Chicago Daily Tribune Newspaper, December 9, 1877, Page 12

TH _BOSTON. The Tributes to Whittier on His Seventieth Birth- ot day. What a Bright Critic Says of Hol- 1and’s Choir and Longfellow’s Sonnet. The Best Poem and the Worst---3r. Whittier in a Trying Site uation. An Extraordinary Dedication of a New Book to Richard Grant White, From Our Own Correspondent. Bosrox, Dec. 5.—One of the most peculiyr things that have ever been pcrpc:ratcd_ in this sity of pecaliaritics is the Whittier testimonial, or whatever it may be called in the Literary Forld, on the oecasion of the poet’s T0th birth- 2sy. It was an idea of the publishers of the Torld,—and s very bright ‘idea as far as they sre concerned. But the “tributes ™ that are “written up” per order or invitation are not the beet of any writer's productions, and these were po exceptions to the rule. They are too much in the style of the hand-organy Occasion Odes, and show the effort even in strains of much fecling. So far as the real expression,— the best cxpression of a poet’s musc,—these tributes are faflures. But they have an interest for the time, and contzin some fine lines. Longfellow, Bayard Taylor, Holmes, Stedman, J. G. Holland, Paul f. Hayne (the Southern poet), Willlam Lloyd Garrison. Celia Thaxter, Charlotte T. Bates, Lydia Maria Child, James Freeman Clarke, George Parsons Lathrop, and Hiram Rich are the names of those who have cesponded to the editor of the World's invi- tstion in verse. Bryant, Dana, Bancroft, COL. HIGGIN30N, AND MRS. STOWE respond §n prose, n a plessant note of friend- liness or of reminiscence. There are others, fricnds of Whittier, llke Harriet Prescott Spof- Yord, whom we miss from the list, but for ‘doubtless gaod reasons. There has heen some fun mede of J. G. Holland's tribute. 1t is briel enough to quote, and here it i8: TEN TIMES SEVE Ten gentle-hearted boys of seven, Too young and aweet fo etray from Heaven, ‘Will—counting up the little men— Amount to three score years and ten. Two gracions men of thirty-five, With wits alight aud hearts alive, Will fill compiete the ronndea spberes: Of seventy strong and munly years, Nay, Whittier, thon art not old; Thy recster a lie hath told. For lives devote to Jove and trath Do only multiply their south. Thou art ten gentle boys of seven. With eouls too sweet to stay from Heaven; Thou art two men of thirtz-dve, With wits elight, and hearts alive! A Dright critie says, ancpt this: *Now. Mr. Whittier, in the character of a_whole choir of 1itdle boys, is nothing if not_amusing, and it is hardly credible that Mr. Holland should re- iim in any such licht, or that he would wish to be 80 remarded.” There is something Jn this; and yet those who know Mr. Whittier will perceive Mr. Hollang’s meaning, and sympothizewith it. Mr. Wxittier os not con- vey the idea of the rollicking, roysteriny boy who represents ““Young America,” but in his simplicity, his persistent shyness, which take the form of truancy .from all enzagements wherein he can scent a “showing off,” he does most completely supgest that part of the boy- npature which fizhts shy of conventionalitics. As Whittier reminiscences secm to be In order, I will give alittle scene which I witness- ed at onc of the three great Boston Fairs, whereln the shy Quaker was a silent suflere: from this vers quality of shvuess. It became whispered about that Whittier was_in the ball, snd this reaching the cars of alady who had been an admirer of the poet for many years. she ot once enlisted a friend to brioe her into personal acquaintance with the idol of her dreams. 1nnocently the {riend arranged mat- ters, little suspecting that she was arranging @ soene,—an emotional one-act_seneational Diay,— the thing of el1-things tnat Whittier abhors. But the moment of introtactiod arrives. ., TABLEAC. . . Whittier caught in passing, burried and unex- nt; feminine admirer and candidate for presentation weund up to a Inzh pitch of femi- nine gush: innocent and misguided iriend bland and emiling: a gathering crowd of other inno- ceat_oncs. The usual formulais spoken. and Mr. Whittier is bending his head in smiling greetings, when, without warning, the flood- gates of gush are opened, and Mrs. Blank, be- tween sobs and tears, is essaying to teil Mr. Whittier that for yesrs she has cherished him in her "bheart, and that she never,—sniff, sniff, —never thoughbt to bave the happiness of mecting him; that she Zecls now that she could * kneel at bis feet"'— and here a whole torrent of tears and sniffs. Poor Whiitier cast a rapid.look :fut him aud colored unessily. If he could July have been for that moment one boy of seven, io- stead of ten boys, he would bave fled at the mo- ment from the scene, without stopping to see the results. But, instead of that, be was aware 1bat his years would not allow anv such escape, and, afier an instant of frighteued reflection, e {aced the sitnation with what endurance he conld. But tne look npon his fag.—the nerv- ous way in which he stood his ground, entirely silent, - WIHILE HE WAS WEPT AND WAILED OVER in this burst of rrztitude,—was3 sizht which, taking it all in atl, was as full of huwmor and richness as any that the onlooker will be likely 10 sec aguin. il Sbouldn’t&g'ou ‘bave thonzht,” said another of the Gush school, whose mental pabutum con- stantly interferes with the strong mental health which epables oue to profit by the fresh alr of common scose: “shouldn’t you have thought that Mr. Whittier would have felt touched by such a genuine tributet” “7 ghonld bave thought he would have felt known as Campbell's, then quite 2 resort for re- formers of all sorts. I=aw beforeme a manof striking personal appearance; tall, slender, with olive complexion, black hair, straicht black eye- Drows, brilliant eyes. #nd an oriental. emitic cast of countenance. This was Whittier at 85. 1lin- ered till he rose from Lhe table, and then advanc- ng, I#aid, with boyish cnthusiasin,—und I douht not, with boyish awkwardness also,—*I shauld like to shake hands with tae author of *Sinsgachu- Cirvinin,'” The poet, who was, and is, hyest of men, broke into akindiy smile, and sald, briefly: **Thy pame, frienu!" I gave it, we shook hands, and that was all; but to me it as like tonchinz 4 hero's ehield, and thongn.T have since learned to count the frivndship of Whit- tier us onc of the great privileges of my life, yet nothing has ever displaced the recollection of tnat first boyish Interview. Aud here is another from one who sizns him- gelf ¢ C. MM When 1 was & young man frying to get an educa- tion, I wentabont the country pedal v eilk to help myreif through colle; Saturday night found me at” Amesbury, 3 stran- ger nnd without a lodging-place, = It hap- cned thst the first house at which [ called was Whittler's; and he himself came to the door. On hearing my request he satd he was very sorry that he could not keep me, but_ it was quatterly meet- ing, and hig house was full. Jle. Loweser, took the tronble to show me to s neightor's, where he left me; but that did not seem to wholly suit his idea of hospitality, for in the course of the cyen- five up his own bed to me,—which, it 18 perhapy needlcas to suy, was not allowed. 