Saturday Evening Mail, Volume 5, Number 3, Terre Haute, Vigo County, 18 July 1874 — Page 2

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A Paiki?*MTpz h'T-z-?

TUEOVTCA8T.

1* ow w1»at I town's Walklncthe*

WUhdnH5»le

fc- -,f

1 did not i«f in very ri For 5- •'. an i-- J.

Ofeoun» I

oar should 11 Tb«th«b' Inwwpifr

u« ted:

Yctbon ifooWLwittxiu'. MMtiicd, ty roa»td *e WMjwaiiiaifj

•y fcr*

3ly|.:v! in -t An 1

-ier»et.

Bat of In aodttrV petted chlM Vanity i* counted a *iu.

iff

l/r-'SSfJ

'i rows.

1'"Ii

Bat 'i- •.1 a'-' »..•

Wiwamtk»Mi4 *4^4 Us^iAtO. There

one if h? was dearer than all the

le u*bt ir

Wl liOHJ"--' Itb« iithnn Wan tt likely I'd think he wonta cheat at tie?

But the knowledge cajueto me soon enough. Tboo^htoolatetosave me from (doand Ho east me ofT, Wiling roc what 1 was

When he tired of me tor fin*, 1 n&ed nottell you my ft* iu^-:»»«», My bitter sorrow, shame 1 wax a woman th r. n:.-in«r,pl«»

Kot what I after* .a.. At first I tried to t^t wmethl«»g to do,

Hometblng by which 1 could earn tny bread

For I shrank from the life I am leadingaow With sickening horror and nameless dread. But who would give work to a thing like ...

What vtitooos woman wOaMtake me la? had lived with a man, and waa not his wife ah things drove me on to a life of sin.

There is no turning on the road I'm on. Though I cannot tell bow long It may be I wlahT bad courage to meet my death.

And nee what mercy God would have for Sflkfe The Bible la something I never read,

But they say It consigns such a* I to hell But if, as they say, God Is a Just God, Heil remember my wrongs before! tell.

Sam Shingle's Angel.

BY COt* A. D. BAIL1K.

It was near the The and figure of the man seemed quite familiar nut who two, aa drew near, stepped back two

the boy? The

stepped back two

from the narrow path, still lacing tm front, brought their heels together a snap, stood perfectly erect, eyes __ to the front, and with the right hand, as I passed, each gave the regula-

wlth square the' tion military salute. It was comical to see the youngster of right years or thereabout imitating with perfect gravity and In military time the action of the man who stood beside bim. A moment more and I remembered the man. "Why. Sam!" "Ha, ha. colonel) Bothered you a moment, didn't I? Give us a shake, please—give us a shake, just for old times. I know'd ye wouldn't forgit Sam, and bless'd If I didn't feel like ahuggin' of ye when I seed ye comin'! HaTha! It does me as much good to see yeas it did to see the old flag go tip at Vicksburg."

Turning to the boy, who had stood immovable at a "parade rest," he com-

"Break ranks! an' come an' shake hands with yer colonel, Forty-Eight." The boy advanced with the air of a «wn[ and silently gave me his hand, whilst his large gray eyes seemed to be carefully studying my Dace. ••Forty-Eight knows ye, eolonel— knows ye of old," continued S#un—"all about yum an' the little black mare. Have ye got 'er yet? He knows all them little speeches ye used to make the boys, an' what ye used to sing out in the fight when things was a-gettin' hot—all except! n' some strong, ye^ know, as it won

be said to the boy, we're areomln'." As the child, after again saluting, started ahead,Ram renamed: "There's a man, colonel, inside them 13t»H trowaers as tJenerai^Gnmt'd be TV id to be the father of. 'Forty-Eight Kidney Foster's a nam biled down, if ever there was one.'* "What?' I asked, "lieutenant Foster's sou?"

Jist so, sir," answered Sam. whilst a loo* of sorrow passed «wr his honest free. "And the How tenant? I suppose he ht-V and I looked the rest of the question.

