Saturday Evening Mail, Volume 6, Number 26, Terre Haute, Vigo County, 24 December 1875 — Page 6

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aw®' W.

THE_MAIL

A PATER FOR THE PEOPLE.

ST. PETER AND 2 HE PULL-BACK A little Pull-buck sought one day TbegaUn of Parading:

St Peicr wlpwl ill* h(«.*tacle* And rubbed his au Jnteyee: And throngs ef aui^mi cam*,

With curious gaxu til* while, Intent, as ladle* always are, Tom* the latent The mint pat oa hi* *.a»*e* then—

An olxkerviitloij took What! What!" In- **.!. "this traverses The laws of mm sot look.' Tied back In front! Piled up behind! Twill never do. I fiwir! The thing Utooridioitlou*— You canuot eniei lwn»." What did shedo? My carious friend,

Hh«- got iN'hltHl a trw: A nd 1 a ify Hi»f- we* dressed

Aa angels ought to be. St- Peter kiMod her th»n and said

-Paa»

In. my liMlegfar:

Hut mind, you mu»tn't Introduce Such naughty (s*iilon» here."

JUSTIN HARLEY.

A ROMANCE OF OLD VI UN IN A.

BYJOUN iTK' COOKE,

Author of »lr. Vandyke," "Surry of Eagle's Neat," "The V.IKIUI.I Comedian*," J«-.

CFI/PTKR LIII. TIIK hu'o.N -3 ATTACK.

I)r. Willi had just turned over in be.!, about daylight, the morning following those

WPIIMon

to take another nap,

when a violent knurk at the front door of his house arouaed hira, and baV.enirig to the window, be put out his head, demanding the cause of the assault upon kiw door. 'l"he reply wa* given by a serva.*: from Oaklifll. Colonel Ilartright had a new attack like the last, and initfht be dead lx»fore the dootor could reach him.

I)r. Wills hastened to dress, and taking the servant's horse, to savo tiui-3, tfalloped toOakhill.

The attack had lieen extremely sa ldon, following a hearty supper, and w^s worse than the find. Nothing saved the patient but instant and profuse bleeding. Even then, he did not open his eyes for more than an hour. When he dfd so, he gazed blankly around him, mid did not recogui- Dr. Wills oranyIxxly.

All that day be lay in a stupor. Toward evening, ho moaned and sail, faintly,

Doctor—send for—Sainty Harley. He and his brother are both down stairs, sir." "No—not—Justin! Tell—Sainty.

The bov came up, his eyes wot will) tears, and could ouiy say, as ho approached the IMX1.

Oh uncle! unfile The feeble hand of the rich man rose nnd took that of the boy.

You are You are The flushed face of Sainty Harlev, as he listened to these broken and faltering words, showed his deep emotion. suddenly the poor old man burst out crying, and gripped th# boy's hand hard. •4 Como close! Ootne close!"' he said, In a trembling voice.

The bov lent over him. Tbe very lace! -the very face!" Ho burst out crying again. "The very image my doar brother, ficorge!"

After this the sick u.an closed his eyes mid began to sob. exclaiming from time to time, "Huntsdon! To be sold! Hicks! Mvbrother! My brother!"

I)r. Wills was about to urge the young man to rotire, when Colonel Ilartright upenod his eyes, ami f«aid:

Send for Justin Dr. Wills hesitant. Your condition such, I fear, try dear air-—"

Send for Justin There was no opp »nlng that deterrn..!ed will. The old t-t ?ob was master on his alck led as ever 'where.

Ten minutesaftet t*^ards Ju«tin Harley *ine in, and, going to the bodajdo, stood Lbere perfectly Klh it and motionless. An immense pity etui sweetness, as of a woman, shone tu hn eyes.

Uncle

The voice arousal ii»e alck man. "Thank »od! you sent for me, uncle, and give me tbi» opportunity to -,*«ll you how much I lova you I have been cold—hard, perh*|**: it was in my voice only. I should have remetnbertl

Tlie strong Justin Harley qulto broke down. The old win looked up at bim, dreamily.

You sre—llko ycur mother Harley'a e.ves filled with tears. You'were alwtv* a boy, .lov tin. Be prudent Lo not Hunt*d-n

Micks. He Stopped, his l.reaat heaving. I1untklou uiut not go to Hicks?" Harlev bad al^ady understood from bis uncle's brokou words that be ha 1 teen Infbrmed of tje danger to which the old Harley e*Uti was exjKwed. l)o not re*i, he wUd. "Mr. Hicks will not be mvOer of Hunttdou. The debt will be paid—by Sainty."