'Dat this was potall. The nest moraing he came sgnin. with the suggestion that I migat perhaps like to attend meeting, myitine me to go with him: and e gave me a seat next to himself. The meetine lasted an hour, during which there was nota word epoken by any onc. ~ Weall sat in silence that length of time, then all arose, shook hands, aud dispersed; and Iremember it as one of tie best meesngs I ever attended. C. M. How Mr. Whittier feels about these tributes, Ido not know. It is scarcely probable, Low- ever, that he was taken cntirely uuawares. Most likely he was consulted as to the agree- ability of this surprise-party. and he could trust his friends coough to know that they wouldn’t gush over him in_an uupleasant fashion, so did Tiot. think it necessary to ungraciously decline. He can hardly help being moved by the real tenderuess there is apparent in every line of these “tributes.” : A few weeks azo I made mention of a new book that bad becn heralded rather strongly by OXE OR TWO CRITIC3 on the merits of a foregone work,—a book of poems by Stuart Sterne. ‘The new book is just out, is called ** Augelo,” and has this extraor- dinary dedication: 0 RICHARD GRANT WHITE, Whose Most Magnanimons Appreciation of What Little Had Been Done, Whose Noble Confi- dence in Whot More Misht Yet Be Done, by One He Did Not Knowand Had Never Seen. Likea Flooaof Gencrous Sun- shine Earlier Quickened into Growin Whatever Powers, Whatever Germs and Possibilitics of High- er Development ‘That Stranger May Poseers. with the Eurncst Hooe that He May Find It Worthier of His Acceptance than He Could Have Found any Previous Effort, This Labor of Lore I¥ WARMEST GRATITUDE 18 DEDICATED ox S. 8. ‘The poem thus dedicated: is in blank-verse, and is the story of M 1 Angelo’s love for Vittoria Colonnz, Marchesa Pescara. Terhaps the warmth of the dedication—recalling the tropical fervor of the poems of last year—iwill mislead the reader to expect an equal” fervor in the poem of Angelo.” _Butit is quite unlike the verses of last year, except in being set in one key from begivpiog to end. The question which has been suzgested is, ** Which sex is the authar, man or woman? The Old South Fair opens to-day, while the weather Is anything but fair,—a steady sow'easter sendinz down its torrents of rainj butit is to hold for teu days, and nobody doubts but it wili be & famous victory in_the end. N. P. A HIGHWAYMAN OUTWITTED ; OR. EXCITANGE NO ROBBERY. Dingle Farm was such a pretty place. Charmingly situated at the foot of a slope, it commanded an extensive view of a beautiful Kentish valley, the zround rising to a ridge of wooded bills in the far distance. Its steep tiled roof, covered with yellow lichens, indicated its antiquity, and the numner- ous farm-buildings, ricks, and barns, wkich stood around in picturcsque confusion, marked iz gs wealthy and prosperous in a language of tueir own. An orchard of vener- eble, but mot the less full-bearing, apple and pear trees ran up the incline behind the house; the pasture-flelds were inter- sected by woods of oaks, under which a tangled mass of undergrowth fent a wild heauty to the epot, the birds keeping up o sweet incessunt concert from sunrise to sunset in the branches above. Two sbady lanes led down to Dingle Farm from the high-road, which was moro than half a mile distant. This old and attractive place had been for generations in the possession of the Dales, a respectable and wealthy family of farm- ers, and among the viliages and connry round was Leiter kuown by the name of Dale’s Farm. Tt was inbabited ac the time of our stors—the Tatzer part of the last centizry—by old Mr. Dale aud his widowed daughter-fu-faw. Richard Dale, her husband, Givd Soou after the birth of their youngest child, the only surviving son out of four, three of whom died in infancy. This boy. now 13 years oid, was doted on by his granafather and widowed mother. An or- phan grandehild of old Mr. Dale’s—a brizht cleyer wirl of 20, named Susan Stidolph—lived with them since tue death of her mother, hi only daughter, and was Mrs. Richard Dale rizht bzad. She directed the servants, locked afterthedairy, fod the poultry. kept theaccounts, and always went to iarket on mariet-days, Mr. Pale being now too intirm to underiake the ourney and trazsact business. The murket W beld st Hazle- ton, = town distant from the farm about seven miles; and hither the faruiers sent their cattle, poultry, and vewe- table procuce for sale the first Wednesday in every month. These journeys were attended witil some anxlety acd not a little danger from the lughiwaymen, who still Intested the roads, zad who did not fail to make usc of market- Just as he di€,—lile a fool,” was the auswer. Of quite a differcut order of cmotion was that of Dom Pedro when ho met him. _As he enter- ed the drawing-room, after the company were assembled, be Jooked about in a very eager, un-Royal fashion, snd inquired, Wwith great earnestness: Where is Mr. Whittleri When Whittier himself appeared before him to answer this question, the enthusiastic Emperor flung bis arms about the poet's neck and gave him . A GENUINE DRAZILIAK IIUG, to which Mr. Whittier Bmmuy responded by Sitoging one arm over Dom Pedro’s shoulder. Neither Mr. Whittier nor the onlookers were embarrassed by this greeting, beeause it was not artificial, pumped-up emotion; in short, it .was not gush, but a natural expression in a foreign but usual-to-the-country manner. But, to return to the poetic tributes, the best of them is by one whose name is little known; ‘his name, Hiram Rich. He calls his tribate AMONG THE MILLS. My eyes beheld the favored hills And saw them as he sung them, Yea, more, O summer day, they met The poet dear among them! Sweet pells of song, 1heard them chime, And tonched the hand that swung them. And though to-day upon those hills ‘The winter-clouds are snowing, Beneath, within their heart of hearts, ‘The riils go on, not knowing; B0 mey our sineet's eongs flow on, i tever winds are blowing. s is really verv sweet, and reminds one in mi%'lc meth o (;('\J')l’hfltler’s “Burns.? e poarest of the tributes is Lon) J 8 he who runs may read below: Hlons; THE TRRXE SILENCES, Thres Silonces there ares the frst of spooch, The second of desire, the third of thought This i tho lore a Spenieh mok, distrangut ma aua visions. was the first to Theso Silences, commingling each with el:‘fi,‘m + Made up the perfect Silence, that he songht Aud prayed for, and whereln at times he canght Mysterions sounds from realms beyond our reach. O ttion, whose daily life anticipates The life to come, and in whose thonght and wora The spiritusl world preponderates, Begmlt of Amest 1thoa too hast heard Voices ard metodies from beyond the gates, ;:d lpmugnl! only when thy soul is stifred! e critic who Jaughs .at Dr. Holland! *icholr of boys ™ suggests that this sounds a5 if the Rev. Joseph Cook had 2 band in it. ‘The best and the most inu:resung portion oi the tribute is the prose portion, use the writers do not mount that frisky stecd Pegasus with a cut-and-dried pi to drive him with 5 :Ifilm:ltznib and rein, u:. dm&ly tell us what ‘wewan! know,—a quaint ancedote or a pleas- ant reminiscence. P THIS, FROM COL. HIGGINSON, IS ADMIRABLE. The apY‘mnh of Mr. Whittier's snventieth birth- day recalls tomind my first interview with him, when he bad attainod ‘little more than baif those years. 1t wasin 1643, when the exateient of the “* Latimer Case™ etill eched througn Massachn- setts, and the younger Abolitionists " were fall of +*the joy of eventfnl living.” I was then 19, and «xvw the poet for the first fime &t &n eating-nonse, day us an ovailable opporiunity for plunder. As the rond was much frequented on these par- ticular days, Susan went backwards and for- wards withoutfear of an encounter with these uncomiortable gentry. 1t was the evene before market-day. Sup- per was just over at the farm, and Mrs. Dale was busy remorving it irom the iarge old-fash- foued oak tuble in the kitchen. A bright fire blazed on the spucious hearth, though it was the end of June, and old Mr. Dale sat in the chimney-corner under the immense chimney, where a_collection of hams hung in various stazes of smoking. (“Now mind, Susan, that you he early for mar- ket to-morrow,” said Mrs. Dale, a3 she seated herself. “Never fear, aunt; D'l be off betimes. Thomas must start first with the two cows nnd the heifer, and Il follow when they're well on their way. Don’t you disturb yours elf in the morning, aunt dear.” “Bless the child, as if I shouldn’t be up and about amainst your startinz! 