MYes»

sir, gr-.ie-.tnu*terod oB*~«s*pl-

ration of wm. Mi vv-er got 'tirely well of that bot in 1 mg and sfter «A»—the only an' that ured for— after went, ^«med k" though he as ihv»vs*«Uii!r so be on the inarch tier. Ar* night I 1 h« ooQid~~«n' It wtr««H much more nor a wfcteper at that. Swn!' savshe. :tenant!' says I.

alter her. An'hwj, Uli v«wrs uo, one nlffht I heard him .nin' kmd as

4H»

:itiiTOaw*liaie«M»to«»

it*

mana, snd d«SML

bed-

I -, trftenant iist pat his s«m* i. kh*ed mm woe,looked at t. v.-iv iffv,iiethin, kinder imhb hn fck «n'—sn' he'd got

sHf Mid 1 tri.'

Wsi i' toge i^'tr met a

out »hewi. out where wr lr-.. In Ills

PobrMam!

Til#

iMofy. bo hk iowh»

ia,^A,a»d the red to swallow I Abatedbresth iet me know tow's eyes

the ebokin? culpa with in.-1-, gri^f as lie *k gave me this fnU wen ttm wore fuii of t.'j through h«. vv.t time In rileiw.

l.-'i he

IT.-, ve

V.\

my*rm tor some

•tt* anteer War I had comwere they, but same time the

tig'

lanky, wwSi during manned. Rravo men the

man in the n^amt Nam. A morek»yel.i!«heart. never *e#t two' of rough, »n-

gttlar, ssaaoati. homaAtty, than fid in Sam. For unnklng aad tswfol|»ro6uUty be was without« peer In theooan-

dr»i j.iv

alight of build and dolleate of fallant soldiar and au educafced man, had beeas sdofjwd it* Sam as •piml ehaege. I* one of the SSMK

—an act of self-aacriftchi# horwlain that cosomanded even the respect of the foe, who ceased firing upon the brave soldier and his helpless ourden not, however, before Sam had be^nsoseverely wounded in the hip and shoulder as to render Ms discharge necessary nt the same time as the lieutenant's.

From that time, notwithstanding the disparity in soc al position and education, the two men were like brothers. Together thev had gone to Foster's Western home, where now, woven years flrom the time I had bidden them "t.oodbve" upon the Held, I met Sam. 'When I tlrst reeogniwHi him at this present meeting, I noticed that, whilst the brave, honest, self-confident look was still there, the recklessness seemed entirely to have disappeared from his face the absence of profanity, formerly so plentiful in his conversation, also struck me. Wishing to find out something in regard to the noticeable change without direct inquiry, I said, pointing to a tavern which we were approaching. "Isuppose, Sam, that, that is your head-quarters?" "No, sir!" he emphatically replied. "There ain't been a drop of that stuff gone under my buttons finc3 the night —Well, it's over three year now since I swore off for good—promised Aer, colonel, for ever and ever. Amen! "But, eolonel," he continued, "I'd take it mighty kind of ye if you'd jist take the time and walk tc my Quarters. I want to have a talk with a Christian. I've wanted it this many a day, an' it seems as though yeu'd corac along a-

have you no companions f' I

inquired. "Only little Forty-Eight, sir," was the answer. "The whisky crowd keep shy of me, now that I don't train in that company any more, and the upper crust ain't the kind, to mix with such as me so the little man and me has it all ourselves. I learns him what I've picked np—drillin' an' disdplin' mostly—an* he learns everythin' out of books quicker'n snap a cap." "Don you go to church, Sara?" I asked.