By—Sainty*" "I ahall gfT'ui:r tbe property. In fcrtj*«lj|ht b«ni deed will he

(lire him -the p-openy Harley r«pUw! wiiu deep ^ndnem, .'or tb« tii09 of

UM *W'k

uxan filled Uitn with

aorrowfWl alhdua. »»I nMn Mainty bare the r*a*.e, uncle. I am ginng »w»y. 1 am untomats aod bring ill frv-tune."

The N»We ban*! ot» tbe ooverel«d sorrel a little. Justin!" "l.nde."

Hi* Hp* niavH «*ut no tound .etned from them. |)r Wills to«»cl »i Harley's shonl ler. ••TW» Inter *»ew lb l»0orions to ioJo r«d my deer rfr," he wb'e-

I will not rolong It."

He turned la at the

tKor

old man, wbo waa lying with hi* eyea cio^d, 'T,

7£r!

fijnm to bis eyo- be looked. He bent down, raleed tbf- feel»ie ha id, and toc^h*d It with his V.p*. At that loach the tick m»n dro^n* looked at Hat'*Uh nuabed cbetks and bawl out

Ynu are—yw *rt»~like—your now* er! A^lS^y. be like (Ur*« The eyee

wfrnT^

t.« a look from Wills went skwljp from tbe rwom. taUag hie briber witli him. «»—.

CHAI*T LIR'

nit ikJ6*t*i«T o*^ aiBiso MWS un

ChiinA "0|J •*»V w^oln mile of BUndfWd, vraa ow It was a Utile pi* noon, tMd, and the ooo tbeeeet

snow storm which was plainly Impend inr. The Indian summer was dead. The dreamy sunshine which had fallen on the world, like a last farewell of the jrolden summer, or tho pensive autumn, bad faded now, withdrawn Itself, and anyoneoould understand that winter, stem and harsh and glootny, waa about to assert his rights, and cover the earth with bis mantle of snow. It was felt In the air. There was no ind: it was not very cold soft of hiwh waa in th$ atmosphere the sun was s»-an*t«ly visible—a hany globe ef watt ligut, fading into mist.

St. Leger had left Harley sui Sainty to ride to Oskhill, and nad gone on bornetiack to attend chur h. It was his Knglish habit, and he rarely omitted going when it was in his power. Dismounting and carefully affixing the bridle of his horse to a swinging limb —for he was riding a very nne young colt of Harley's but half-broken to the saddle—be entered the old edidce, took his seat in one of the high-backed pews, composed himself into an attitude of gravo attention, and listened with decorous bearing to tbe somewhat com tnon-place sermon of the aged parson in his high, tub-ehapod pulpit, with the sounding-board atove it, resembling gigantic extinguisher.

St. 1/cger had seen from the numerous coaches standing around the church, ir charge of their coachmen, that a consid erabie number of the old planters of the region, with their families, were present, and among the rest he had recognized the coach from Blandfleld, whose guardian bad respecttully touched his hat and offered to see that his spirited colt did not break away. Seated now in his pow, St. I^eger looked around saw K.velvn and the whole family from Blandfleld— with the exoeption of the aged Mrs. Bland, who had dread of horses and would never trust herself behind them —and wondering a little at the pallor of Kvelyn's cheeks, proceeded to look at ether young ladles out of the corners of bis eves, while apparently wrapped In the discourse of the old parson.

All at once he lost sight of the parson, and turned his head quickly. In one ®f the spacious pews^»nd leaning against a pillar, be saw Fanny, and beside her Puccoon, who had donned his leastrugged coat in honor of the occasion. Katiny had asked bim to accompany hor, on the long walk from- tbe cabin to "Old St. John's,"

ani

St. I.eger gazed at Fanny with mysterious intcntncss. It was strange his heart waa beating in the saddest way! Tiie fair hair falling in profuse curls upou the roumi neck just a little drooping forward, was crowned by a modest chip-hat, secured beneath the chin !*y a blue ribbon. The young cheeks were touched by the most delicate rose-tint and Fanny's blue eyes, full of sweetness and innocence, were fixed upon tho preacher.

During all the service aiul tho sermon, St. l^egor looked at her and any one who had seen his tell-tale glances would havo understood that this mere child, in her rustic dres*, made the world brighter and life more sweet to tho^'outh who had mingled with countesses, tlirted ths fans of court beauties, and laughed at his friends when they came to tell him of their "affairs of the heart." It was a marvel—a mystery but so it was. St. Leger's heart sank when ho thought "I shall go away soon and never see her again—she is no fit mate for me—wo part soon and forever!" Ami, feeling that this woe impended—that he would in a few days return to Europe—he gara-l at her with all his soul in his eyes, blushed like a boy, ami heard nothingmoro until thore was suddenly aloud rustling of dresses as the congregation rose, and the benediction was protionnced by the parson.

