reach. How the glories of any artificial cemetery would pals before these natural beauties! It impresses me, that if It were near our former home, long as might live in San Francisco. I could hardly, at last, die in peace, if I were not certain to be carried back and laid here. Just here, George—beneath this old tree where stand our tent,"

Careless was her tone—the momentary prompting of a transient fancy— and a« carelessly did be answer. But all the more bitterly did he sfterward recall his speech. Not for msny days, indeed—not during the coming week, when, cheered by the novelty and beauty of the surrounding scene, her face seemed to lake upon itself new color and a brighter radiance of expression— but afterward, when again her cheek

Eour

sled, and when, coming in from aa of loitering with his rifle, he noticed that she row more heavily and wearily than usual to greet him.

You are tired, Ethel I" A little. George. It seems as though, after all, I missed the toll of the journey. This idie Ufe is making me too inactive. Bat I shall be better soon."

With this, it seemed tbsL for the first time, evil forebodings fell upon his Ible sod undefined, bnt in a moment taking crushing shape:1

TF.KRR-HAUTIFI SATURDAY KVKMNG MAIH. MAY 10, U73.

and, turning awsy under pretense of furtb. hunting, lie lnlien-d slowly along unt it he had passed from her sight behind the outlet of the valley then, at quicker c®, he sped to the neighboring mine. For, might not this be a matter of life and death There might be more needed for her than mere fresh air and rest. S nnewhere, within reach, there must be a physician. Lst him be who or what he might, weie there anv good in him. be must be called.

And in so much the searcher was fortunate. In that neighboring uiiningtown there chanced to be a physician, whose name, but tor his evil genius, might have lived long in the annals of medical science not a mere fledgeling of the past vear. from some easily-sat-iffied college, but a man of mature age, deeply read in science, with the skill of years of successful practice upon him with an eye and judgment unerring in their capacity to form instant aud careful diagnoses with nothing to prevent climbing to fame and fortune, except one blasting act that had driven him from civilizition Into that outer wilderness. This man being met with, was at once engaged to come to the little valley, but with all caution against revealing his object. "Draw near as a stranger, as a prospecting miner, if you will, Doctor— anythiMC, rather than as what you are for I would not have her to suspect."

The Doctor nodded and that afternoon, straggling aiong with a rifle upon bis shoulder, drew toward the tent, and asked for a cup to drink from the running brook. Then, being bidden to seat himself, he did sv, and, with scarcely a glance at Ethel, ran on in discursive talk—about the prospects of the mines, about the probable politics ofthe newly formed State, about tho expected Oriental immigration, about everything, in fact, excepting health or medicine. Then, as the sun began to sink, he rose to his feet, made his hasty adieu, and departed, accompanied a little way by the husband. .^t "Doctor, you find her—"

Those were days when, in all trades and occupations—in most of the relations of life, indeed—men were quick of speech, instant in coming to the point no dallying gingerly with the truth, no putting off an evil day that couldjiot be avoided. Therefore, the Doctor hesitated only a moment and then, taking the other by the hand, looking earnestly into his lace.

You area man he said. "You can bear to hear the truth, aud, hearing it, can stand up under it?" "My God land is it so?" And the unhappy man, with that truth now so fully revealed to him,almost sank upon the earth. Then, with a great effort of fortitude, ho braced himself to inquire more. "And—and, how long, Doctorbefore?

It may be soon—it may be months. I can not presume to tell about that, for certain. Meanwhile, let her remain where she now is. She has everything there that can be of service. Better here than in the city. All the cities in the world could not furnish for ber this pleasant air. And I will come again."

