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About Oregon City enterprise. (Oregon City, Or.) 1871-188? | View Entire Issue (Jan. 18, 1877)
-A 1 1 5 if K t TO DEVOTED TO NEWS, LITERATURE, AND THE BEST INTERESTS OF ORECON. VOL- 11- . OREGON CITY, OREGON, THURSDAY, JANUARY 18, 1877. NO. 13. ! 1 f Q ? i X o f - THKMTEItrRTSE. " A LOCAL XlVSPA PER KOIt THE Farmer, Business Man, and Family Circle. 1 S S U E 1) E V E 11 Y F KID AY. i" it a k . i i : 3i j: i" , O rilOPKIKTOlt AX'U PrjlI.ISITLK. OFFICIAL PAFES F03 CLACKAMAS CO'JKTY. OFFICE In Exteki'KISe Building, one door south of Ma-sonic Building, Main street. TerniM of MubKri-lptioii : Single copy, on; year, in advance Single cop,), six months, in advance... Terms of Al vertloliie : Transient advertisements, including all legal notice.-., per square of twelve lines, one veetr g . 1 50 00 1 Oiiu column, one year , ... Half " " Oaartcr" " Business Card, one square, one year 120 00 01) 00 40 00 12 00 S OC I E T Y iVO 77 C FS . om:(;ox i.oixji:, Xo. , I. I. X. o. O. F., meets every Thursday even in jr, at 3 j o'clock, iu the Odd lo 1 lowa' Hall, Main street. Mcinbt rs of the Order are invited to attend. Itv order of iti-:m-:ccA iixiui:!: lodge, No. 2, I. O. (). F., meets on Second and Fourth Tin i evenin-ra of each month, at the ,d -i o'clock, in the Odd Fellows' H.ll M'-inbera of the Degree are invited to attend MUIUXOMAll LODui:, Xo. 1, A. F. &A. M., holds it regular com i .i.f.iu.tiA! r-;., .,..,1 ti.:..,i fioin the '20th of September to the '2016 of March; and 1A o'clo. k. from the 20th of March to the '20th of September. brethren in good standing are invited to at tend. Hv order of W. M FALLS I:NCA3II3II:NT, Xo. I. O. O. F., meets ut O. Id Fellows' Hall on the First and Third Tuesday of each month. Patriarchs in good stand ill nre invited to attend. J. W. N0RRI3, h y w i c i t it i n (1 Surgeon. OFFICE AM) residence: On Fourth Street, at foot of Cliff Stairway tf CHAS. CAMIV. - KNIGHT, - - ohk;on. Physician ami Druggist. t-r?l'rescriplions carefully tilled at short notice. ja7-if PAUL BOYCE, M. D., 1 Ii y s i o i ii a ii 1 Surgeon, Okeoon City, Oreoon. Chronic I)iscasea and Diseases of Women and Children a specialty. Olllee hours dav and night; al wavs Aug. 25, ' ready when duty calls. rutf DR. JOHN WELCH, ID IE IT T I S T . OFFICE I.V ici-:;4' city, oiti:(;. Highest cash price paid for County orders. JOHNSON & McGOWN. Attorneys an! Comiselors at Law. oiik;i itv, oitK(;o. Will practice in all the Courts of the State. Special attention given to eases in the U. S. Land Office at Oregon City. raprlS72-tf L. T. BAR1N, ATTORNEY AT LAW, ft o oiti:o city Will practice in all State. the ('ourts of the Nov. 1, lS7.Vtf W. H. HIGHFIELD, IC3ta.Tolisl3.ec3. since '49, One door North of Pope's Hall, MA IX ST., O It KJ .', CITY OKEGOX. An assortment of watches. Jewelry, d-7 and Seth Thomas' Weight Clocks, all tltr2of which are warranted to be as repre Fented. -(Repairing done on short notice; and thankful for past patronage. ali ttl for iniiily Orl-f. JOHN M. BACON, DEALER IX l nxx? W'! PICTURE FRAMES, MOULDINGS o AND MISCELLANEOUS GOODS. MABE T"0 OEBE3. Okegon City, Oregon. At the Tost Office, Main Street, east fid- novl-'75-tf IMPERIAL MILLS. LaRotipie, Savier & Co., OREGON CITY. Keep constantly on hand for sale Flour, Miuaungs, jiian ami Chicken Feed. Parties purchasing feed must furnish the sack. J. H. SHEPARD, Boot and Shoe Store, One door north of Ackerman Bros. J-iTUoots and Mioes made and repaired as ejieujj us me eueupesi. Nov. 1, l7.Vtf MILLER, CHURCH & CO. ij.n hie, iiUiiltST PRICE FOR At all times, at the O HILTON CITY 31 ILLS. And have on nana t t.t.l) and FLOUR to bell, at market rates must furnish sacks. Parties desiring Feed novl2-tf TO FRUIT-GROWERS. 'IMlh ALDEN FKUIT PRESERVING A. Company of Oregon City will pay the HIGIIEST MARKET PRICE For PLUMS, PEARS and APPLES. -Mr. Uios. (.barman is authorized to pur chase for the Company. t,,. L- 0 :- EATOURETTE, Pres't. 1 1 wo. c 11AK.MA.N, Sec'v. Oregon L'ity, July '2H, lST-tf OREGOFc'iTY BREWERY. HENRY IIUMBEL, TTAV1NO purchased the above if, e,!"J:iillM to inform the .r," ' v", Iie 'snow prepared to manufac -'v i quality of IA9BR Rm5. dnt5 "n. UJ ywhere in tU v.