The church emptied itself of it» brilliant throng. St. Leger came out, glancing furtively over his. shoulder toward Fannv. He shrunk from accosting her. Ills guilty conscience forbade him. He liowed to tbe young ladies of his acquaintance, saluted the gentlemen Whom he know in .t friendly way, and went and mounted his colt who had trampled a wide circle ill the grass, while lin|aticntiy wailing for his rider.

As soon as St. Loger mounted,*tbe colt began to spring sidewlse, to rear, and to bite at tl»eair. The young man was an excellent horseman. His spur dug its way into the wit's side, ami the animal shivered, half with fear, half with rage. Ilo then leaped sidewlse to distanqp of about ten feet thon he arted out of tho enclosure around tho church, and

St. Ieger board a faint cry, and saw a girl fall, struck violently by the chest of the animal and hurled to tbe ground. He looked—tbe girl was Fanny. She was lying Insensible, with Puccoon rushing toward her, and the Blandfleld coachman violently holding In his four bomos to prevent the in from funning ovor her.

The vouug nun nerer knew how he stoppod his colt, was on tbejeround. and baa

Y*annv

in nbt arms. The real ftict

was that he had nearly broken the jaw of the animal, who, arrested by tbe savage assault on his mouth, bad stopped short, cowed, and trembling from head to foot. I-'. "Kannv!"

The wo'rd had escaped from St. I*ger's lips in a sort of groan. He hold her clasped to his breast, kneeling on one knee, and supporting her upon the other. She opened her eye«, and looked st bim, while the crowd hurried (as crowds will) to shut otfthc fresh air.

I am—not much hurt!" Tbe faltering voice went to his heart. He looked at her pale free with agony.

And I 1 Puccoon put his arm around tbe child, and looked at her with the eyes of a ffctber, His trame trembling. Suddenly, groaned. Her sleeve v» bloody, ad bor lt*«d hung down.

Her arm Is broken!" groaned Pnco»m. A voice at his shoulder—the voice of a young lady—aaH:

You must pot V»r In tbe carriage! We must take her boaje!" It was Kvolyn, wbo Uad impulsively sprung out and hastened to the snot. Mie was looking at Fatt^y with aeep nltv and sweetness.

We will take care of her! Hbe cannot move!" St, l/tfjer did not wa»te tine. He rained the girl in bis arms, carrtaj her to tbe coach, and platvd ber in it Puccoon had followed in a sort of maxe, uid tbe Ural thing he heard was tie* In. my friend! There is roott fbr all of us. Your little girl must go to my house,which is not far. She is suffering."

It was the rokw of Jndge Bland. Puccoon got in and bald fanny, and the Judge and F.venlyn baring followed,tbe coach rolled on slowly to Blandfleld. accompanied by Hi. Leger. wboae horse bad been caught by a eerrant when be leaned to the groand.

Two hoars afterwards Pinny's broken arm was set, and abe was in bed, with Krelyn and Mia C.etneotlna fanning her.

$

v/' ".'''-^

your advice

they had set

out earlv, leaving tho hut in charge of tho Ijad ot the Snow, who had said that she was not strong enough to walk so far.

r-

I 1 A W! *«r 1 'I 1 1 jtj.Q ,._ -,

TERRB TTATTTE SATURDAY WEfrllSTG MAIL.

At the moment when tbe chariot had reached tbe Blaudflold gate, the snow had begun lo fall, slowly, steadily, with tbe air of a snow which nad made up Its mind to take its name, and In an hour afterwards the whole world was one great mass of white. 7fr

CHAPTER LV. A COWFBSBION.

St. Leger remained at Bland Hold until the sun was nearly down, and then, having bad his fears about Fanny somewhat relieved, rode back slowly through the falling snow toward Huntsdon.

His head bad sunk upon his breast his band boldly retained In its grasp the rein of his horse he was evidently absorbed in thought. This reverio lasted all the way to Huntsdon, and ho only became aware that ho had reached bis journey's end when his horse stopped, and, looking up, the young man saw in front of bim the tall gate.

At the same moment he beard hoofstrokes, and looked round. Harley and his brother were returning from Oakhill and, joining him, rode with bim up tho hill. Harley speaking in a very grave, sad voice, informed him of the condition ol the old man, and they went in.