Well, no, colonel, I don't. You see I was in the habit of gettin' sorter warped pretty considerable often for a while after I first got here, until afteoome an'* folks'bout here got to thinkin' me a

hard lot—an' so I was—an' when tried both the meetings 'bont a year ago, everybody was a-nudgin' and awnlsperin' ana a-k»kin' at me Vtead of temjun' to what the parson said and I didn't take kindly to that sort of thing, as ye might guess. Anyhow, they was too much for me. I dare say they're all naighty good pwple, but they ain't my kind. Tnere sonly two meetin's here, an' the one parson preaches so far ahead of my nnderstandin' that I can't make out what he's a-drivin'at: t'other one says as every one as dont jist b'lieve his way is fr-goin' an' booked lor a everlastin' roastln* an' I cant jist swaller that. Tain't what the used to tell about, ye know an* I ain't a-going' to jine no company where I eaat understan' the articles, an' I don't b'lieve in bein' skeered into salvation, or bein' walked inter beaven Tw the scruff o' my neck. An' so. when Forty-Eight goes to Sun-day-school a»' church every Sunday, I ji»t goes out where you met us, an* sets there, quiet-iike, a-tliinkin' thai the ieftenant an' her is hack. Tain't a bit lonesome or solomeolly —ji*t makes me feel sorter contented an' settled for the rest week, an' 'oordia' to my light*, it dees me more good than a-

eof:isthe

hoy—'i,i!ck]'

my* he. (You s. the Httle feUuwal* ways slsni with r*' wrwps little Forty-1

to their meetin's would. I dont IV I'm talkin' right, eolonel, hot that's the way I foals it In me."

former mmrar, "now ww mio nontenant's boy to te called by the old regimental nntnuer?"

With a short IsttftH, Sam snswereel, Why. sir, thefinrt timelsoed the iittle chap 1h, us wee chunk of ababby, as* I had ?uir old cap, with U«» regiment'" nam?" ron top, on my head. habby seed he w#»t for itj iSurtk-ular till ho got it. Them used to ksep him quiet l*tt?r'n a dose of parMori^ an' so the first ran 4k made for hii» it was In winU takes an' sticks the nl-i brass number? in fiiximt, ye n&r< nsedsny ereeier ao pleased la year life? sn'be nsetl rsisr him little hand an' point h*m number* tto everybody, an' so cry me aot to eallln' him *PVirty-Kight.* tfll Wt* sort of to thinkin' as it his real name: an' I dnn't know as he'll drop It. He prrnid of ft, so' he's

MoitM-ut an' raised |*urt numbers used

got thai little tag* yet *r *tmetfme« when he thinks ain't lookin hell lake it oat of lalsel»(*ts»*Met ouihciu euri* of his. mm*f ss«mi hj. -When seed

'lontiBued ^Shs, r.

to-4rr

breath. Only test Kteht istys to me, mi mm

peerio tho own- 'bo«t oof regisweat j'wi1 #ss a perfci comise I told him lot*) an* »h«i te-ls^, when I seed rots, aura I— 'Fofty'ldgbt,'aayii 1, 'tttem comes ooi' colonel.'

«(Where,ssrednt?'

hi*

•an®

took my

ntflt was, Forty'Sarpnt,' ssyvtw, 'tell

a«|ni ho—'wfefl&f'

'Here ssy*l7ts-wafkin'down light oa to ye.' "An' h# mm MtetliVtoy llk«,l» ran up to ya, hoi I say*, 8tlddy,man! As ye were. Dont know better than

8am Isid gone bark UiaC, aD«r all my drillin'ye? Oct into a Ssavy ftrs li»e—qniok! JEiighl Uadtwanhh-auurb!

I FKLT AS THOUGH I'D BKKN STRUCK WITH LtOHTNIS

Haiti—right dress! Front I" an* as ye

come up. givo tho wmmand, ^Salute 1' an'then, 'Parade rest!' An' iist do it, eolonol asked Sam enthusiHsticallv—"didn't he jist do it? Oh! I'm a trainln' him up in the way he should go—leastwise, as Ue as I knows how—an' he's a man an' a soldier, he Is. See how he started off when I gave the command, though he'd a-givenanythin' to havo stopped and walked with his colonel." "Then why not have allowed hi stay and.walk with us?" I said. "Disciplin', eolonel. Discipliu' must be kept up, an' 1 knows what's good for him in that line. 'Sides that, I wanted to have a talk with you. My home Is just here, an' I hope ye'll come in," said Sam, as we arrived at a low-roofed, small but comfortable house. "Walk right in an'take a seat, sir. 'Tain't much of a house, but we've both had worse quarters than this afore now, ain't we he continued.