-. ow.iweu ana promptly filled. Lute October. How peacefully the siinlii;ht fell Across the woodland's pleasant reaches, nd like a shower of gilded rain The leaves dropped from the golden beeches. Far down the shadowy aisles I heard An undertone of plaintive sighing, s if the waning Summer wept For all her glories dead and dying. The golden-rod, with drooping plume. Has lost its aureole of gladness; The starless mullein by the road Dropped down its seeds like tears of sad ness ; The far-off hill, veiled like a bride, Seemed wedded to the sky immortal, And through the sunset's golden gate. There flashed ihe gleam of lieaven's portal. O peaceful hour, O faith renewed. That touched the fading earth with sweet ness And lifted up my heart in thanks For life's glad measure of completeness. Though dead leaves rustla at my feet, And all the fields are brown and sober, The heart may blossom with new hope Beneath the gray skies of October. A Very 01 l Son;. "To-morrow, ma, I'm sweet sixteen, And Billy Grimes, the drover, Has popped the question to me, ma. And wants to be my lover; To-morrow morn, he say, mamma, lie's coming here quite earl-. To take a pleasant walk with me, Across the field of barley." "You must not go, my gentle dear, There's no use dow a-talking; You shall not go across the lield With Bill' Grimes a-walking. To think of his presumption, too! The dirty, ugly drover I wonder where your pride has gone, To think of such a lover!" "Old Grimes is dead, you know, ma'am, And Hilly is so lonely! Besides, they say, to (J rimes' estate That Billy is the only Surviving heir to all that's left; And that, they say, is nearly A good ten thousand dollars, ma And six hundred yearly!" "I did not hear, my daughter dear, Your last remark quite clearly, But Billy is a clever lad And no doubt loves you dearly; Remember, then, to-morrow morn, To be up bright and early, To take a pleasant walk with him Across the field of barley!" For Twenty Years. It don't seem much of a. story to tell, Y"ou though it was a tough one to Jive. see it was more than twenty years airo that my twin brother and I sold out our homestead in Xew York, and went to California to seek our fortune. All the rest of the family were dead, and we two were the more attached to each other for that. Well, we tried mininjr. and we tried everything we could think of, but noth ing seemed to prosper with us; we only grew poorer and poorer. t inally, we thought of the idea of sepa rating, so as to work two fields at once, before the last of our capital was crone. There was great talk just then of some new gold region, and we agreed that one of us should jro there and try his luck. while the other staid in San Francisco, and carried on a little business we had started there. Of course, everything was in partner ship. I never thought of an interest separate from his, and he, I knew, felt the same. Well, the question arose, w hich of us should go. It wasn't very tempting, the mining life,aud neither of us whs anxious for it, and so we drew lots to see who should go. The lot fell to me. There was another reason why I didn't want to go, besides the uncomfortable life, but I would not tell Rob; for I would not drive him off to the mines, and I knew his generous heart so well, that I was sure he would insist if he were aware of all. But well, the truth is, in a word, I was in love, and I couldn't bear to leave my dainty Susv to fight the world alone she was a music teacher, poor thing! nor for other fellows to fall in love with. However, I submitted, of course, to the lot and made my preparations to go. It was a sad heait that I bore around to Susy's rooms that night, and I coukln t hear to -tell her: but. bless you I she no sooner saw my face than she knew some thinsr was coming, and she braced her self up to meet me before she asked me a question. Alter we Had spoken ot me weather, and the book 1 had brought tier the day before, at last she said, qu;et:y: Well, Ralph, what is it' L kuow you have bad news for me." 4 It's bad for me, Susy, and I'm afraid it will be bad tor you: though you kuow I couldn't go on, and she spoke again, brave as she always was: "Ralph, you know I'm used to mis fortunes. Tell me at once." So I told her, and she bore it nobly as i knew she would though l was me only friend she had in Sau Francisco, except her pupils. Hut I had thought of another plan to make my trririir a little easier. That was to make her my wife bef re I left, so as to leave her in the care of Rob,and relieve her from the hard life she was living. After some persuasion she consented to it. So, a day or