St. Leger had scarely spoken. They sat down—Sainty having gone out—and tho young Englishman, leaning his elbow on a table, and his forehead on his hand, looked for some moments at the floor. Then he turned to Harley.

My dear friend," he said, "I am re volvirg In my mind a step which will affect my whole future

ep life, and wish

1 1

My advice? I will givo it cheerfully if you desire it, St. Leger but you have seen enough of tho world, ftfond, to know that human beings rarely take advice—that is to say, follow it."

Well, perhaps I shall prove no exception. To speak plainly, I have nearly or qnite inado up my mind "To what, friend

St. Leger remained silent again he wa« blushing now. To—to—well, why should I be ashamed to speak? I have resolved, Harley, to cotie back to Huntsdon somo years hence!"

Having rnado which extremely explicit statement, St. Leger blushed more than ever, and was silent. "To Huntsdon?" said Harley and can that be tho subject upon which you wish to ask my advice?"

He amiled, sadly. Come back by all means I have not finished."

Ah Speak then, friend." "I think of coming back to Huntsdon—that is to Virginia—to—to—you are sure to be astonished now, Harioy." "•Few tlrtng»astonish me in this world, St. Leger." "Well, mv object in returning will be to—to ask tfanny to marry mo

And having relieved himself of his secret, St. Leger blushed moro violently than before, and looked in tho direction opposite to Harioy, who remained quite overcome with astonishment.

Fannv!" he said, at length—"that child Yes, Harley Why not?"

St. Leger's face glowed. "Why not? She will bo a woman then! And what other obstacle is there? Her lowly origin I thought that a serious matter onee, even an unconquerable objection—but—but—"

Harley said, gnnely: But you do not think it such now, you would say."

I think it none whatever, my dear Harley. Let me be plain-spoken, and open my whole lieort to you. We are old comrades. We are more to each other now than any other friends can be. We have hunted, traveled, slept together in bivouac, shared each other's dark and bright days, and should trust each other. Yes, Hsriey. Alter seeing all tho beauties of Korope, I havo eotne here to the wilds of Virginia to lose my heart with a child—a little rustic creature—whose lovelinoss and purity have won my affection—more than my affection. I lovo this child, Harley. and lovo her so that I feel my future happiness depends upon whether sbo does or does not liecome my wife!"

Harley listened to this avowal with unconcealed surprise, and St. Leger taking advantage of his friend's silence, proceeded with all the ardor of a lover to speak of his acquaintance with Fanny, aud tbe gradual growth of his love for the child. IJttle bv little, this sentiment, he said, had taKen possession of bim he had ielt it growing upon him, hsd struggled against it, feeling that such an union was repugnant to overy dictate of cold, worldly wisdom—that he, with his birth and position in the world, had tho right to look to a far more advantageous connection, and would probably repent during all tbe remainder of his life the commission of an ael so imprudent. But the struggle had been short. Ono hour with Fanny was anlBcient to make him discard all snob considerations. It was not so much her beauty—although she was surely of rare personal loveliness—which had enthralled him. She was a paragon of innocence and loveliness of disposition— gentle, pure, refined, a lady in every fibre of her being, In splto of her humble origin. And it aueh were the fact, why should be hesitate? He was the •on of a gentleman, and the nephew of an earl, and Fanny was only tbe daughter of a poor huntsman—a girl of tbe people, as tbe French phrase was. But what of that? Her father was brave and honest. She was all that any one could desire In bis wifc.

Krmlngarde had wedded a squire of low degree, and King Cophetua a baggar maid—to say nothing of the marriagea of dukes and tnarquiaes every day with •ctreosea and ballet girls—and w*s not Fanny hotter than a girl of tbe ballet?

Having burst forth with which oration, St. Leger. blushing atill, was silent. Harley dia not for some momenta make any replr. He then said, gravely and tboughtnilly:

Friend, you aak my advice (or yon go through the form of doing so, after making up your mind) In an affair wbich, as you Justly say. ooncerna the bapplneaa of yonr whole future lift*. What am I to say To urge the conslderatlona which rou declare you hareal-

And yet—I deatre It.'

MI

will reply In a few words, then, dear St. Leger, and with perfect plalnnexa. Rank and position are nothing— or evxrytbing—as one views them, Bat, under any conditions, marriage la a aeriaua affair—the union of two Uvea, lor better or worse, nntil death parts them, and there abould be Uke tastes, feelings, habits of living, even. Will you find these in Fanny fH

Y*|»"

"Are yon certain? She la purity itself but will Henry 8U Leger never be aaramed of hi* wife 1 should never be ashamed of Fanay!"