The Doctor returned to the thine, and the husband to his tent—broken-heart-ed and hopeless, and yet obliged, for her deception, to wear his usual smiling face crushed and ruined as to all that could make life a desire to him, yet forced to talk cheerfully about plans which be knew could never be fulfilled urged each day to comfort her with vain conversttinn about ber improving health, and to find excuses for every new symptom of ill, lest otherwise she might suspect the truth, jret ever pressing down the swelling of his heart, as he watched her cheek constantly growing more hollow, her eye more unnaturally glittering wondering, sometimes, whether she herself realized the approaching doom, and hklf inclined to believe that she did, and, for his comfort, was striving to conceal it almost wishing, that, if so, she would reveal it, ifthereoy, in those last few days that terrible restraint between them might be removed, and they be enabled to talk freely about the oud laying up in his heart the memory ot every smile and gentle caress, as something which he could not long enjoy, and bitterly remembering every unkind speech of his in the distant past as errors for which ho would fain ask pardon, but could not now, lest thereby she might be led to wonder, and BO realize the truth painfully speculating, too, with practical' purpose, whether he ought not now to transport her to her friends lest, when the winter came, in which she could stay, It would be greater pain for hex to move.

There was no need, however, but nmid all his other wretchedness of thought, be should feel forced to ponder upon this last. The great change came to her very quietly and gently, and more speedily than could have been foreseen. She had not seemed worse that day—even a little stronger, perhaps. It was a fair afternoon, soft and balmy, with no wind to ruffle or disturb even the wipg of bird or insect, vet sheltered from excessive heat by the surrounding hills. In that clear atmosphere, the hills themselves,somehow, appeared mors verdure-covered than usual, the distant Sierra more majestic, the grass beside the little stream more green. Together the two occupants of the valley sat at tke door of the tent and talked he with his arm supporting her, she leaning upon bis shoulder. They spoke awhile about their absent friends about their plans for the future—plans which he knew could never be carried ont, she being me about what they might do when had made bis fortune and about when again they should revisit the East. Then, with a faint sigh, she relapsed into sileuce, snd for many minutes be sat still, thinking that she slept. Bnt at some slight, unconscious motion of his arm, ber bead fell forward there was something in her expression that filled him with sudden sffrlght, and, with one penetrating, earnest look, he knew that all was over. It could not have been mere painless or peaceful.

Tbere could not be a more gentle smile «l

ge

than that resting upon her lips, telMng of some inward joy at the moment of

departing. But%rhat of all that Who

at such a time, ever comforts himself with such thoughts 7 She bad left him —that was sll he could realize and, placing ber gently Instate the t«nL be threw himself at her side, and there laid, half unconscious in his agony, that afternoon snd all that night—not daring to leave her alone, not kaowing where to look for kelp.

But the next

morning it happened that the Doctor, sauntering that way, with rifle over his shoulder, in the assumed character of sportsman, came to the tent, and found them. Calm, quiet, snd resolute, ho was a man who knew how to deal with grief as well as with sickness snd st once be took upon him the direction of affairs, as though he were the only person in sutbority.

All now has been tried for her thst ever can be," he said. "There remains only one thing to do. Where will you have her laid t"

The other gaxed for a raement around

fere—where

ointea to the Inside of the tent, she now lies. She

to

nee said that, dying, she would like rest M'Uie toot of this oak." It is ifrell. Shall we send for assistance?"

No only you and I. It will be enough. No one else shall touch her or look upon her."

So there they buried her: the Doctor rrowing a spade from the neighboring mine, and returning himself to dig the grave. The other stood looking on it uld hardly have been. expected that he should assist. But when the

grave had been made deep enough, he helped to place ber in it, upon her cloak, neatly spread beneath, with her shawl folded over ber face and thus, with a prayer by the Doctor—his first prayer for many years, possibly—they give her to the ground not forgetting, even in the narrow confines ot the tent to mark the spot with a little mound. Then the Doctor, throwing the borrowed spade and the rifle together over his shoulder, touched the otbefupon the arm.

Will yon go with me he said. Perhaps there was some idea in bis mind that coiufort could be gained in another scene that the companionship of other men might be of service that the wild disorder and uproar of the mining-town might be. available to drive away grief—perhaps, even, that the terrible despair might be assuaged by some reckless frolic. Tt might be that he himself, if in grief, would have sought some such species of consolation, so widely different are constituted the souls of men. But it was otherwise with the one now before bim.