two afterward, we three I had told Rob went into a quiet church, and Susy was given to me to cherish aud protect till death. - Brave little woman! how trustingly she give me her heart, and how baselv I failed her! How ready I was to be lieve " But let me go back. I took her to our cosy boarding-place, which was in deed a home to us, installed her as its I mistress, made every provision that love could suggest for her comfort, enjoyed j the bliss of a few hours honeymoon, andi thon left her. I I needu't speak of that. It was hard, 1 1 tell you. I Ah, well! I'm an old man now older uy sorrow than uy years: but I shall never forget the fresh, dainty look of my darling, as I left her on the steps that bitter day a bride in the morning, a widow at night. And I never did for get it through all the black years,though it seemed the very memory of it w ould drive me mad. Well, I went to the mines, and I tried faithfully, eagerly, for my heart was longing to get back to her. But I could not succeed. Malls were not then estab lished, so I did not hear from my two dear ones; but all the harder I toiled, for never a thought of doubt entered my mind. I was only too glad to have my dear brother to care for her, and save her from all rough contact with the world. Finding no luck iu the mines, I de termined to push on into the Indian country, and try a little huntiug and trapping for that was good business then. I succeeded a little better at that, but wandered on, and finally came out at Grazer river, where the had broken out fiercely. cridil n vri fivwnfr I don't kuow now whether it was mouths or years days and weeks were alike to me for a long time but at last I was successful, and got together five thousand dollars iu the yellow dust. Of coarse, my only thought was of my w ife, and I seized the first opportunity to send off the treasure. A miner, going home, willingly took charge of my little pile, and soon I be gan to look for letters. Bo'o's I could easily imagine noble, manly, like himself. Susy's I thought of, and tried to fancy, hundreds of times, for I'd never had a letter from her. 1 knew it would be delicate and dainty, aud like my pretty snowdrop. Well, well, fancies may do very well, but they won't feed a hungry heart. Day after day passed by, and no letters. My soul grew sick. I made all sorts of excuses for them. I imagined all sorts of delays. But the long, dreary da-s went by with leaden feet, and not a word came to the wanderer. I grew morbid aud bitter, and at last I wrotj to an acquaintance iu Sin Francis co, asking for tidings of my brother and wife. The friend was not so neglectful as the wife and brother. Soon too soon I got a reply. I can see it now in letters of fire. "-My dear fellow7," it ran, "I have made inquiries, as you requested, about your wife and brother, and I can only find that they dis ipjearcd from here a few months ago, telling no one whence they were going, but evidently having plenty of money." "What more the letter contained I never knew; that much of it was burned into my brain, and at that point lost my self. They do say I was a raving maniac. Perhaps so; I don't know. I only know I found myself an old man, blasted before my time, like a tree struck by lightning. Yet I could not feel angry. How could I biamchini! as I not mad to leave him, with his loving heart, to care; for a tender young beauty like my Suy ? How could he help loving her? Wasu't she all that was lovely? He was not to blame, poor lei low. And she? Did she not love me, and was he not my twin-orotiieif What so strange, that, seeing his love, she should to return it ? What should I d ? Should I search them out, and blast their lives for ever? Should I come with my ignoble revenue mil tear her from his aims? Would she love me for it? Should I tret back mv wife and brother? Oh, no! I had been gone long enough to give her divorce she had undoubtedly trot it. and was even now his wife. His wife! Oh, God, and I could live! Weeks, mouths, years, dragged on. I scarcely knew they passed. Mechani cally, I worked on. lortune, no longer sought, showered gold ou me. I cared naught for it, but instinct prevented me from throwing it away. Gambling was utterly repugnant to me. Xo form of dissipation lured me. I was an old, o'd man at thirty. I only worked and thought, and lived over the old days my ore brief day of perfect joy. I never cursed them. The hurt was too deep and