•Pa

Chairs were brought upon the porch of the little house, and we sat long in conversation. The boy and the housekeeper had retired still we sat and talked, and there. in the quiet moonlight, the brave, simple-hearted old soldier told mo of her who had rescued bim from the clutches of his besetting sins.

Ye see, colonel, after we was mustered out an' come up here, the leftenent bought this little house, an' we started to fix things for the wife to come on an' the way we worked! Well, there wasn't no old sogerin' 'bout it, you bet. I kept pretty stiddy them times, 'cause I had him for to look after still, I used to take my tod pretty regular. Well, at last everything was ready, as far as we could make it, an' I could see that he was a-gettin' sicker an' sicker every day for the sight ot her an' babby an' at last one day, when the check came for his back pay, he jist shut right down. 'Sam.' savs he, 'I can't stand it no longer: I'm off to-night for the wife an' little Sid.' Ye see, sir, she was down to her father's, in Saint Louis, waitin' for him to come for her. That night he started, expectin' to get back in 'bout three weeks. 'Fore he went he gave me fifty dollars of mine that he had: he allowed to get his check cashed in the city. I seed him ofl, an' then walked back to the house here with the fifty dollars in my pocket. It was mighty lonesome here, all alone so I starts an* goes over there to that rum-mill for company. Well, I s'pose you can guess the rest, colonel. In 'bout an hour I was warped the worst ye ever seed—you knows what I am sich times—an' I kept it up. In ten days I don't believe I eat a day's rations jist poured rum, rum into'me all the time, till I wasn't fit for nothin' but a strait-jacket or knockin' in the head. Fact! 1 was jist as erasy as a boss in a fire, au' I jist made this town howl.

It was one night late I come rollin' home from the tavern, full as a tick, amntterin', croxy-like, an'-strikin' out at things I thought was a-followin' me, when, as I como up near the door here, I seed a man movin' around in that sit-Un'-room. There was a candle a-burn-in' in that bed-room, where FortyEight's a-sloepin' now, an* the man seemed to be a-tryin' to light afire in the other room. I was jist achin' for as I didn't nant for''bout two weeks

somebody to pitch Into, an expect, the leffe. yet, I hadn't no thought but that It was gomethin' into nor warped *t half a

somebody in there after wrong. I jist gave one yell, jumped the room, nn' had him quicker lightnln'. I'm ugly when I'm as ye knows, eolonel, an* it wasn second before I had that man up In my hands, nn' was Just goin* to bring him ins smash down onlo the hearth, when the door of tho bed-room opened, an' the came out—not a-rushi n* sir a-acreain-in', jist'quiet an* quick, like thistle-down blowed across the floor by a puff of breeae. *Jhe came right wp to me—all in white she was, anr her long hair astreamin' over her shoulders, sn her Wg eyes a-tookin' at mo—an* she Jist laid her hands on one of my attwi (*h« had to reaeJi up for to do it), sn I felt as though Td been struck with lightnln*. I Jlst wllted right down—aorrv, skeerod, feelin' I dont know how. I let go my hold on the man. 1 heard his vote®, sn* gave one look at him! It wss the leftenant an' then the eryin'ofa babby msm 1 out from the other room.