1 shall see to your breaxxx.qsr.i of courze.” “I wish you'dlet me go, too, mother,” said Ben, the boy before mentioned, who wes whit- 151;:5 astick'at the door. *I know I could help “No, no, no, my dear; you're too ) replied’ his mother, while' the old. man. semay. ing his pipe, said coaxingly: o * Al in good time, mylad; all in good time. ’Lel things Lgrne 915-1 d;z;lelcs.n !l\’li:nl your school- ing now, and you’ ¢ all the better farme alittle book-farning.” el “But su&nosu Susy should mect a highway- man, erandfather. Then I should be of use. }Val:ldn’l. I tackle him just! It would be un.”’ ““Eh, lad, ch! Young folks talk a deal o’ non- sense,’” laughed the old man. * Those gentry you speak of are not 5o easy to tackle, I can tell you.” : “Did you ever meet oni raudfather?” asked the boy.. B “*4y, 2y, and I rode home as hard es I could, with Rim at my beels. But it’s no use o fright- ening Susan, when she’s going to-morrow.” *I'm not {rightened, grandad,” said Susan, going up and kissing the old man. bere ran across and, cominz up unper- ceived, pulled one of Susan's curls, which had tumbled from underneath her cap. | +“Don’t, Bem, you plague!” cried Su- som: and ehe tricd to catch him as he ducked away from her bhand and jumped over a settle, where he sat on the floor n the attitude of & frog, ready to leap if she chose to follow him. But, sceing that she took no heed, he crawled up to her, zud said: What should vou do, Susy, if a footpad mengn un& n‘s;;ed mr“_;'anr money or your life? er whether you' 2 Hn,lha!!‘" you'd call me a plague then? I shouidn’t want yon,” laughed Susan; * for I shonld tell i 9 0 abows-aie b’ and ask what he'd do with my life when he'd ‘Ahl it’s all very finc to be pert now, but l you'll lon fof poor plaguy Ben then, I know:? iind Béu here not only pulled the carl acain, but tweaked the cap of sthe girl’s head. She chught him, snd wds in. the ach of .. admibistering ' punishment by a box on the ear, when fie leaped over her . stooping {orm, and ran up-stairs to bed. The next morning Susan rose at 5, and dressed herself with much care and ncatness. Ben met her a3 she came to the Kitchen-doors and Mrs, Dale, who was already down, begnn to cut Jarge slices of bread-and-butter, end told him to he quiet and get his breaifast. Susan went to sec that her basket of poultry, cgas, and butter was ready packed. % Don't let tie ducks zo for less than six shillings the couple, child,”” said Mrs. Dale, “and stet as much 05 you can for the fowls. Dx}l:l-:?,urc in season, and ought to fetch a good rice. P Susan's & duck herself,” chimed in Ben. *You're a goose, at all events,” rcjoined Sosan, *though I shouldn’t like to have the sclling of you; for you wouldn's_fetch much.” And she sat down opposite the boy apd began ast, the farm-servants coming in soon to get, theirs. ummas started betimes,” said Benj “I heard him go. Malze haste, Susy—eat away.” “There's no hurry, my dear,” said Mrs, Dale, asshe stirred her porridze; “but_you can 2o and see if Jerry’s all ready, and “bring him round.” Jerry was the horse, of resnectableand ancicut appearance and somewhat clumsy build, on which Susan usually made her journeys to mar- Kket. She was a £ood horsewoman, having beon ascustomed to ride about the farm with her grandfather since she was quite a chitd, and she Was rather impatient of Jerry's slow paces, though she kneiy them to bea nécessity on mar- ket-day. . “ Lady, your patfry waits,” cried Ben, bowing at the kitchen-door with mock dignity. “Bless the boy!” cxelaimed his mother; tng's full of fun, I declare. Come snd help Susan with her bastets.” 3 gerry was led to the mounting-stone, which stood in the yard, Susan was duly settled on her saddle, the baskets adjusted, and the horse am- bled away up the wooded lane. “Think of me when you meet the robbers, Susy,” squealed Ben after her, as he pretended to be overcome with grief at her departure. ‘Susan rode along, enjoying the fresh morning and the song'of the birds. The dew twinkled on the grass and lerbage, and the sun glinted through the trees overhead; while the scent of the hay, now being made into ricks, filled the air widn its delicious fragrance. When Susan turned into the high-road she found it full of carts, horsemen, and farmers, all bent on the same errand as herself. It was of no moment wnether she arrived at Hazleton sooner than her neighbors, so she took 1o pains to urge ou the steady-going old horee, and she was soon left alone at the foot of 2 steep ascent. Beforc many minutes had clapsed, a gentle- man on a fine bay horse overtook her. and, rein- ing him in_with difliculty, asked if he were right for Hazleton, ana if it wero market-day there. Susan looked round at him, and was struck with the handsome aquiline face and piercina dark eyes which scemed to read her through. Dressed in the best fashion of the time, his Torse carefally groomed till its glossy coat shone brightly in the sunlicht, he made a mark- ed contrast to Susan on her thick-made, clumsy 2nimal. “You are bound for the market, too, little maid#” inquired the gentleman, ralsing his hat as he spoke. “Yes, sir. All the folks aro golng there a’most, this morning, I think,” answered Susan d what have you there? Chickens and butter?”’ her interlocutor went on to sav. ‘Do you like the business of buving and selling?”? ° It depends on the prices I get forthem,” re- turned Susan quickly. The gentleman laughed, and stopped for a mement_to arrange the leather of nis stirrup more to his iiking: while Susan rode on, won- dering what a well-bred man, on a thorouzn- bred horse, could want at Hazleton on a market- dar. While she mused on these points, ho agaln overtook hes “May { ask your name?” he said. My name i3 Susan Stidolph,” sho answered simply; nud, thoughshe would have given much toask him the same question, she refrained from innate feclings of courtesy. As if he divined ber thoughts, he said: “My name is Hawilton St. John. Do you like it.” “Very much; and what do you call your horse, &ird”? ) “Wildfire: and a famous stepperheis! Good- by, Susan; I hope yow'll zet zood prices for your fowls nnd ducks.” Aund away he sped at o tremendous pace. The market was becoming very full whea Su- san reached Hazleton. and many sounds of life resounded on all sides. Here stood ranges of stalls covered with fruit, heaps of vegetables being piled bebiud in glori- ous confusion. Baskets and coops containing live ponltry lined the interior of the market-place. Iarther on came the pens full of sheep and lambs; oodly oxeni then lorscs of various breeds, sizes, and shapes, colts and ponies, grouped in a Dlace set apart for the purpose. Tins, pans, crockery, and wooden ves- scls atiracted the ~housewives to the centre of the market; and tovs and sweets- stalls kepe tneir venders perpetually on the alert, So attractive were these wares to the children 0f the community. Susan havior met Thomas, and given Jerry iuto his charwe, entered tac market, and did her best to ciect the sale of her poultry; while the farming-man undertook the vendiniz of the cows, submitting his barezins to Susan’s judg- ment before concluding them. The day scon came to a close; all their mar- ketings were atuended with good suceess, and Susan havinz made her parcliases at the dra- per’s—an old friend of heraunt’s, at whoschouse 1y dined on these oecasions—concealed her money, to the amount of thirty pounds fn gold and s, 1 the seccret Dpock- cts of her stays, purposcly made to stow away these tréasures, and mounted Jerry for her ride lhomewards. Very blithe was Susan 2t the result of her day’s work. . The cows had fetened a capital price, and tae heifer alone remained unpurchased. Her poultry was all sold, wnd not a pat of buster remuined iv her baslet. Susan rmined to return by a lane which wouund cirenitously from the Town of Hazleton to the borders of Dingle Farm. By this sic would avoid the society of several ”half-tipsy furmers and rousi hersemen, whose proximity was very undesirable. Jerry siepped out as was his wont when he scented his stable in the fur distance; and Susen hummed to herself as she looked on the beauty of the evening and the scenery around. Bird5 were singing their soft evening lays} shadows fell darkly across the rosd from the overbanging bows; the last rays of the sun gleamed’ brightly through every gap in the hedge: and flecey clouds, tinted with the gay colors of a parrot’s wing, lloated away eastward in the pale-blue sky. Susan had not proceeded two miles when the sound of a horse’s hoofs struck on her ear; and 85 she turned to look up the lane to see who it might be, her well-iressed acquaintance of the morning rode up to ber side and grected her Wwith a polite bow. “Well met, Susan! Why, yow're late from market. 