I will stay here for awhile," was the onlj' answer. So the Doctor went his way, and the other was left alone. Why, indeed, should he not stay? In a civilized land, with funeral rites at a city cemetery, he would, perforce, be obliged to return home, after all had been done. But here, who or what duty was there that could order blih There, he could return as often as he liked here, in this far-off nook of the mountains, hundreds of miles away from any city he knew that the parting, once made, would probably be final. Why, too, must he hurry away tp duties about which it mattered little whether they were begun sooner or later, apd which, in his loueliness, must ever be tedious and distasteful to him No he would remain a little while longer with his darling.

That day, indeed, and the next and so on, for a fortnight. At night he slept his troubled sleep in the tent, beside the little mound, with one arm thrown over it in the day-time he sat in front, silently weaving the hfcrd woof of his thoughts and memories So much was there to remind him of ber, that he could not tear himself away. The worn spot in the grass where ber feet had been accustomed to rest her little bag of odds and ends, for sewing, dangling frojn the tentpole, the squirrel, which she had half-tamed and which now daily came near, as if looking for her even the outline of the mountain, along which she had striven to trace a resemblance to the hills of her native home. Not merely the nearer objects. indeed, but the whole valley seemed to speak of her. It was all hers, and hers alone—her abiding placa, her home aud, as he remembered what she had once said, all her grave—to be kept sacred to her alone.

So passed a month. At last it seemed to him that he must certainly rouse himself to bid that final farewell,which, delav it as he might, in the end must surely come and, turning to his horse, he began to saddle it for the journey. But at that moment there appeared upon the scene a new party—four or five rough men, smoking their pipes, and bearing mining implements in their midst. Not knowing him or his grief, they hailed bim with good-natured gruftness, inquirihg whether there was any gold in the little stream that flowed near his feet. "None" he answered—"none, that I know of. I have not tried."

At this the men laughed among themselves with pleasant humor, not believing him. It was the answer they might expect, in fact, from one who must be filling his own pockets out of the brook's baren bed, and did not want intruders. "Trying for ourselves is seeing for ourselves, partner," they merely responded and, dropping their implements at a point of the stream not fifty feet off, they began to turn up the sod of the banks. With mute despair and anger did the bereaved man gaze upon them. He could not drive them away, for they were too many, and, moreover, their right to be there was as good as his own. But with their labor they were now desecrating the place—the vallev that belonged to her alone—her grave. They were turning into barren uuslghtllness the placid scene upon which she bad so much loved to look. If they found gold, they might carry their labor still nearer. Were be now to depart, they might even work up toward where the tent Itself stood, and ignorantly intrude where even innocent intrusion would be profanation. No, he could not now depart and suffer all that risk. So, lilting the saddle again from the horse, he sat down moodily to watch these rough aud noisy laboiers.

They worked well and faithfully, lifting off the light sod, scraping away the earth to the solid foundation of the rock, and turning, at one point, the course of the stream. At times,wearied with their labor, they would sit and smoke their pipes, and thfcir rude laughter jarred harshly upon the spirit of the lonely watcher. Ouce in awhile, tome one ot them approached the tent, on the excuse of asking for a light, but really desirous of acquaintance, yet the unresponsive and gloomy manner of the desolate man repressed them, and at last tbey came no more. Soon, too, it seemed as though some Inkling of his story bad got about among them for, as they looked toward him, they would whisper to each otber, and, for the moment, their gayety would be hushed. Even at other times, when not believing themselves concious of bis presence, they worked on in more than their accustomed silence, as though oppressed with some contagion of gloom. But. for all thst, they still labored earnestly, until fifty feet of the bed of the stream hsd been fruitlessly turned. Then one of them spprosched the watcher. "You wss right, partner—all right. Not a flake of gold here, snd our week% work a|l wasted. And so we are going bsek to the Stanislaus again, and sorry as we intruded." o«n you sell me a spade before you go T" was his nspone.