Tii

..arley aaw from the tone In wbieh theee worda ware uttered that all further

Well, Ieee that you have made up your mind, 8L Leger," be aaid. "I have not ... ytmr

Inquired whether Fanny returns aJnctiom"

r_i_{.

The young man colored a little. I have not asked her—but He did not finiah the aentenoe, and Harioy saved him the troable of doing so.

Well, toll mo now of yow plans, as I see plainly that you have arranged everything. A strange aflMr? and I never dreamed of it."

I scarce thought of It m5self, or determined upon anything, until to-day. Something happened to-day, Harley, which showed me the strength of my feeling for Fanny."

Ana he told his friend of the accident at the church, adding, that when he saw the child lying insensible, with her sleeve all bloodry, he discovered for the first time how deop- his- affection fbr her was.

Harley gravely inclined his head. I understand everything now," he said,—^"poor child !"r*I am truly glad she was not more injured. Yea, yes, this opened your eyes—brought you to your resolution. You have your plan. Speak clearly. What is it

To place Fanny In some educated family, or at souse good school, where she will become a cultivated woman in a few years to conceal my part In this to return after a while, and to ask ber to become my wife!"

The young fellow's face glowed. Harley looked at bim, kindly. Well, your lifo after that, my dear St. Leger What wi 11 it be

I shall purchase an estate—it mast be a very modest one—near Huntsdon, if I can, and live and die as an honest plsnter

With Fanny!" Harley uttered tbe words with a sad smile "he had not the heart longer to oppose his friend's happinoss. "Well, St. L«ger," ne said, all this is in tho future. "Time Is a hard antagonist, and works unforeseen changes!" but that is a ooid philosophy, after all, friend. Pardon me!—I am an old gentleman, and a little disenchanted. I do not lose you yet, at least. We return to Europe together. Afterwards after wards—well, afterwards is a long time yet!"

The friends separated, St. Leger going to change his dress. Hurley remaining behind, lost in reflection. "A singular denouement/" he murmured. "IIow life changes and shifts like tho foam on tbe wave! I aid not tell bim—there is time enough—that Fanny is not the daughter of Puccoon!" lie fell into a profound reverie.

Fhnny Qoutran lie muttered. "Wbo would have dreamed of that

CHAPTER LVL THROUGH THE SNOW.

It was nearly sunset, and tho snow was falling steadily when Puccoon reentered his cabin. Tho Lady of the Snow met him at the door,"and with alann in her face asked where Fanny was.

Puccoon described tho accident in a few words, and how Uio girl had been taken to Blandtield—his companion listening wtth pale checks, oyes full of anxiety, and broken exclamations. Her agitation was such that she could net remain a moment still. She rose and went to and fro—looking out of the window with an expression of longing and impalionce. Never wore cxcitemcut and uneasiness moro eloquently indicated by human being.

Sbe asked Puccoon a thousand questions. Fanny's arm was broken Was it badly broken? Had she fainted? Had sho suffered from the movement of tbe coach Had a doctor come promptly? Had tbe poor, poor child cried when they sot her arm Tho pale face flushed at the picture thus drawn in imagination, and the lady sobbed, wiping bur eyes, and trembling.

Puccoon had taken his seat in front of the fire, and leaning his elbows on his knees, held his head in his two bands. From time to time ho coughed painfully. He was evidently in low spirits, and having unburdened himself about Fanny, fell into a dull, apathetic reverie. The Lady of tho Snow still went and came—glam-ed through tho window —and seemed unable to rest.

All at once sho stopped, looking at Puccoon. He plainly did not observe her movement, and had probably forgotten ber presence.

She looked, thon, through the window. Tho snow continued to fall. "I must go to her!" she murmured. "But he i* ni, and ought not to expose himself. He will not let me go alone— 1 must ftt&l away. I shall know the road—I can follow his steps."

Sho took her old black hood and cloak, wrapped them around her, silently opened the door, and passing through it, closed it behind hor. Through the small window she could see Puccoon still seated before tho fire, with his elbows on bis knees and his bands supporting his forehead—dozing, it seemed. "He will not miss me at once,"she murmured "he will think that I have gone to rest. To-morrow he will come to see Fann^f"

She hurried along the hollow, following Pucooon'a footsteps, which were still plainly viaible. although the falling snow was doing its best to obliterate them. They led up the hollow, around a hill covered with pines, across a small stream, and Into unty road, skirted with ditches and tuounda crowned with oedars. Alonv this road she hastened, following the nearly obliterated steps.