too sharp for curses. From the depths of my torn heart I pitied them. Well, twenty years rolled on, and I had got to be forty-five years old, feel ing and looking more like sixty-five, bent and stiff and gray-haired. One day, in my wanderings, I came on a traveling party of miners, bound to the gold regions. I joined them, frontier fashion, and was soon seated at their fire, exchanging news of the Indians and from the States. I chanced to meution my name. "We've got a namesake of yours in camp," said one fellow. "Have you?" I said carelessly. "It isn't a common name." "Xo; and that's why it's odd," said he. "Besides, you somehow remind me of him, though you are much older than he By-the-way, there becomes!" I turned something, I knew not what, shot through me; I rose, and knew my brother My heart gave one great bound. I for-o-ot mv wrongs. I saw only my dear other self, the companion of my boyhood I sprang forward. "Robert! dear old boy! is it you?" TT looked at me eagerly incredu lously. "Raluh! it can't be you!" "Tt is!" I cried, aud well, I don't know as I'm ashamed of it I embracei: him like a school-irirl and wept. And so did he. Door fellow, though he ci.uld hardly believe the wrecked old man was his brother. But what struck me, even then, as fifronrM. h.a did not shrink from me, nor art as though he had injured tut "Robert." I said, wheu we were alone and calmer. "I've forgiven you long ago We won't speak of the past let me oniy j be happy in the bliss of seeing you once more. I'll never come around to trouble you." "Forgive me?" he said inquiringly. "I don't understand. You'll never trouble me and we'll not speak of the past? Why didn't you write to us, Rilph? Your poor little wife " 'Don t speak oj her! 1 cried in sudden agony. "I can bear anything else spare me that!" t uBjt, Ralph, there's something very strange here. Why didn't you let us hear from you? Why cut I speak of her Since you are not dead as we sup posed why did you desert her?" "Desert her! My God!" and I fairly laughed. A horrible laugh, I d iriAay. for Rob ert turned pale. I could see he thought I was mad. I resolved to control myself, and since we inut have it out, talk it over. So, after a turn or two, I came back, and stood by him once more. "Xow, Robert, if there is any mistake here, let us understand it at once. I left you, twenty years ago, in charge of my wife, in San Francisco " "You did, and I " "And you," I interrupted, "took good care ot her, and did not hear from me; and she grew tired of waiting, and loving a shallow ; and you and you loved her !" "Hold!" lie shouted, his eyes blazing. "Who told you that infamous lie?" "Aud she," I went on, not heeding hi in "she grew faint and tired; and she saw your love, and she returned it." Robert seized my arm as though he would murder me; but I went on, coolly: "Hush, till I have doue. When you re ceived the money I sent, you were too far gone to go back. She got a divorce; you married her, ami left the city. I don't blame you." "Aud you ! you've believed this tiling for twenty years?" he said, calmly now, though it was the calmness of a smoth ered volcano." "I have." "You have for twenty long years be lieved that your wife aud your brother w ere infamously false to you ?" "I have." "Then, hear me, Ralph, while I swear" and his form seemed to fairly dilate, and grow grand, as he said "solemnly, that the whole story is a most infamous falsehood! That your wife is as true to you to-day as she was the day you left her, twenty years ago!" "What do you mean ?" I cried, franti cally, overwhelmed by his manner and Ids words. "What I do say, Robert. Oh! there has been some great mistake! Hear my story. After you left us, I struggled on with the business, though not succeeding very well. Susy drooped at first, but soon grew cheerful, and began to jlan for your return." His words brought the dear little crea ture so plainly before my eyes, that I sauk to the ground, aud covered my face. "As weeks and months and years passed on," he went on, slowly, "her cheeks grew thin and pale, and a hungry look came into her eyes. I saw she was pining, and wrote letter after letter to you, but no word could we hear. There 1 came to me in a simple envelope, directed .1. 1 - . .3 1-A C 1 .1 .. ... 