We don't sell, partner hut if you want one, It is at'your service, and we will leave It out foe get tired of »t«yl®K. down to the Stanislaus yourself and

uv

foe you. When you here, why, come

,„„ aus yourself and see us, and try your lack there, slong»)de of os. And so, good-by, partner?'

With that be retired and, within an hour, the whole party hsd passed through the defile behind the pine grove, and the bereaved man wss left alone—alone, ss to human companionship, indeed, but haunted by one grest purpose now, that hsd poseessetfhim ss thoroughly ss though it were anew

nsture. The valley—her grave—had been desecrated. Its loveliness hsd been partially despoiled. If her spirit were hovering near, it would feel saddened by the desolation caused in what she bad so greatly loved to contemplate. For bim there was now this one great duty to restore thfe" scene to its former beauty. It was all thst he oould uow do for her, but it should be completed before he depsrted.

Therefore, with a kind of frenzy, he began his work. It was severe toil to him, even at the beginning, for he felt strangely weak. But he reflected that he had not labored for many dsys, and must naturally be out of the w«y of it and tbat a little practice would soon restore him to all his wonted vigor never, though, his mind tolls olden serenity again but his body, without doubt, to its former strength^ Anyhow, the great purpose in his heart must be performed.

That week and the next be labored on in a whirl of frantic impatience, beginning early and not leaving off until the darkness compelled him—hardly stopping, indeed, for his necessary food. If, st times, he was obliged to delay and take rest during long intervals, it was lost time, which he regretted as a miser would bewail stolen treasures for might not Ethel be looking on, impatiently awaiting the day when the scene should glow again in sumptuous beauty as before? If dally bis rests became longer, he thought not of tbat, excepting as it was still greater loss of time and when he resumed his labor, he did so with increased feverishness of impulse. And, in a month, this constant application bore its fruits. He had turned the stream back to its old channel. He had filled up the deep cut made by the miners for its new flow. He had leveled the unsightly mounds that here and there had broken the natural grace ot the scene. And the little brook seemed to gurgle thanks to him as it ran merrily along in its restored bed.

There was still one more thing to be done. The earth lay black and unsightly in the refilled cut, where soft, green, turf and bright flowers had formerly been seen. And, therefore, with longcontinued toil, broken, as before, with frequent enforced restings, he cutout fresh turf from level sources beyond the border of the valley, It was tollsome work to carry It so far and fit It upon the dark earth but at last this, too, was all completed—the brook in its old bed, the hillocks leveled, the cavities tilled up, the turf laid neatly over the bare spots, and here and there flowers already springing up where of late there had been so much deformity. Now, at last the whole valley—her grave—bore all Its olden appearance of Beauty. None could know tbat It had ever been disturbed, and the only token as past labor visible was the spade which was still held In his trembling and wasted hand. This, too, as an incongruous, object, he now removed from sight, burying it in the deepest pool of the brook. •4 Ethel will be happier, now," be whispered to himself. "All is again as it should be. Aud I think that I will go and lie down for awhile, for I am very tired. Perhaps Ethel will be so pleased with what I have done that she will even come and visit me in my dreams."

Did she really visit him in a sweet dream Or did he first go to her, in stead? No one can tell, but it is certain that in his sleep there had been no pain or sorrow, for when an hour afterterward, three men chanced to cross the valley and wandered off to his tent for information, they found him lying with such a happy smile upon his face, that, at first they thought he was merely slumbering and enjoying a pleasant dream. It was only after a moment of expectant waiting, that they found out the truth that he would never wake again.