1 hope you've been suceessful.” “Pretty well,” curtly replied the wirl, who was inclined usually to bereserved to strangers. ““Why, you've an” empty basket, I perceive. Do you know I was not so far off as you might thidk; I saw vou while you were making your Dargains,” said tue zeatleman, looking strajzht at Susan with a knowing look. . “Well,” retarued she, raising her eye- brows,” [ had a mnotion that I caught sight of your face oucej but, secing it belonged toa man in s smock-frock, of course I took no heed.” 7 The stranger laughed, and there was some- thing in his maoner which made Susan’ feel un- comfortable. 3 He procecded to ask her numeroue questfons, to which she gave at last only monosyllabic answers; for ‘the courteous manner of Mr. Hamiiton St. John, which had so attracted her iu the morning, had given place to an unpleas- aut familiarity of tone, that grated upon the girl’s sensc of refinement; and she hoped that her disinclination to converse would presently illl;:;(';(; h:in:,whndgflzl, nn(il leave her. fle soon ed on her taciturnity, and ask st s o sons. Hesplmskel o iy ‘1 don’t care to talk » veplicn much to strangers,” she ** But I have told you my name, and you may Judge when you see’a zentleman,” said he. ¢ How do T knotw tnat you are a rentleman?” asked Susan bluntly. *Ithink it’s very bad manners to ask o many questions. At all events, it’s not the way simple folks are taught.” “ Who do you think I can be, then, Susan, my dear?” inquired the horseman insinuatingly, “You may be a hizhwayman, for sught I knor,” courugeously exclaimed the girl, Her companion iaughed loudly and long; and Susan, in_anger and desperation at his per- tinacity, endeavored to urze poor old Ji erry toa better pace. * Whata cried the horseman. “Suppose 1 take youat your word, and ask you, aiter the fashion of Teal highwaymen, to let me look at your **Idon't carry a purse,” replied the girl, now ;1‘:3:,:?;25 ugu:‘a‘ix, :ud’hcligr{:,' that fer 5 s strange behavi without foundation, SE-Eth Mok ““Do you see thisi” said theman, in a jeering CHICAGO TRIBUNE: SUNDAY _tone, drawing o smail pis good guesser you are, my dear!”’ ECERBER 9, I87T—SIXTEEN PAGES. — 1 from his breast- pocket. “It's a little initrument L”carry, to induce people to tell the® truth. Perhaps it }1 make you do s0. Come, out withyour money,” Do added, in a rouph vaice, catching hold of Jerry’s bridle at the same moment. Stsan was a spirited zirl, but she turned pale. ‘They had arrived at a part of the road wherelt sank between high bedges, and a rising ground on either side hid it entirely from view. It was becoming dark, and as Susan looked right and left she heard nothing but the faint oreeze amou;f the trees, and the chirp of the arasshopper dn the long reeds at the roadside, and all idea. of assistanco from a casual passen- ger she kuew to be almost hopeless. Though ?luite faint with terror, she rallied al her comrage, and deter- miued to brave out the attempt of theman to rob her of her mouey. For one moment hope revived. The stran- ger dismounted and passed hia bridle over the low overhanzing bough of an clder-tree, and Susan took the opportunity to whip Jerry into something lilze a trot; but she had not proceed- cd many yards when tho man came running af- 1er, easily overtook her, and, laughing derisive- 1y, led her horse back to tho same spot, where he arnin asked her to deliver up her purse to his care. “Better_do it quietly, Susan, my dear,” he urged. “TIshall takeii by ook or by crook.” Susan still sioutly refused, declaring with many assertions that she carried no purae. “Well, then, we must try what can be done by searciiinz. [v’s a tiresome process, but I'm very paticnt, and not prossed for time to-night.” He lifted Susan out of her saldle as casily a8 if shie had been o baby, unsaddled Jerry, turn- ing him loose to graze as he pleased, and com- menced scarching her baskets. Finding noth- ing but a few parcels of tea, ealico, and ribhon, which’ he carelessty threw down in the road, he next bezged the terrified grirl to remove her hat and cloak, and, coming close to her, began feel- ing for her pockets. - Susan’s indignation knew no bounds; but the laughed, and told her he should ‘means to extract the zold from her, aud, taking out a large clasp-knoife, he said: “It’s such’ n_pity to cut this pretty bodice asunder; but I must, if you are so obstinate. Bless you, doyou think I've been years on the road, and don’t know the ways of you pretty littie maids? The money that was paid for the cow is somewhere about, and am__pretty certain it's in_a particular vocket of your corset. I shall cut vour laces, it you try my patience too long;” and he besan to insert the kaife into the lace of her bodice. Susan, trembling lest she should lose her senses, now made up her mtnd_to part with her money., and assured him that if he would retiro out of sight for a few minutes she would get Ler pocket, and mive it icto his hands. i The robber ‘declared that he could not do that, out that he hada no objcction to turn his back. I don’t want to distress vou, my dear,” he eaid; but he pulled out his pistol at the same time, and stood waiting. The poor girl proceeded to tako off her dress, and, after some Qiiliculty, removed her stays, and, donning her cloald hastily, threw them down before the highwayman. He seized upon them, and, discover- ing the pocket, soon rifled it of its _contemts, and then picked = up her dress, ana began to feel about the linings, to find if possible more bank-notes which mirht be sewn up in them. As Susan stood shaking and irresolute a sudden thought scized her. Catching up Jerry's saddle, which lay on tue ground at her side, she threw It over the hedgo, exclziming, * You shan’t bave It all, at any The thict, off his guard for the moment, and thinking that the snddle tnight comtain the greater part of the spoil. threw down the dress with an oath; and, cirsing frightfully, clam- bered into and over the hedre to recover the saddle. Une of his pistols fell from his coat to the ground; Susan threw it over the opposite bedee, and, releasing the bridle ot the robber’s horse, climbed nimbly by the ald of the stirrup on to his back, passed her right knee over the large pistol holster, and. giving the animal the reins.galloped up the laneat a tremendous pace. Toud curse, and the crack of a pistol, which only caused the horse to increase its speed, fol- lowed: but the bullet mis: its aln. Susan heard it whiz past in dangerous proximity to ber car, and it then lodged harmlessly in the trunk of an old onk by the wayside. Asay flew Wilddire like the wind, with Susan on his hack, and her courage rose every moment, as she remembered that otd Jerry had wandered urazine up the lane, and that it would be im- possible for the thief to overtake ber on the well-bred animal she rode. even if he attewpted pursult. For an fustant, a clattering of hoofs made ber look bastily back; but the ndise was oulv a lumberine attempt on the part _of oud dJerry to follow, and keep up with her. Susan’s hurried “ride off and the shot of the pistal had disturbed his calm