I've heard follows talk "bout wishla' that the ground would swoller them up, Imt 1 never felt like wlahlti* that name

oii tlE'floor.withhw a-lesnln'overhlm. I liadnt a i«Ml to say. I Jfc* tarmd round to go out an* get away—«nywheres, I dldnt earn waere. lie muiSt ImsM something to her, for she wine after in* to ti»e do»r in her hare foet, on the cruel cold flsor. an' she laid her little hand on mo again, an' says, low, sor-ry-like, Hst (he sound of sort music. "•Ham! tome baek, Sam* an' help ma take ears of him.' **Colonel, I broke right down. I dldnt ever know before that there waa any ory in me, bq« came then. Y« mil 1 was weak from drink an' wA cutin' nothin9. an' ft was that, or somethin', that unsettled me. "Iftie knowed me flratn hearin' Mm talk about me. The reason they'd come home snorter was bees use some steknesa had broken out in her Miter's house, an*

TERRlf HATJtE SATURDAY EVENING MAIL

W—

J"J|"

HO he brought 'em home, fear of the babby. I went back with her, sir, an' helncoulu,

y. I wtJin uoutk wmi Mw»t _d tho leftenant up, an' did all but I couldnt look him in the face.

An'

her! I didn't dare to speak to her at alL 8o little, so light, so brave—seemed to me as though my nig, heavy voice would liu rt her. I never felt as though she was a human being: seemed as though she'd just coino from somewhere—from up above—jist to keep me from killin' him an' I watched, an' watched, cxpectin' every minute lo see her vanish.

I did all I could that night, an' then laid down on tho floor an' tried to sleep. Next niornin' I was mighty low an' shaky, an' couldn't hardly move my head. The leftenant was about, but nover said a word of the row. She came an' made mo get up an' go up stairs an' lay down on my bed, aw' then she brought me tea an' soup that she'd made with her own hands.

An' that ev'nin' she sat with me up there, an' 'twarn't no preachin', nor yet pravin', nor yet jist like talkin'—what she said warn't. It kind of come over one just like the music used to sound of stillS

a still Sunday ev'nin' when a fellow was a-layin' out on picket, an' the band, way back in camp, would play some of them hymn-tunes, an' the breeze would bring it through the air over the treetops, till you thought it was—I often

up in tne sky, her, seemed as though one of them an gels was a-settin' thero beside me.

An' tie* she asked me, for her sake, to promise that I wouldn't never touch ruin no more, an' I did promise an' romise I havo kept, an' will keep,

that p: so hejp me God!

What times them was, colonel, when

she an' him was here! Seemed to me, when she was around, that we warn't here at all. I couldn't no more have thought a bad thought or said a bad word than I could have struck her. I didn't know myself. I used to pinch myself an* wonder If this was me, them times. She seemed to be all about me— so little, an' yet she was on every side of me—everywhere at once.

I knowed it couldn't last: it didn't. She didn't belong here below. She knowed she was a-goin*. The doctors said it was consumption. I knowed hotter: the Lord wanted her up above, where she belonged.

Colonel, for the whole year an* more that she was here, movin' about, quiet, lovin', happy, a-singin* low an! a-work-in' hard that him an' tho babby might be comfortable after she was gone, an' a-talkin' to me—talkin' to mo jist like I was her brother—talkin' like nobidy ever talked to me before, an' a-tellin' me things that nobody ever tellod nie of before—all that time, colonel, I never touched not even her dress. I didn't dare to. An' sometimes, when she'd lay her hands on my shoulder, I'd feellike as I was goin' away, for away, far out of myself. "Then she went—went home, up above, where sho belonged. "One Sunday night sho had been slngin' hvmns—here, right in this very ix)rch. Sho heard little Forty-Eight aeryln' in the bed-room, an' she gets up an' says, 'I'm wanted, I'm called? an' I looked up at her fhee jist then—jist like an angel's ftiee—an' she savs, 'Goodnight, Sam! I'm wanted—l called.* An'she went iu.