No one seemed able to explain why he had died. Some said, or one thing and some, of another. Not one of them spoke about a broken heart. But however this might be, there was the undisputed fact of death, lying before tbem, and demanding their hospitable care and about this tbey entered into consultation. There was none that knew bim or could tell anything about bim. Even at the neighboring mine he was a stranger, for the Doctor himself had by that time wandered away to other places. All tbat could be done, therefore, was to bestow upon the dead man, tenderly as possible, those rites which friends and strangers can equally claim when the last enemy overtakes them. A grave was dug beside the tent. It was there made for convenience only, for none knew of that other grave just inside, and it was only by this chance that he was now placed, as he would have wished, close beside all that he had so much loved. And after that thore came further discussion, in regard to the effects he had left behind him. It was some time before the men could make up their minds to divide these for, through some instinct of propriety, it seemed almost like plundering the dead. But, after all, there was no known heir, and there were none anywhere around, except strangers to hltn and, very properly, these things should not be left unregarded or without care. Therefore, one of the men took the horse, and another the rifle and pistols, while the third, claiming the tent as his share, lifted it off the poles and carried it away and, doing so. this last man unwittingly performed the kindest act of all, for now, the canvas being removed, the rain and the dew drop could fall upon the little grave that had been made within as freely as upon the one outside and so the two mounds could equally in the future, grow green with the fresh turf, and blossom with the sweet wildrose.

WESTERN ETIQUETTE.—A Yankee traveler who saw the live Hoosier has written to his mother, telling bis experience as follows:

Western people are death on etiquette. You can't tell a man here that he lies, without fighting. A few days ago, a man waa telling two of his neighbors, In my bearing, a pretty large story, says I—

Stranger, that's a whopper." Says he, "lay there, stranger." And in a twinkling of an eye I found myself in the ditch, a perfect quadruped. Upon another occasion, says I to a msn I never saw before, as a woman passed—

That isnt a specimen of your Western women, is it 7" Says he, "You're afraid of fever and ague, stranger, ain't you V'

Very much," says I. Well," replied he, "thst lady is my wife, snd If you don't apologize in two minutes, by the honor of a gentleman, I swear thst these two pistols," which he held cocked In bis hands, "shall cure Ifou of that disorder entirely. So don fear, stranger 1"

So I knelt down, and politely apologized. I admire this western country much but darn me if I can stand so much etiquette—it alwsys takes me unawares.

TH* price of a mensgerie is now reduced to 990,900. This will be good news to the poor.

SHORT LINK TO PERDITION*

An Accommodation Train will be 2H"ipatchcd Every Mommg. LEAVE Sobriety, 6:50 RamseuersvlUe, 6:45 Morning Dram, 6:52 Sneakville, 7:30 Loaferoburg, 7:35 Tlpeyville, 7:45 Uuulera' Ulory, 8:00 Poison Switch, 8:30 Drunkardstown, 9:00 Guttenburg, 9:15 From Guttcrsbarg there Is an Express train which arrives at Perdition ia advance of any other line, by way of ssf: Curalngton. Dead Conscience,

3I,

aarrel Gerge,

Thieves Galley, Arson Crossing, Gambler's Causewa Remorse's Valley, Reformationburg, Temperanoetown, Crippleville, Orphantown, Bnakesburg, ,4 Idiocy, Pauperland, Maniac Marsh, Robbertown, Misery's Thicket, Desperation, Delirium Falls, Murdeier*sQulcb, Prlsonburg, HangmanTs Hollow, Hnlclae's Tunnel, PBkDITION.

loody Gap, Liiarsvllle, THROUGH TICKETS are sold by all Sample Rooms and Rum Holes, they being our only authorised agents.

THE RATES OF FARE are higher by this than any other route, but the speed with which the journey is accomplished more than compensates for the difference In fare.

ALL ARB THROUGH TRAINS, and passengers by this route were never known to fail in making connections.

EVERY TRAIN will stop at JRtfoi'mationburg or Tempcrancctotcn, if passengers desire to leave at either of these stations. But all persons so stopping will forfeit their through ticket to Perdition.

SLEEPING CARS are provided for through passengers, who will bo awakened frequently that an opportunity for alcoholic refreshments may be given.

THE CONDUCTOR of the morning Jersey Lightning Express is T. H. Jl. Devil, Esq., well known to the traveling public who patronize our line, and popular at the principal stations on tho Dead River Line.