1 to ooui oi us, u uran oi live inousanu lol'ars, with not a word to tell how or from whom it came. Of course we knew it was from you, but whether gift or leg- icy, who could tell? "We instituted new inquiries. Xoth- ing that love could suggest was left un- lone. At last we were forced to conclude you were dead. By my advice the money was invested in a farm some distance from San Francisco, and Susy went to ive on it, while I started out on a sort of vagabond, wandering life, in hopes at least to find your grave for we never be lieved you could be alive these long years and never let us hear. That life I have lived for fifteen years, returning once iu three or four years to see to the comfort of Susy; and now I find you " "Y'ou find me," I interrupted, "a wreck a miserable wretch, who has blasted three lives by his criminal weakness, his childish credulity iu believing evil, and who will soon rid the earth of his pres ence, and l started to go, tor verily de spair had seized upon me. That I should have believed that hor ror lor so many years, ana una it all a stupid mistake; that I should have thrown away my life, the blessed love ol my true wife, the warm affection of my brother, for an idle scandal! It was too much to endure. Kobert laid a detaining hand on my arm. "But Susy, Ralph ! what shall I say to e loving little worn in who has suffered so much lor you?" "Let her still believe me dead," I said gloomily. .Nay, brother; let me rather restore you to her. Ralph, go home, and let u be so happy together as to partly make up for these years of mistakes and error and gnet. Well, he persuaded me, and soon I was eager enough myself. Xow the gold I had despised was valuable, as it could add to Susy's comfort. I gathered it up, and we started lor home. Home! I had not spoken the word for fitteen years. As we went, R bert fried to prepare me ior a change in Susv. "She has had a life of sorrow as well as you, R ilph, and you must remember she isn't the girl of eighteeu you left. She is nearly forty years old." as i drew near, i seemed to grow young again, and I wanted to rush through without stopping a moment Bat Robert refused; and he wanted to get me into civilized clothes, and under the hands of a barber. He wouldn take such a wild man of the woods home to the little, waiting wife. So we stopped a few hours in San Francisco. I had my long white hair and beard trimmed, and my dress arranged to suit Robert, and hastened on toward home. As we approached the blessed spot where my darling lived, I could scarcely breathe, and I dreaded to frighten her to death. In sight of the house, I sent Rob ert ahead to tell her, and I basely hid in the shubbery, where I could look into the J window There she was ! the same dainty figure the same lovely face; but dressed, oh, my God! in widows weeds, and her bon ny brown hair thickly sprinkled with silver. I saw the rapid, eager conversation. I saw the color coins quickly to her face, then leave it pale as death. I saw Ler turn to the door and fly. And I sprang to meet her. and and Well, I can't tell about that. And what said the little woman, when he knew that I had staid away all these ong years, had blasted her file disap pointed my brother's life love, made deep misery for four, by my stupid belief of a piece ot gossip that, even to hear repeat- d, she shrank from as though, it would wither her? I always knev sh'i was an ingel. She sai l, though with quivering ips and tearful eyes: 'Dear Ralph, let us speak of it never gam. it was a dreadful mistake. Let us bj happy iu the years we have yet to ive, and leave it to another hie to adjust the errors of this." A Talk About the Stars. It is very pleasant to know the stars to be able, like Milton's hermit, to "Sit and rightly spell Of every star that heaven doth show." And it is not at all difficult to learn all the chief star-groups or coustellations,as they are called if only the learner g es properly to work. Perhaps I ought rather to say, if the teacher goes properly to work. I remember, w hen 1 was a boy about twelve years old, being very much perplexed by the books of as tronomy, and the star-charts, from which tried to learn the stars. I here was Bonuycastle's Astronomy," with a very pietty picture of oue constellation An dromeda in which, if one looked very carefully, oue could perceive stars, though these were nearly lost in the carefully shaded picture of the Chained Lady herself. Another book which I found in my father s library showed a series of neat pictures of all the chief constellations, but gave no clear