Next mornln* the leftenant came out hero where I was. Ite was white an' tremblin*. He beckoned me, an' led me into the bed-mom an' there she lavdead!—her little babby asleep on the pillow beside her—her pretty little thin hand on babby's bright curls, an* the happy smllo on her lips, jist as though she were soeln' holy things in her dreams. There sho lay, not one bit altered, an' I know'd that sho a-seein holy things, an* was happy. She had been called. The Lord wanted tor. I couldn't feel my own sorrow an' low. she looked so happy. 1 felt almost glad that she had gone home. "Tto leftenant, he dldnt take on ranch—leastwise, not like folks generally does: he Jist seemed to keep a-think-in' how long It would be afore ho jined her. An' as for me, though I know'd she was gone, yet I dldnt seem to lose her—ain yet: she was around me all the time, jist the wme—is yet. I've only girt to shut my cyca sn' I can see herI've wily got to shut my an* I cam a

Wo buried her. I dug hcr crave—TI dug his, Thank «od! thews big rough hands of mine could do for them event® the very last! "Tho parson prayed over her when we buried her. I don't know as I'm right, hot it seemed to me like prsyeni wasted. Th sre wasn't no call for prayer for her the Lord knew ber—she was near kin to him. He wanted her close to him, an' he called her, an'she want.

Bnt still, she stays around me. She know'd, the leftenant know'd, how I— well—loved her. I dont mean loved iter like inert talk of lovin* women. I dont know aa I can tell Jtrt what I mean It's Jist that she seemed to ha light an* breath an* iifo—everything—to me. It nveana that I'd have died for h*r any moment. I can't tell it in worda, colonel, but I feel it, an' sfa- know*. *«h® lays over the ground she's up above, a-slngin* her sweei hymns an* yet she's here with me.

Lwit yesr^when the lea broke op all

limped into

ol a soddin,aa Meho^Kq rat-near tn agitta fcandgd Mi

Without titfnkto*, I wasa-rah#***!! ""IMS arvp" eyea, plain as I am you. colonel, I iaed her seed her standin' lookin' eortownu at mo—an' I heard her say, 'Sam, Bam,* plain aa could he. I fist dropped that ticker on the floor, sn* then I seed smile, an' I wsa warm an' strong wl8 hlarays remain here, Sam?** I aaked.

Always, sir, always, until I'm tailed! Them graves is my apodal doty, an* when fin took, Forty-ElghtV to tend to them. An* ihertl be one mora that he'll look after a little sometime*. I've a lot right next below where they lay that's my pt*j*u My bone# wllf rest sight-at her foft My pension an' what earn I'm savia' up for her hoyi that'll atari him tore, wherobe to live. He knows all about it, an'lie do his duty. He'll never leave this town unless—unit*# Undo Ssm needs his sarvioss, an* then UndoSam'i! get a soldier worth liavin.' But except for that, he'll never leave the spot where his love an' his duty binds him. If he goes for tosarvs his country, the Lord wont tot them flow*rs wither on her grave an if be stays here, it'll lie his duty to tend to titern when I'm gone. She always loved flowers so an' rm sure she sees them, for I feet an' see her when I'm aetlin' tiMMRBe "Colonel, do you think I'm wrong? I've often anted to ask wine one. She's an angel now bat dont you think that she oausee them? Dont yon think that she does watch ino as I'm tryin to do right, to live as she would have me, an* to keep my promises to her, an' to bring up her boy some day to meet her an' the leftenant up above? Don't you think slio is with us?—dont you?"

I answered him, "Yes.'* And in my soul I believe that the pure spirit ef the gentle wife and mother is ever present watching over her brave boy, and joyous with a perfect Joy in watchf ng—ove ss the old wldicrwatcb* es and cares for the sweet flowers that bloom upon her grave—over the fruits of tho simple truths and tho new life she sees taking root and blossoming in the soul of faithful Sam.

SOME MODERN SA YINGS. "Honesty is the best policy," unless you can get about f60,OU0, and effect a settlement at tifly per cent.

Honor thy father and thy mother, particularly about circus time, when you don't know where to raise fifty cents.

Never run in debt when you can avoid it. It is much better to go stubbing around in a broadcloth coat than to be in debt for* suit of Scotch mixed.

Let your motto be "liberty or death," and if it comes to tho pinch, take the most of it in liberty.