BEING THE RULER OF PERDITION, ho spares no pains in securing the through tickets, or rendering other services to passengers bound for his kingdom.

THE STOCK HOLDERS deem itdesirable that passengers be relieved from all anxiety and annoyance on this route: therefore, no alarms are ever sounded to disturb the mind or arouse the conscience.

BAGGAGE OR CLOTHING taken as security for passsge, a pawnbroker accompanying every train. Any passenger discovered on board without money, ticket, or security, will be immediately thrown off without stopping the train.

AT SNAKESBURG A STAGE ROUTE leads direct to Manlao Marsh and Idiocy. FROM DESPERATION there are several small cuts to Perdition, among the most direct of which are Hangman'« Hollow and Suicide9* Tunnel.

SPECIAL TRAINS will be dispatched at any time, on application made to the Superintendent, for political conventions, picnic parties, and all associations owning allegiance to King Oambrinus or King Alcohol.

THIS RAILWAY COMPANY will not hold Itself reponsible for any property that may find its way into their conveyances.

STAGES FROM TOBACCOLAND connect with all the trains.

DISCO VERLNO AN ASSASSIN. Discipline in the Italian navy seems rather imperative. The other day, on the war corvette, Vittor Plsani, at Naples, one of the common sailors was murdered in a horrible manner. As soon as the crime was discovered, the captain ordered every man in the ship's service, except the guards, on deck. They came, officers and sailors, and were ranged In ranks. Each one was asked by the captain if he knew anything of the murder. Every one protested that he knew nothing whatever about i(. "The assassin is among you," cried the captain "I'll give him a short time to disclose himself and bis accomplices, if he has any."

Still no one responded. The summons was once more given, and no answer being returned, the captain ordered a file of marines to take their placo as a platoon of execution. Thon addressing his men, he said "Justloe must be satisfied. I shall decimate the ship's comoany!"

Lots were drawn, and" ut of tho first ten one men found himself selected to be shot. The platoon loaded, the man's eyes bandaged, when suddenly a Sardinian sailor rushed out of the ranks of the ship's company, and announced that he was the murderer. He replaced the man who had drawn the fatal ticket, and was instantly shot.

A PASSENGER on an Ohio railroad, aroused from a serene slumber by the tooting of a whistle, exclaimed petulantly, "The train has caught up with those cattle again!"

Centaur Liniment*

There Is no pain which the Centaur Liniment will not relieve, no swelling it will not subdue, and no lameness which it will not cure. This Is strong language, but It Is true. Where the parts are not gone, Its effects are marvelous. It hss produced more cures ot rheumatism, neuralgia, lock-jaw, palsy, sprains, swellings, caked-breasts, scalds, burns, salt-rheum, ear-ache, upon the human frame, and of strains, spavin, galls, Ac., upon animals in one year than have til other pretended remedies since the world began. It is a counter-irritant, an all-healing pain reliever. Cripples throw away their crutches, the lame walk, poisonous bites are rendered harmless and the wounded are healed without a scar. It is no humbug. The recipe is published around each bottle. It is selling as no article ever before sold, and it sells because It does Just what it pretends to do. Those who now suffer from rheumatism, pain or swelling deserve to suffer if they will not use Centaur Liniment. More than 1000 certificates of remarkable cures, Including frozen limbs, chronic-rheumatism, gout, running tumors, Ac., have been received. We will send a circular containing certificates. the recipe, Ac., gratis, to any one requesting it. One bottle of the yellow wrapper Centaur Liniment is worth one hundred dollars for spavined or sweenled horses and mules, er for screw-worm in sheep. Stock-owners— this liniment is worth your attention. No family should be without Centaur Liniment. J. B. Roes A Co., New York.

Castorla

is more than a substitute

for Castor Oil. It is the only soft article in existence which is certain to assimilate the food, regulate the bowels, cure wlnd-collc and produce natural sleep. It contains neither minerals, morphine or alcohol, and is pleasant to take. Children neea not cry and mothers may rest.