grazings, and he turned with a clumsy start before the robber could lay Eold on him. snd, unincumbered by Susan, baskets, or saddle, trotted off at a nove and excited pace after her. Certain now of safety, she uried the beantiful animal she sat t0 its utmost ‘speed, nnd dashed desperately homewards. ““VWhy, here’s a go, mother!” cried Ben, rushing into the farm-kitchen fall tilt. * Mere's Susy tearfur down the lanc like mad! I never thought Jerry could go so fast. Iwas oa the hasrick, and saw her comiuz. She's some- thing white on.” “Susan in white! {t must have been her ghost,” said poor superstitfous Mrs. Dale, putting down her dishes, and turning pale witi apprehension. A great ciatterine of hoofs over the stones of the vard soon divested her mind of this absurd notion; for rattling up to the entrance, hardly refned in at the house-door, came the dary-bay horse, flecked with foam, Laving gallopea for at least five miles at the top of his speed, with the excited. half-clad girl upon his back, It was the work of a moment for Ben to selze the bridle, and hold the ankmal’s head, while Susan aropped, rather than dismounted, futo her aunt’s outstretched arme, and, overcome by ber previous cmotion, burst into tears. ““Gooduess gracious!” cried the zood wom- an, altogether scared, “what ever does it all mecan??” “T've been robbed, aunt! O, dear! all the money’s zone ! and she sobbed s¢ill more. “Poorrirl! " said Ben affectionately, seeing the girl’s almost fainting condition. ¢ Come in- doors, Sy’ Her aunt lod her into the kitchon, and Ben, though s curlous as a kitten, knew enoush about horses to see that the ome he held must not be allowed to stand with his flauks reeking from recent exercise; so he Ied him off to the stable, and, baving fastencd and covered him well up, he returned to the Rouse as quickly as his leirs could carry bim. At this moment all were startled, as old Jerry came bungling into the yard with o clat- terine, uneainly galloo, stripped of his uswal accoutrements. He mado his own way to the stable; aud Ben, enterine the kltchen, found Susan sitting by bis grandfather in tke chimney- corner, while she recounted the adventure she had met with, & Ben was right, you see, and T did meet a blshwayman,’” she said, s her spirits bezan to return.” ** But I'm so gricved to have lost your money. ‘“What does it matter, o long as you're safe, my dear?” said oid Mr. Dale, patting her baad. = “*Why, the horse you were riding is worth more than what you've lost, I'll be bound,” cried Ben. 8 brave, clever trick vou played in riding off on him, Susy! But why was he so vexed about the saddlel Why, of course he thought there was money in it. That’s where robbers hide their Eflln er. I'll be bound there’s something in saddle. T'Il go and fetch it. Hurray!? Otf ran the lad, and, cailing one of the men, desired him to unsaddle the animal and groom him down immediately. . The saddle, whea rémoved, proved too heavy for Ben to carry into the house, and old Mr. Dale, who had Toliowed him to ece the horse, aided him to bring it in. They laid it on the lr;tchcn-t:\blc, and commenced searching it all over. In the padding they found bank-notes amounting ‘to £00, d, trom an art- fully-concealed leather lininz, uoder jthe saddic-flaps, golden guineas poured out in'in- credible numbers on'to the table. “O my eyc!” cried Ben. *Why, Susy, you're the robber, after all!” 0, don’t Ben!™ gaid Susan, begioning to ery. "The nstonishment of the old people was un- bounded. They weut on counting and counting till they arrived st the swn of £1,000, aud thev looked from ome to the otber, scarcely crediting their senses. * Well! ¥ exciaimed old Mr. Dale, *the first thing to be done_is to give this up to the proper owoers. Susau’s notaing to do with ic, Dor have we, But I think it’s our_duty to in- form thepatrol where they are likely to flnd yooder rufian. Deprived of his horse, he cannot proceed far from the spot, avd Susnn may as .well have any reward that Government may bo ready to give; and this {elloyw is very likely to be the man who robbed the Yorkshire coach t'other day. They offer £100 to those that find him.” 0, pray don't, grandfatber,—pray don’t let me be the cause of his being jtaken!” cried Susan mploringly. “ Nonsensc, my. dear!” replied the old man; “when the path of duty is straight and clear before you, you must walk up it. though it’s hard and unpleasant. You don’t wish yonder thief to gake more money, do you, from tiose perhaps who can I} spare {£2" ‘Without delar, Mr. Dale disoatched a man “It’s a beauty, grandfatner! What with a full description of the robber, and instructions to the patrol us to the likehhood of his befug in the neighorhood, ond eariy the nest morning a search was et on foot in all directions by the officials at Hazleton: Within tbree days the potorious thief. Bob Reeve (for such-was his real namo, and that by \which hie was _known on-the rosd), was taken. The patrol had been on his track siace his at- tack on the Yorkshire coach, and had no difll- calty in securing the villain whbeo furnisned by Mr.” Dale with the particulars of Busan’s rencontre with him, and ber” description of his person. e was losged in Greystone jail, and was shortly after couvicted and exccuted. The money found in the saddle was duly handed over to ° Government, Who- offered half _the reward set on the man’s head to Susan, She, howaver, could not bring her- self to accept it, but_cntreated that she might keep the robber's horee Wildfire. Tiis, after 1uch correspendence aud deliberation, she was permitted to do, to her ereat satiafaction, 13 she regarded the beautiful animal as the cause of tier escape from danger, aud perchance death. “I'he money found on the bighiwayman was re- stored to Mr. Dale, and poor Susan’s mind was therefore relieved on this point. She warried - before long a farmer in the uei;fhborhand, aad never ventured to market galn. ~- l"ch was in due time invested with the longed- for cignity of sclline the farm-produce. "fle falled to encounter any gentlemen of the rond, and, as bis graudfather ofteu told him, it was too much to expect two out of the samé family to meet and outwit a highwayman.—Londor Society, Christmas N umber, 1877. CURRENT GOSSIP. IWHAT THE AVERAGE MAN IS LIKE. Man's like a foot-bzll, very much so, I find— Made up of covering stufied full of wind: Hf you kick it in froat, it flies off in fear, And soon it returns with a kick In the rear, Still, man’s like o foot-bal in high life or low: Sometimes he goes quickly, at other times slow; e is up, and then down, through thin and throagh thick; Bat tho speed that ic zoes dopends on the kick, Yet, man's like a foot-ball in another respect: He amounts to bat listle until you inject Jint full of fresh air; then up you can pick him, ‘And think you do servico whenever you kick him. Dut, man's like a foot-ball, the best you can 0 him; If started down hill, then every one kicks him; But, if trying to riso, he wiil suroly find Iiis friends and his enemies hanging behind. That man's hke a foot-ball, there isn't a doubt, Or like some old hat that we all kick about 1t Is not always pradent to give him a kick, For In It thero is ofton & stone or a brick. OAKLAND. T. B. Browsz. TRATN’S LONG FAST, New york Sun. Dec. 4. Georgo Francls Train was found In bed at 5:30 o’clock Jast evening in a small §3 room of the 'Phenix House, Broadway and Twelftn strect, close up under the roof, where the air ispure. He pays32a week only, becouse he took the room last May, when the house was Deing refitted, and submitted to a good many consequent inconventences. The waiter that conducted the visitor to the room looked bright. e carried In his hand a pitcher of water. It was the first drinking water that Mr. Traln had ordered for six days. By the side of the sinzle bed were an apole and a biscuit. During two hours of conver- sation Mr. Train wused the apple