informa tion as to their wherabouts. Aud the charts which I found were not at all easy to understand, being, in fact, the usual star-charts, which give nointorma tion whatever about the places of star- groups on the iky of any place at auy time. So that it was only by working my way from the Great Bear to constel lations close by it, then to others close by these, and so on, that I slowly learned the chief star-groups. Xow the aucieuts, when they called a group of stars by any name, really im agined some resemblance between the star-group and the figure after which they named it. 1 have heard it said that the liveliest imagination cannot form ligures of familiar objects out ot the tars; but this is certainly a mistake, for I know that when I was a lad, and be- ore I had learned to associate the stars with the constellations at present in u-e, I used to imagine among the stars the figures of such objects as I was most fa miliar with. In the constellation of the Swan, I saw a capital kite (it is there to this d iy.) In the Great Bear, I saw the figure of a toy very common at that time in England, representing a monkey that passed over the top ot a pole, the three stars forming the handle oi the uipper made the tail of the monkey; aud if you look at the Dipper iu the position it now occupies iu the early eveniug, you win readily see the figure of a climbing mon key, in Perseus 1 could see a garland oi flowers such as my sisters used to make. Orion was a climbing giant wheu rising, but took the attitude of a giant going own hill as he passed over to the west. In the Serpent-Bearer and Serpent I saw monstrous sword, shaped like the curved saber which Saladin wielded; aud so forth. Xo doubt, in the iulaucy f astronomy, or perhaps of the world itself, men w ere fancilul in the same way, aud the figures they assigned to the star groups really seemed pictured in the sky. The idea of separating the coustellations one trom another was a much later one than that of merely naming the more re markable star-groups. It one set of stars seemed to resemble any object, aud an other set to resemble another object, I think the corresponding names would have been given even though some stars of one set were included within the other set. Iu fact, I think this very constella tion of the Dragon seems to me to show- that our modern constellation ngures have been largely reduced in extent. Y'ou may, perhaps, think that it mat ters very little what figures the ancients really imagined among the stars. But you will be disposed t think differently when 1 mention that tne supposed want of resemblance now between the star- groups aud the figures assigned to them, has led some to form the bold idea that there was once a strong resemblance, but that some stirs have gone out, others have shone forth more strongly or are altogeth er new, aud that thus the resemblance has been destroyed. When we remember that our sun is only one among the vast number of suns, it becomes rather a seri- ous matter ior tne lunaoitanis oi xne earth if so many suns have really changed For, in that case, our sun may soon change in his turn, and either broil us up with excess ot heat, or leave us to prisii miseraoiy irom extremity oi coiu. How ever, I think the explanation which have given shows that the resemblance formerly imagined still remains, and that it is oniy because modern astronomy has i i.i i - i?ji .... uocKea tne oimeusions oi tne old riures that they no longer correspond w ith their names. bf. JS tcholas. Population' of KcsstA. It is antici pated that the population of Russia iu 1833 will amount t 90,000,000. At the last census there were eighty-five mil lions, apportioned among religions, as fol lows: Fifty-nine millions Greek Church eight millions Roman Catholics, four nilliions Pr..testiuts, three millions Jews aud seven millions Mohammedans. It is only by labor that thought can be made healthy and only by thought that labor can be made happy, and th two cannot be separated with impunity A Sad Picture. Correspondents sent to Servia and Bul garia give fearful accounts of the horrors of the Eastern war, with all the insepara ble incidents of social and domestic af fliction. One writing from X'issa to the London Standard describes the field of the dead after the last great battle there : Xear an Adjutant lay two photographs, which must have slipped from his dying hand; one represented the dead man, but