Remember the poor. If yon know of a family who are out of provisions and ftiel, keep them in yoor thoughts until you meet Smith or Brown, and then tell them that they'd better make a donation. If thev hold off, tell them that

He who giveth to the poor lendeth to the Lord." It is very easy to remember the poor. I can remember cases twenty years ago.

Respect old age. If you have a maiden aunt forty years old, and she is passing herself off for a girl of twenty-three there is no call for you to expose her. The more you respect her age and keep still about it, the more sho will respect you.

Never marry for wealth, but remember that it Is just as easy to love a girl who has a bnck house with a mansard roof and silver-plated door-bell, as one who hasn't anything but an auburn head and an amiable disposition.

Love thy neighbor as thyself. Borrow his plow, hoe, or horses whenever you can, but if he wants to borrow yours, tell him that you're veiy sorry, but you were just going to use them yourself.

Be guarded in your conversation. There are times wljen you may freely express your opinion of a political candidate, but you bad better wait until his friends are over in the next county visiting.

Remember that appearances are often deceiving. Many a pale, thin young lady will eat more corned beef than a carpenter. Because you find her playing the piano in tho parlor, it is no sign that her mother is not at the comer grocery running in debt for a peck of pota

llest rain your temper, particularly if* policeman Is, in sight. Fitaof anger hasten death. If a man should call you a horse-t hief and you should get highly indignant, it would cut your life short by several days and if it was in Texas, and there waa a vigilance committee handy, it might cut it short altogether.

Riso with the lark. That is, during cold weather, as soon as the lark rises, waken your wife and tell her that His time to btiild the fire. If she makes any objections, you can refer her to a dqsen works on the benefit of early rising. Anv man who cares a cent for his wife's health will take pride in hearing her around the

house

IJ. P4 W

at daylight of a win

ter's morning, getting up a red hot stove and warming his socks and boots.

Ml I 1

ANTIDOTE FOR SEXlsA TIO ,v: NOVELS. When Indian can not get food he will chow tobacco. It is booaoso life for nine girls out of every ten fa so miserable a ousiness that to follow tho fierce action of a senaation novel is, in its way, a relief. It is hut little good to recommend a judicious course of Sir W alter Scott and Hannah More. The true cure for tho evil is to be found in work, and in work alone. The truest kindness to a voung girl is to find her something that shall ftilly ooeupy her time. Nor need this of necessity be an "ocrnpatton" in the usual acceptation of tho term. Of course work is always more pleasant when it has a tangible result. But such work Is not always to be got and it to work at any cost that is needed. We havo heard of a young lady who waa

Up novelto photo

graphy and of another who, under similar circumstances, took up with algebra. In each oaae the result was such as wouHd have gladdened the Bishop of Deity's heart, Tho photographer baa acquired not only fame, but a moresoua success the other, who only nooaed something to do, has liecorne a really well-read mathematician, and now interests herself In tho lunar theory. Tb have recommended lneither cm»» substitution ofSoott for U\m Braddon and "Ouida" would, we imagine, have been of hat little real use.

Timh, a. m. Sister (homo from boarding-school, to brother who never ik*h np till delay becomes dangerous)— "Willy, tho Orient flames with golden splendor. Arise! oar morning refection awaits yoor presence." (William doesn't hear.) Mother (shouts afterward, and making a great clattering on the bainsters with the broomstkm)—Wl-l-i-lliam I get np this instant yon la*y dogskin you and come down to break (kst !(William dont hear.) Father (a few minutes later) —"BUI!" William (springing out of bed)—"Coming, alrl"

«sss

July.]