Sbe did not pay any attention to tbe snow, which alight wind now began to blow In her fkce. A dim recollection of another anow storm came to her—that atorm In wnich she had tottered on faintly, and ever grown feebler and feebler, and fhllen at laat, with the steady, ailent, pitiless snow-fall weaving bar ahroud.

She would not flail now! She had been hopeleaa then—now a new influence had dawned upon her life—new strength had entered her frame—love for Fanny bore ber up. and drove her onward, unfaltering, stopping for nothing. She thought only that tbe child waa lying weak and pale at Blandfleld, and she would reach ner—she would not die upon the way!—she would bold her In her anna again, and kiss ber, and fondle her. and aay, "I am by you, Fanny I will not leave yon!"

The thought "I will see ber soon!" made toe wan cheek glow, and tbe Lady of tbe Snow hastened on through the night. She never knew bow ahe found her way, all those long and weary miles, for the footprints of Puccoon were soon covered by the wind blowing tbe anow Into them. She pressed on, keeping the main road—following bar instinct.

Fields, roads, hollows, hills were passed. With heed bent down, and wrapped in ber cloak, the night-traveler harried on—a solitary, black figure moving on tbe bleak white highway.

It must have b^frn the instinct of the bean which made ber look up at laat. She saw acroes tbe fields on ner left, a glimmering light. A road akirted with a lew fence led toward the light. She turned into this road, went through a toil-gate, and hastened op an avenue, at tbe end of which, on a gentle aecllvitv, stood a friendly-looking old mansion in the midst of oaka, and gbostly poplars, rising Ilka spectrae In the atorm.

Sbe harried on, reached the bouse, went rapidly ap the steps, end-pant­

ing. tottering, worn-out, now—knocked at the door. Light steps came quickly, snd Evelyn opened tbe door. A figure waa leaning against it, trembling and feint.

•injur in/ui nmAiicm ui uwnuoo ouo supporting herself against the door, Laay of the Snow fell forward, al-

Either from weakness or because she was tbe L»ady most Into the young girl's arms.

Aa ahe did so she exclaimed, a ith tears and sobs. Ob my child!—my child! [TO BK CONTINUED.]

CHUBCH PEWS. sij ,-r

There is a speck of historyeonnected with the origin of church-pews that cannot help but prove interesting. In tho early aavs of the Anglo-Saxon, and some of tno Norman churches, a stone bench afforded the only aitting accommodation for members or visitors. In the year 1319 thoy are spoken of as sitting on the ground or in standing posture. At a later period the people introduced low, three-legged stools, and they were placet! in no uniform order in tbe church. Directly after the Norman conquest wooden seats came iu fashion. In 1387 a deeroe was tamed that none should call any* seat in tbe church bis own except noblemen and patrons, each entering and holding the one he first found. From 1530 to 1.VI0 seats were moro appropriated, and a crowbar guarded the entrance bearing the initial of the owner. It was in 1606 that galleries were thought of. And ns early as 1614 pewa were arranged to afford oomfort by being baizod or cushioned, while tho sides around were so high as to hide the occupants—a device of tbe Puritans to avoid being seen by the officer, (who reported thoso who did not stand wfeen the name of Jesus was mentioned.

LITERATURE FOR BOYS AND ...... GIRLS. [New York Tribune."}

These who would give children for dally diet only dry crusts, well-picked bones, aud slops would be booted at as barbarians—and rightly too. Then wkat can be said of tho kindly and respectable people wbo provide for their young charges a mental food which corres ponds to the bones, tho crusts, and the slops? The quality of the literature, specially prepared for boys and girls in their early Utens is not more remarkable than its quantity. It is too often flabby, gushing and pretentions. It attempts muscle and enas in mush it adorns the tale at tho expense of tle moral, and is as far below tho line old English models as it well can bo. There's little that is rich, strong and healtbv ahout it, and yet it is the stuff, outside toxt-books, that chiefly helps to make tho brains of school-boys and girls between the ages of twelvo and sixteen. Wheu the supply fails the young people are naturally not slow to take up those novels whlcn aro evon more weak and gU9hing. There is scarcely suoh a thing as vital and systematic instruction in English literature in homo and school. Readers certainly do not offer it, and tbe average teacher arstotake very little interest in it. ven in the old and thorough schools, tho course of reading—if there be one— is apt to be pursued in a perfunctory fashion which loaves the graduate without any quickening desire to seek for himself the literary treasures of the world. Young Americans of the better class have, as a rule, bright minds and docile tastes—yet the usual readiug matter of an uupleasantly large number of young men and women is made up of sensational novols, and tho entertaluing things—fashions aud murder, among them—in tho daily newspapers They are utterly ignorant aa to the real riches of English writing it is no wonder that their minds so quickly take on the conventional commonplace toue.