onco to illustrate the position of the world as he stood above it on a mountain; but e did not touch the biscuit or take s slp of the iwater. Yesterday morning at 8 o'clock, he said, had completed a period of six davs since he lad taken food or drink. Dr. White had called on him and urged him to eat. Mr. Train’s family then went to him aad urged him to eat some- thing, This was too much. Io could not re- sist their appeal, or rather when it was made hie felt no inclination to resist it. Psycholozy would explatn that, too. So yesterday wore- ing bis family had some ost meal and water pre- pared for him, and he ate about as much as he couid have held inone band. On his way to the house he had stopped at a pump, and was able to drink a little water. At noon he had eaten half a biscuit. That wasall he bad eaten fn six and a balf davs. The biscuit on the table was far his supper. but Le did not care to eat it. e had felt a slight desire for water,aud 50 Le ordered some. It was bis usual bedtime. Heusually remained in bed fourtecn hours. During the six days of fasting ho lost about ten pounds in welght. His eyes. he said, hul lost their peculiar” lustre, and hi nee-joints had become weak, but. after eating a handful of oat- meal, eves and knees alike had been restored to their normal state. It was not the nutriment conzained in the oatmeal that caused this, but the mechanical action of the stomach, which had ceased for want of food, was agalg set go- ingr, and so diseasc was averted. ¢The_time will come,’” said Mr. Train, “*tsyhen [shall be able to fast for thirty days. In the meantime [ have proved three thinas. The first is that ull the storles of terrible ago- ny in starvation I8 2 humbug. Ther are in- ventions of people: who want to glorily tuern- selves because they have an opportunity. As a matter of fact, hard times are a blessing to the country because they cause very many persons to fast from sheer necessity. The sec- ond thing I have proved is_that I, who am not a Christion, but who accidentally have all the virtnes and oralitics of u Cliristian, have really been able to do what the monks only pretended to do. I have really fasted, and have really felt my intelligence and power of prophecy incres . The third thing I have proved i5 that a person who nas fasted six days has no ravenous appetite.” . Mr. Train passed an hour yesterday in his ac- customed seat in Madison square. The keeper said that for two or three days he has ceascd to take his usnal rapid walus about the square. he accompanied enty-third street towards Mr. Robinson of the Pheenix Fourth avenue. house says he thinks Mr. Train had not eaten o morsel from last Tuesduy until yesterday morn- ing. He had noticed that his clothes had be- come very loose around the waist. e thought anotiier man might Lave been put inside of them with Mr. Train. Mr. Train’s son called at the botel several times yesterday to find hin Mr. Train’s usual fare for months past, he say. has been: For breakfast, five penny rolls, five cents, and 2 cup ot coflce, five cents; for din- ner, 10 cents’ worth of potatoes and. bread, and five cents! worth of baked beans; for supper, a cup of coflee, five cents, The total cost per day was 30 cents. HOW TO TEMPER OUR CLIMATE. A writer iu Atlartic Monthly fer Docember, in discussing the North American climate, refers to our natlonal condition as compared with that of Europe, points out the cause, and suzgests sremedy. The buricd tropical forests on the shores of Greenlend indicate that our land was not always as at present the battle ground of bitter cold and burning heat. but was cnce bath- ed in s mildly-heated atmosphere. The cause of this change must be sought, according to the methods of modern sclence, in the eradual ef- fects of somne permanent force. Streams of heat pouring from the sun with nearly equal foree in every direction, are unequaliy distribused over the spherical form of the carth; st the tropics ‘where the direct rays of the sun are received, the cxpanse power of heat causes a system of movements which spread warmth . Iy dorth and south. The principal m diums of this distribution arc the ocean currents, though the winds have some share in the labor. The gulf stream is the most impor- tant carrying agent, and but for it the tropics would be several degrees hotter, the polar cir- cles colder in a corresponding degree, and the world rendered far less habitable. As the ocean currents in going from the cquator to the poles move faster than the reglons they continually euter, their paths arc northeast and southeast; and as this condition is perpetual each ocean keeps within its own basin a circulation of heated waier, very decp at the equator, erowing shatlower and shallower as it spreads tewaras the pole, but carrying even into the arctic circle nearly o5 much heat as is cast there by the rays of the sun. Itis cvident that the ntervention of any body which turns the ocean current from its path will b: a powerful arent of climatic change. It js held, therefore, that the] conformation of the 'two cortinents which causes the Pacific gulf stream sweeping from the coust of Asia, to uselesaly discharge great volumes of beat into the bay formed by the couvermug shores of Asla and Africa, is the principal cause of our unfavorable cliitate. The tropical water is beaten back trom the shores, very little tinding ita way through tho narrow passage of Bebritg Strait. 11 the low districts of astern Siberia and Western Alaska could be sunk a few hundred feet beneath the sea, the Pacific current, like that of the Atlantic, woald flow uninterruptedly to the pole, -the tempera- ture of the Arctic regions would be raised some’ thirty deerees, the vegetation of the Temperate Zone would spread northward, aud vast. forests fvould take the placc of lifeless expanses of snow. andice. Tropical heat would also be lowered, the winds from the north would blow over flelds and woods, not iceberas, our climate would become mild and equable, and the life-sustaining power ofour northern lands wonld be doubled.” The theory e, then, that the gradual lifting of this barrier between the tropical vurrent and the pole has been the refrizerating azent in our ‘climatic changze. And the remedy sugzested 18 the opening of a passage through the Aluskan peninsula, forty fcet - in depth and 100 miles wide. As the dtlantic writer intimates, this is o work of greater magnitude than has ever be- fore been attempted by man, and will not per- haps be effected by the selfish world. Butif nations would use the_life now waasted in their armics and prisons, and the millions squandered thereon, in this undertaking, an opeging for “tramp * labor would be offered, much that is now worthlass would - bo made profitable, snd the world would take a distinct forward step. THOE NEZ%-PERCES. Galwzy for December. The Nez Perce comes into bistery s the white man’s friend. In September, 1805, the Governmental Exploring Expedition of Capt. William Clarke, of the First Infantry,and Capt. Meriwether Lewis, private Sccretary of Presi- dent Jefferson, crossing the Rocky Mountalns, found the various bands of Nez Perces occupy- ing the plain west of the Bitter Root Mountains, and the valleys of the Salmop, Snake, and Clearwater Rivers, where they had been from their eariiest tradition, and where they ail con- tinued till this year of grace 1877. The history of the expedition tells us that when the explor- ers, ““descending the last of the Rocky Mount- aing,” reached a beautiful open plain, thoy came upon an Indian village, ““all of whose muab- itants gathered round to view, with a_mixture of fear and sleasure, these wonderful strang- ers.” Immediatoly they brought ¢ asumptu- ‘ous treat; we returned the kindness of tho people by afew smail presents.” Two miles disiaut was another village, and bere also the party was “grected with great kindaess. The two villages,” continues the account, *consist of about ihirly double huts, and the inhabitants call themselves Chopunaish, or Piercea Nose.