In the northwest earner of San Bernardino county, lying partly also tat Inyo county, and by the newfy-survev-ed line pertly also in tho Stated Nevada, is a region paralsled by few other spots upon the of the earth. Wq say the/ world is instinct with fife. Here, 19 the' phraseology may be pardoned, to a placebttftfaetwith death. A hnge bastn,

reeleas, ahrubiesw and water-

toss, save few hitter pools like the lye Of potash water surrounded bv mountains that tower thousands of S&t above ttw sw-level imelf lying three hundred feet below the sea. It to a very "Oeplace of death and bones. Bints do not fly over it. Animals do not enter it. Vegetation cannot exist in it. The broad sands absorb the heat, tho bare monntains reflect it, the unclouded mm daily adds to it. Ninety degrees ia tho shade (artificial shade, thereto no other) means winter. One hundred and thirty and ono hundred and forty degrees, that to summer.

g5°w,i,h°tter,

wavers,

trembles with heat, until nature, goaded to madness, can endure no more and theft the burning blast rouses itself—, rouses in its might, rouses as an angry boast, with a hoarse, ominous roar, sweeps mile after mile, on, over on, over the bread reach of the desert, bearing in its black, whirling bosom—black as the

rush—a warning sigh on tho winds—a low rumbling inthe air the hills quiver, the earth trembles, and a torrent, half water, half mud, bounds from the hills, leaps into the desert, plowing chasms like river beds in the loese sand. The clouds scatter, the sun comes again, the eternal thirst of the desert to not quenched. The raging river was only a dream.

In the year 1849 a party of emigrants Day after day they The pitiless

entered the basin. ty after day they toiled on, thirsting, dying, r* mountains walledT them in no escape. One bv ono they dropped and died. A few, abandoning everything, scaled tho mountains, and escaped. Tke others lie aa they fell, dried to mummies—no birds even to devour thoir flesh no beasts to prey upon them. Wagon-tires unrusted gun-barrels bright, untarnished, Such Is the plaoe. Mile after mile silence reigns silence—arid death.

Wallwl by the mountains, doomed with brawn-sky, League after league the never-ending saiuL Hpread* like the ocean, to the lifting eye, An aged, weary, long-forgotten land As cursed in wrath, ana (unit with God's fierce hand. No oooliug mist quenches the endless thirst That rules supreme the boundless stretches grand Over its bread expanse no storm-clouds burst With hurrying feet. It Is a land accursed."

PROFESSOR DONALDSON. Donaldson has added another frighiful trick to his evolutions in the clouds on the trapeze tor. He says the regular drop to uninteresting now. Now ho does something worth doing, he says: The ring to which the trapese to attached affords him an enlarged opportunity. He hangs on bis toes on this ring, and when away up half a mile above tho house tops he lets go entirely and drops headlong down ana again catches liimBelf with his toes on the bar. This dropping act to pronounced the most frightml snd blood-curdling act ever witnessed. The aeronaut hangs down his full length, straight and stiff, and all of a

Idenhe drops and comes swooj down, only to catch himself nicely at the proper time. A wave of the hands and a graceful salute from the man hanging head downwards kids the awestricken multitude bolow quiet their ffars for he is all safe and sound.

IiRTQHAMSTILL COURTING. [Halt Lake Letter to tho Chicago InterOcean,}

It is said Brigham Young is now paying bis addresses to a voung lady in tho Seventh ward with the view of crowning her with a bridal wreath and a number somewhere in the twenties in the list of wives. He is a most devoted lover at any rate, and dines daily at tho shrine of his heart's adoration. I ahi not acquainted with tho young lady, but I am told she is beautiful in ner person and not over tbree-and-twenty. whilo the rophet is seventy-four and, since, the er of Enoch, is' tost toiling in looks, health and strength. It is hoped th® Poland bill will prevent the realization of this scheme of Brigham's and put a quietus upon all future attempts of the Holy Endowment house to celebrato any more of the celestial marriages.^

A MAN bought a horse. It was tho first one ho had ever ownod. He saw in a r.owspaper that aside window in stables makes a horses eyo weak on that side a window behind makes him squint oyed a window on a diagonal line makes him shy when he travels, a window in front hurts his eyea by the glare, a stable without a window makes him blind. Iio sold the horse.

A ,-5.

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