It is useless to inflict upon young peoplea daily compulsory stint of dry history and drier essay. Tho teacher who is really wise and accomplished under stands very woll how to awaken and to train an active and delighted interest in tho best thought and the noblest literary manner. If nothing but a novel appeals at present to the. young girl's capacity, givo hor a novel but let it be standard in conception and execution. "The 'Newcomos," if rather more worldly, Is assuredly a swoeter and healthier tonic than "Tho Wide, Wido World" or even the fashionable Boston "juveniles." There ia not much danger of surfeiting children with writing too old for them every teacher who knows his business thoroughly knows tbe fields of history may be maao to blo«om under young eyes how childish imaginations take tiro' between the flint of motive and the steel of action when both are brilliantly rehearsed and how oven the bones of inference nnd deduction are made lively by eager young minds. Girls and boys who are not stupid naturally delight in splondid description, in good sense, and in simple English. If, Instead of all this, thoy learn to love a diet of crusts and slop*!, it shows willful carelessness on the jwirt of Mends and teachers.

"Ckerry Time"

—AXD—

"Lily of the Field,"

We an» now giving to every KJUO ywuly subscriber a choice of tho above Chroraos. They arc catalogued aud soltf in the arc storea at tUB per copy but will be given to all persons wh* send u* their names as sab* scrlbera enclosing KM the price of the paper for one year. These pictures sre perfect copies In every dullest* tint snd color ot magnificent painting* easting hundreds of dollars. AI1 wbo hsve any Ides of or love of art fall In love with tbcm at Bnrt sight.

Look at the Offer.

To every new yearly subscriber te The Itsil, and to csch old subscriber who renews, is givens magnificentcbromo, asoal ly sold st M, snd the paper, costing ft making to worth in *11. for only fl Trll jroar fHends aboat ft! Get tbe baat paper published la the Mats fbr one year, and aa

penslvs ptetww—all for «.

'V?

rjHE

M-

Ail Extra Chromo Prw. We will send a copy of either of our piamlom Chromoa to every pn*on sending us the names ef three new yearly subscriber* with the HMMey, six dsMsrm. also glvfag Um pictures to each of the three subscribers. Almost any one ean in this way secure this beautiful work of art without It seating them anything.

Oct Both Chromos.

Any person wishing to secure at once both of our new premium Chromos can do so by subscribing for The Mall two years in advance, paying as therefor, or we will send the paper for one year snd both fhromae mounted for tbe sarft of M, er we will send The Mall one year aod both pictures handsomely framed in walnnt aod gilt for

Hen who Hare Other BIUIDMI

Are wanted to add that ot canvassing for Ths Mali. Liberal commissions. Mend tor etrsular of InainteUons.

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it

Saturday Evening^

MAIL

FOB THE YEAR

p*.' J.»

1875-6,*" *v**

A MODEL WEEKLY PAPER FOR THE HOME

1 'i :y .. ,'.t

TERMS:

One year, (with chromo) (S 8lx mouths, (without chromo)...... tl 00 Three mouths, (without chromo).........59 cts.

Mail and office Subscriptions will- Invariably, be lUscoiitiuued at cxplratioa ef time paid for.

Encouraged by the extraordinary mooes* which has attended tho publication of THG (SATURDAY EVENING MAIL,the publisher has perfected ttrraiureravuts by which it will henceforth be one of tbe most popular papers lu the West.

TIIE CHOICE OF

5.

Two Beautiful Chromos

Presented to each yearly subscriber, from and after this date. .These beautiful pictures Just from the hands ef the French chrom artists, are faithful copies of oil paintings by the artUt W. H. Baker, of Brooklyn. One, entitled

"Cherry Time":

Represents a bright raced boy, coming from the orchard, bountifully laden with tho redripe fruit. The other, eutltled

"Lily of the Field"

la a beautiful little girl, with one of the sweetest of faces, gathering lilies In tbe Held. One is a wood scene, the other has an open meadow lu the back ground. They are of striking beauty.

For one dollar extra ($3.00 In all,) we will send Tbe Mail one year and both chrsmos mounted ready for framing. These pictures are catalogued and sold

1M

the art stores at

KOU DOLLA1W KACII.

FRAMES.