™” Among these hospitable peoole the Govern- ment’s party spent upward of twenty days, leaving them then to push on to the Paciic. S0 much had they been impressed with the hon- esty of their new-fouad friends, that toey left their horses with them, to be called for the fol- lowing spring. The soring of 1805 came around. and with it, in April, the _cxploress roturned. ‘Toward the ocean they hiad had hard experience with the Indians; but now, among the Wol- lawollahs, neizhbors of the Nez Perces, they found a welcome ‘‘pecaliarly ac- ceptable after the cold, inhospitable treat- ment lately received.” Passinz on to the Chopuunish villaze, one of the first In- dians they met gave Clarke a ‘‘very elegant mnare, for which all he requested was a phial of ese-water;” another Indian brought two canis- ters of powder, buried by the party in theautumn, which his dog had uncovered—*he had kept them eafely, and bad honesty enough to return them ;" and theo followed the recovery of the burled saddles and the horses left in Chopun- nish charge. When they asked a fat Lorse for u lean one, desiving to cat the former—for the Chopumish lived almost wholly on roots—* the hospitality of the chicf was offended at the idea of an exchange; we might aave as many horses as we wanted. Accordingly, thev soon gave us two fat young horses without askinx anything in return—an act of liberal hospitality much greater than any we have witnessed since eross- ine the Rocky Mountains.” Otner presents of borses arerecorded, both for food and riding. “Finding that these people are so kiud and lib- cral, we ordered our men to treat them with great respect.” q A NERVOUS GIRL’S AFFLICTION. Bostan Post. The case of Miss Agaes Eagan, the operative in a Fall River mill, i3 one of singular interest. Following are the facts of the case a3 near as can be learned: Miss Eagan is a youne lady 19 years of age, wholives with her motber and two Sistérs at the corner of Seventh and Bedford streets, Fall River, and has been employed for some time past in the Granite Mill, in that city. She_is of a very cheerful disposition, pleasant, genial, and obliging,—in fact, tho light of her home and a favorite iwith ‘all who know her. FHer manner is refined and ladylike; in feature and form she is comely, and for one in lher condition she is remarkably intelligent. But for the past six weeks she has appeared like one in a aream, sober, taciturn, and melancholy, as if she had a forehoding of some coming misfortuve. On Tuesday, the Gth inst.. she appeared more cheerful than she had been for some time. She retired at the usual hour. but on arising the pext morninz very mach depressed, and on being queationed 2s to the cause, replied: 1 had a fearful dream Iast night, T thought that I went to tie mill and was talking with one of tho zlrls, and while talking with her I was sud- denly uoable to make any mnoise and did nat speak again, but wasable to hear anythine that was said.” Her friends lauched at ber, and said she was foolish to let such a thing worry her, and endeavored to draw her mind from the subject, but in vain. She con- tinued to talk about the matter while in the house, and on arrivinz at the miltshe told her associates about it, and they also endeavored to show her the folly of her fear, but to no pur- pose. About1 o'clock oné of her chums said to her: ‘ Agmes, are vou going to the party to- morrow nignt?” She replied, ** No, T think not; I do—" andsne was dumb. Her dream was o dream no longer, but a stern reality. Not asoundcould sho make. The shoek was pre- ceded by a sharp tiurling sensation in the throat, extending through the entire system. She 'made known her condition by means of writing, and a physician was summoned, —who ' nromounced the attack a nervous one, and stated that with care <he wonlil recover; that many persons huve lost their voices in the same manner. and advised the use of the electric battery. "But the voung Tady retused to subjeet herself to that mode of treatient, and stated that she was confident if they did she would also lose the sense of sizht and hesring. Since the attack Miss Eagen has recovered her former cheerful disposition, and is apparently as happy and contented as before her misfortune. She has resumed her duties at the and her friends hope that with care she will in time recover her speech. She passes among them s of old, but. her voice Is hushed, and the power to articulate seems to have gous from her entirely. A FATAL DROP. Charleaton (8. C.) Courler. A passenzer from Kingstree, on the line of the Northcastern Railroad, gives the details of o frightful acaadent which occurred at that place on Wednesday last. A traveling show company had stopped at the town for the purpose of re- lieving the natives of all their spare change, and in order more successfully to carry out this prafseworthy objoct had with them a balloon, by means of which oue of the compauy ascend- ed into the alr and went through certain aym- nastic performances. This axhibition was free, of course, and drew an immense crowd. When the lour for the balloon ascension arrived, the town and sur- roundinz conntry werce alive with the natives, mostly negroes, who, never having scen a bal. loon before, looked upon the whole proceeding with a mixture of awe and curiosity. By dint of persuaston tio nezroes consented to hold the rones of the balloon while it was beiuz inflated with hotair. When everything was In readiness aman in a pair of red drawers and a red shirt came out and was cheered lustily. The balloon swayed violently too and fro, and the aeronaut took his scat upon a small bar which dangled from the air ship, and zave the order to cast lpose. The nezrogs loosed their holds wpon t0,v01 will. 1t you receive a blow from o fellow {; 1 Bourbon, can you be said to bave ey pouro N 3 bad a whisky. Customer: “Have my goods lome” Grocer (who had juss Iuid'fl?:;nnn“l!g‘ scales): ““They are on the weigh, sir.” 5 *“Don’t set on me!" exclaimed n low, when, by the lurchine of mi‘f,"f,‘? rf}, looklng customer was_deposited in’ pix ot “Eazscuse mo Honerr," roturued (b gl “sou've run afowl O the wrong chekel e-ate! But Ill not brood over you it take, or lay around this 00D a minutd longer And'he scratched out. i ———— AN EXPLANATION. To'the Editor of The Tribune, Cmioa00, Dec. 8.—We notice in Tridagt TRIBUNE that Mr. Georze Schnelder, Presiden) of the National Bank of Illinols, fs reported a5 naving with us sent a dlspatch to Congressmag Aldrich solicltinz the appofutment of - ypy, Georze G. Guentber as Rexeiver of the Germag National Bank. The article coaveys tk ides that Mr. Schneider has of his own accord ang iz A spirit hostile to the said bank re ¢ the appointaent of a Receiver. ooy e facts are that two weeks ago, anpofatment of Roveivers for the %'x’fir'('uhf}?n.','i: al and Central Nat'onal Bauks was still nnde. cided. we took steos to sezare an appointmenr for Mr. Guenther, who Is & brother-in-law of \fs . Wabl, and earnestle solicited the nss'stancs of Mr. Schaelder, at which time he authorize us to use his name In any telegram we mizht Wish tosend to Mr. Aldrich. Therefore. thinkinz that a Receiver would be apnointed nsa matipr o course for the German Nationel Bank, we used ou cauto the mark forever after—it yon Me. Schncider’s namovwithout ferther talk Witk him. CRRISTIS Wan, Lours Wanr, L ————— T0 S. W. K. Thanke for thy kindly words, just read, come—indeed. Mnst come—from onta kirdly heart; T need Not sav from out a more than kindly faca— High Honor's home—her happy resting-piace, Thay T thank you much. becanse T know yon not: Hence doubly denr. more precions, are they nott Words can he fecble; et they. tao. nabind, Tnlock the besuteons tresnres of the mind. > The heart from shich the hapoy thonzht In words by words