iu the uniform of a Russian major or colonel, and the other a young woman with fair t reuses, a prominent nose and light-colore 1 eves. Tne photograph had been taken in Moscow; on the luck of the man's stood iu pencil Xicolay Komoff. I know not in what relation the woman stood to the oili'er; but whether wife, sister or betrothed, it is certain his last thoughts were of her. Xt far from him lay the body of another officer, his right hand pressed ou his breast, where the splinter of a shell had hit him, and grasping a piece of paper. A strong man, he appeared to have strug gled long with death, his face, which had the unmistakable Russian type, be ing distorted from pain. It was with difficulty that the paper was removed from his hand. It was a letter, without date, in cyrline writing, and evidently from a child's hand. Colonel Mehmed, who was once in the Russian service (he is a Circassian from Daghesban, subje cted by Russia more than fifty years ago), and understands Russian, trau-lated the let ter into Turkish, and then one -of the Cossacks, a Pole, who had beeu brought up in France, g ive me the contents in French, as follows: "De.viiest Fat ii eh Be good enough, dear est father, to crime back from the war. Since you have been away mother weeps con tinually, and she dreams every night that thou best dead under a tree. Come to us. dear father, for mother has become so pale. and is always crying. I am very good, so that she may not cry $W more, and when thoucoinest back will remain good,and never be naughty again, but thou must come soon, father, and must kiss mother, that she may become red again, aud also kiss thy 1 it- tie Miiika." Gloomy Winter Prospects. The present is beyond doubt the gloomiest winter prospect that has been known in -New rk since the war. do not mean in the ordinary social sense, as allecting the silken circles ot fifth avenue and Murray Hill; but with reference to the poor, the working classes md the small trades-people all over the city. Business lias been steadily grow ing worse since the election aud there is no likelihood that it will improve while the great political question remains un decided. The hope that confidence aud prospeiity were surely returning hat- been fashed to the ground, and a leeling of anxiety and painful suspense now seems to possess the whole business community. Xo man knows what the hual issue will be, but all classes regard the future with doubt and uneasiness. This, however, is not exactly the point. What I mean to say, without any beating l round the bush, is, that we have every indication of a hard, and probably a dis- tstrous winter. The ranks of the unem- iloyed are steadily increasing, business it the small stores has fallen off so much that storekeepers can hardly pay their rent, already the station-houses are thronged nightly with persons looking for shelter, and several instances have re cently occurred of respectable working men and workingwouien applying to magistrates to send them to the alms house to escape starvation. An utter irostratiou of spirit seems to prevail, iu consequence or late political develop ments, and it is almost certain to continue through the winter. The poor that is, the working people who cannot get work o do will need more assistance during the next three months, to keep them barely alive, than in either of the past three winters, all of them severe on this class. The outlook here in the metrop olis is certainly discouraging iu the last degree, and since the setting in of cold weather much actual suffering has taken olace. A change for the better may pos sibly come, but the present aspect of af fairs does not warrant mucn expectation of it. Cor. of Detroit Free Press. A Grave Mistake. As a resident of Woodward aveuue stood at his gate yes terday morning, a boy about thirteen years old came along with a snow-shovel on his shoulder. "Ha! boy come here want a job?" called the gentleman. "Sir!" answered the boy with creat dignity. "Pitch the snow off my walk and I'll give you a quarter. " continued the Avenuer. "Sir! you don't kuow me," said the lad as he marched on. "I am on my way to clear the walks in front of mv father's fourteen lots up here. All our eighteen orses are lame, aud our gold-mounted snow-plow is out ot order, or else vou wouldn't see me carrying this shovel around. I'm offering five dollars to any one who will carry it up as far as Parsous