We linve mado arrangements with nr extensive manufactory of frames by which we can fornUh for One Dollar a frame usually sold for SI.50 and tl.'75. These frnines are of the best polished walnutand gilt. Here in the

BILL OF I'RICl*.

The Mail one year ami eholce of Chromo W 0® Tho Mall one year and Bsth Chromos mounted... 3 00 The Moil ono year aud Both Chromos

FRAMED 5 00

THE SATURDAY EVENING MAIL Is an Independent Weekly Newspaper, elegantly printed on eight pages of !ook pa|cr, ond alms to be, in every sense, Family Paper. With this aim In view, nothing will appear In Us column* that cannot bp read aloud in tho most refined fireside circle.

CLUBBING WITlf OTHER PERIODICALS. Wo aro enabled toofTer extraordinary Inducements in the way of dubbing with other periodicals. We will furnish THE SATURDAY EVENING MAIL, PRICE K.0O PEU YEAR, and either of

t)l0 aboVe

MM,

Chro­

mos with any of the periodical^enumerated fc'low at greatly reduced rates. Theee perVedicals will be sent direct from tbe offices of publication. Here is the list:

SEMI-WEEKLY.

fjrml-WrrK-lt/ Nru- 1'ork Tiibunr, price £U)0, The Mall and Chromo., tl 59

WEEKLY PAPERS.

[n&anapoU* Journal, price W.00, The Mall and Chrwmo tS G0 ImKaiMiwJu Sentinel, price W.00, Tho

Mail ond Chromo 8 JV. Y. Tribune, price 82.00, The Mall and Chromo vi"*

80

TotMo Blade, price fcUJO, The Mall nnd Chromo 5? A'. Y. Hun, The Wall and Chromo 3 00 T^tMrU Farmer, price •'1M, The Mall and Chromo 8 66 Wrdrrn Mural, prloe *2.10,Tho Mall and

Chromo •••••—v 60 oago Advance, price t&UO, The Mall and Chromo Chicago interior, price B-fiO, The Mail and Chromo Chicago Inter-Oxon, prlco 11.50, The

Mail and Chromo 8 36 AppUAo*'* MumnL, price WA0, The Mall and Chromo Rural yeu Yorker, pries t&00,The Mall and Chromo 4 Hearth and Home, prlco 9100, The Mall and Chromo...., 4 MtthodUL, price ISLM, The Mall and

Chromo,... 8 89 Harp*r'$ Weekly, price

MJW,

The Mall

and Chrome.. 80 Harper'* Bamr, pries UJOO, The Mail and Chromo....... *80 frank Isrti** lUuxtratrd Ifewtpaper, prtee MJ», The Mall and Chromo— I 00 LeMku Chimney Corner, price $*J00, Tbe

Mall and Cbremo ft 00 Jiovt' and OlrU' Weekly, prtee KM, the Mall and Chromo 8 75

MONTHLIES.

Arthur Home Maffantne, price 82M, The Mall and Chromo 00 PHer*m'i Mtffarine, price 82,00, The

Mall and Chromo 8 69 Amerieem AfrieuUurUl, price tl JO, The

Mall and Chromo 8 00 Mememti »mOUy, price RM, 1 year, Tbe Mall andCbr»mo_.. 0 35 Uodey't Ladp'* Book, price t&00, The

IUU and Chromo UUU Oarporai, prtee IIJSO,TheMalland ^^n^MorSSy, price WJO/ifoe Mail end Chromo... AOanHe Monthly, price UM, Tbe Mall and Chromo Old and

00

8 09

ft

a

priee MM, The Mail and

Chromo......— Oreriand Mmihty, price UM, The Mall aod Chromo.,— —....- Hmrper't Mapaeine, price HM, Tho Mail aod Chromo Vmrdenrr't Monthly, price81/4,The Mail and Chromo Yovnff fbilu Airot, The Mail and Cbro-

too

ft 00

ft 00 IK S 75

The Ifmnerp, price 11-80, The Mall and Chromo St. AVAobu, prtee »3U», The Mall and

8 10 4 4C

Chromo Alt the premium* offered by the above pub llcatlons are included In this dab blag arrangement. no?

CLUBBING WITII COUNTY PAPERS. We have made arrangements to famish THE MAIL, with Chrome, and any one of the Newspapers in the neighborhood of Terrs Haute all for CM*.

JUST LOOK AT IT 1

The Mail, priee. ..... 02 00 Your County paper, prlce^.—,—2 00 The Chromo, worth 1 00

Total as 00

AU these—(8K40)-fa« ttM. Add raw

r. a.

WEOTf All,

Publisher Saturday Evening Mall, TMMCHAUTE, LND