exprosead, 2o sweet. i"é’ifl&’! Thence to the basy workshio of ths braln, * Now polished aze=now free from every stain. Just 0 thy words come. nicels deess T Jast smch Fise on Firins tocos fo mearph cA%e Free fzom all potty, nrond, vindictive art. They win their way deep down into the heart, Theso aro the jewels bright that ne'er can fade; God's ovn aweet. wards for godlike soals wer made, Theso arq tho men—no matter this. that erecd— Are loved, belozed—men great and good Indeed, Thanke for thy kindly words! Tneed not tell Tlow mnch I vrize thom—dearly love them well: A sonvenir that, which lasteth for all time— A memory green in Mem'ry's hallowed clims. Joseen D, Teexzr, A Sharp Trick. Nowe’ Tork Tritwae, The most insenions of all mambling tools, the diamond drill. does not always play intn the hands of the Floods, the Sharons, and the Frys, Despite their opportunities for acquiring the first information about the mines, In seven chances outof ten they are disconnted by shrewd stock overators. In every imnortant drift, cross-cut, and winze on the Comstoek there are miners in leagne with specnlators in San Fran- cisen. A notched pick-handle, a rag, ora chio of wood often conveys the rews of a ‘strike from the hottom to the surface. and a cipher dispatch will carrv the tidinzs to the speculators in advance of the Snperintend- cnt’s official teleeram to the officers of the Company. The ease with which the ontsiders zet the advantage over the insiders is fllus- trated by an incident which the Chronlete, of Yirginia City, relates. One Sandar eveninz Mr, Bongnge, of the Tnion, obtained permission of Superintendent Hardy to take some ladles throuch the Ophir Mine. They descended to the 1,900-foot level. and visited the drift shich has since become famous. Without sayinga word Mr. Bonynze put a few specimens in his pocket., and, on assaying them the next morninz, sent a dispatch <-to Robert Shervand, of San Francisco. who rushed into_the street and picked up all the Ophir he conld lav his hands upon. while the hrokers wera wondering why he was doing it. On the same day one of the shift-bosses inthe mine informed the Sunerintendent that there was a chaneein the formation. and, aiter. thrae assays had been made, a report was teletrraghed’ ta Prelidént” Weller. But the news came too late. . Theen- terprising Sherwood had “already bought all the cheap Ophir. R ——— British Tribnte ta America. Désnatch from London. - Society on Friday the President. Sir Joseph Haoker, after a detailed examination of recent scientific investizations in America, safd: 4T must not close my notices of some of the labors of our scicotific brethren in the United States without expressing my admiration of the spirit and manner i which the Govern—ent and the ropes, and the bhlloon shot upward, like an arrow from a bow. To the con- sternation of the crowd, however, it was seeu that one of the nezroes -had become centangled in the ropes, and was belng borne aloft with frightfal rapidity. With a wonder- ful presenco of mind, the_unfortunate darkey grasped the rope with his hands, and. after dis- engazlng his feet, from the rones, climbed up to the bar on which sat the man in red. Instead, however, of remaining upor: this comparativel secure perch, hie et 20 his hold and began slid- ingz down the rope again, and upon reaching the end he let 7o entirely, and was dashed to the carth, haviug fallon through a space of sixty feet. - The crowd “were 'so completely awe- stricken that not one would dare approach the prostrate man. After somo little time, how- ever, several gentlemen who were near by weat up to the negro and found him bleeding pro- fusely from the mouth and apparently uncon- sclous. At the last accounts the man was still alive, but 1 s hardly possible for him to recor- . The acronaut sicceeded in mal fining king a safe QUIPS. Aport of entry: Port-wine. The letter to which bachelors seem most fn- clined: Let ’er be. A serlous man may not be proverbial for wis- dom, though he be a solemn un. When a man complains of fecling **all gone,” 15 it safe to infer that he is “used up”? The girl who Imbibed freely of apple-juice was, for a time therealter, be-vider-self, A whipsaw: Troublo drives & man to -4 drink, and stroog drink drives him into zrsnt;gfi; Before deciding to marry a poetess, mo scrutinize her feet. M‘chrrysc::miuzs‘h::!:?tl}e 2‘1’1‘: Drove. in a measure. well versed. and not; aversa people have eo-operated in making kmown the physical and blolomicnl features of their conatry, and my conviction that the results they have given to the world are—whather for magnitade or importance—areater of their kind than hase been accomplished within the same time by any peoole or Government in the older continents. How great would now be our knowledze of the climate and natara! fentures of India had it3 trizonometrical or revenue survers heen ont in the same catholic spirit, and what scien- tifle literature can England and_her colonles show to compare with that of the United States survoys " AN ALPINE AVALANCHE. *© - Intho summer of 1564, a party of tourlsfs, while visiting the Aips, climbed, with great difficalty, to an elevated and snow-covered plateau, in order toobtain a better view of S s scenery. and contrast the beauty and richness of midsummer below with the bieakness and sterility of midwinter around and nbove them. In play they rolled the mivist snow into larze balls, they crowded it over the cdge of the platenu. In {falling it struck softer saow, which immediately gave way, and soon an avalanche was tearing down the mountain side barying and destroying everything inits course. As the handful of snow became the irresistible - avalanche, 5o the hacking cough with sore thioat and catarrh, If neglected, specdily develops into that dread destroyer,. consumption. In the ecarly stages, Dr. Sage’s Catarrh Remedy will effect & cure, though if the blood be afected or impoverished it ovist be purified and enriched by Dr. Pierce’s Golden Medical Discovery, a0d the liver and bowels kept active by his Pleasant Pargative Pellets. Many who despaired of life and tiad been given up to dio by ohysicians and (;Ionds, owe their restoration to the above rem- edies. Etr, Lion Co., Ia., May 8, 1877, Dr. PIERCE, Buffalo, N.Y.: Dear Sir—I was prostrated some three years since with pleuro pneumonta, which left me With a troublesome cough that gradually grew worse untll physicians gave me up to dle with consumption. I tried several remedies that are advertised to cure consumption, but without obtaining any relief or bencfit. Secine your Golden Medical Discovery and Pleasant Purga- tive Pellets advertised, I concluded to try them, and Iound them to be all”that vou claim for them. My restoration has remained comolete for over two years. Inclosed find 31.50 fora copy of your Common Sense Medical Adviser ZEver gratefully yours, JAsON C. BALTHOLOYEW. PERSONAL, ERSONAL-MAR! 2 NG, USUAL PERSONAL-SARIE: SUNDAT EVENING, USU: PERSONAL—A GENTLEMAN OF REETN E,\IPEZ&' [y Tripaciires s soung lady acquaintance. ~ Addresa ERSONAL—NEAE] ETEOTH P R g YEAELY COMPLETED. THETE PERSONAL_LADY CORRESFONDENT WANITED by a former resid 2 dress FRANK ©. TEATON: Cluctastt, b, U0 cao- Address FIE PERSONAL-HARRT EOEMY. WITO WAS IN 102 liquor buslaesa in thiscity fn 1562, ts wanted o Bear something to hisadvantace. AddressQ 30, Trib- JPERSONAL =~ TWO FORLORN YOUNG MEX would llke to correspond with a_similaz namber of Joung Iadies. Addreas T 16, Tribuge otfco. PERSONAL—A WEALTHY YOUNG GENTLEMAY gy S0 ki e O Sediaiiies of 1 Tomg clate o contdeace Q 9, Trbune ofiee. o o ERSONAL-TWO RESPECTABLE TOUNG MEN, B SE D s Tontint Jouot Rigomt Ob: “iooking young widows. Ob- Joct: amuaement. SHiaiosns ma TounE MU very & L. . cssentlal. Address Q 53, Trib: offic: PRINTING ATEE NEY, IYPESTOSE, ~ PAPER COTTING Tan. warin 28 50 BT ARG ik resldnaces At tho anniversarf meeting of the Rovil - -