street.' Detroit Free Press. A Fox Story. The York (Penn.) Daily says a farmer set a trap to catch a cun ning fox which had beeu annoying him considerably by its miduight visits among the poultry. For fourteen successive visit to it he found the tran SDrunr. a stick ot wood between its j tws, and the bait eaten L f t up. fie circumstance, so olteu repeated, surprised him. There were no other tracks to he een but his own and those of the fox, and w ho sprung the trap was a ques tion that mizzled him sorely. By contiu- uiufr to rebait his trap, he Hoped to eaten the author of the mischief. On the fif teenth night he found a flue old fox hung to it bv the nose, and in his mouth was a stick of wood ! Tic- fnirral.. not mean: patient, not subtle: complaisant, not servile; active in business, but not its slave. There are Ur four other habits which are essential ly necessary to the happy management of temporal concern; these are punctuainj accuracy, steadiness and aispatcn. "Washington City is full of pickpock ets. (Xo disrespect to Congress. Crazy Horse Fursned. Powder River Expedition, Xov. 15. Two days' marching, over the dreariest country ever gazed upon by human eye, has brought us to the South Fork of . Cheyenne river, here a desolate looking stream of muddy water, boidjred by banks of yellow clay too barren and life less to produce even sage, brush. Along the bed of the stream grows a lew cotton woods, sufficient, fortunately, to furnish fuel for the night to the command. Hap pily the weather is mild, although a strong wind from the noithwest made to day disagreeable for travelling. The roads are good aud we reached camp early in the day. So far the march has been without incident, other than the usual trifles that become magnified into more or less importance in contrast to the utter monotony of such a march and the total absence of auy outside matters of interest. The Indians, scattered far over the bluffs on the flanks of the com maud, succeeded in shooting a few an telope. The arrival of one of them in camp with game of any kind is greeted by a fiendish yell from his fellows, who surround him, knife in hand, and cut and slash and pull at the carcass until it is literally torn to pieces before he can alight from his pony. Any capture of the sort is common properly and the In dian who can get the biggest slice is the lucky man. They receive the same ra tion that is issued to the troops, but are always hungry. As a precautionary measure they are issued but one day's al lowance at a time, otherwise a week's al lowance would vanish in forty-eight hours. Their capacity is enormous, al most incredible. Last summer I trav eled through the Biack Hills with a party of twelve Sioux and fifteen white men. The Indians one day killed three black tailed deer, fine big bucks. One hind quarter was ample for a hearty supper for the whites. The Indians finished what was left of the three that night and w ere out for more for breakfast. Fact. Before leaving Fettermau a deputation of them visited Gen. Crook to ask if they rniht be allowed to keep any ponies cap tured by them ou the trip. lie iufoimed them that any captured by them individ ually should belong to them. Of those captured by the command in general they would receive a share. He did not want them to fight, but to find the villages for him; to remove their uniforms and go dressed as Indians into any villages they might find, and discover the number of warriors,etc.,etc. They were to find the In dians, and iiis soldiers should fight them. His reply seemed to please them hugely; was received with most enthusiastic "how-hows," and they departed, evidently in high good humor. 1 hey have been fully armed aud equipped, clothed in the regular cavalry uniform and the non commissioned officers appear wonderfully proud ot their bright yellow stripes aud chevrons. The boots give them trouble. Accustomed as they are to the light aud easy moccasins, they find it hard work to manage the heavy cowhides, aud their lo comotion is anything but light and grace ful. I expect that in case of an emraire- ment, boots, caps, overcoats and alt will be flung to the winds, and they will re turn to the original style of blanket and breech-clout. I he topic of general in terest in the command is the question. shall we find the Indians? It is thought by some that Crazy Horse, learning of Sitting Bull's disaster, and knowing that Crook the Red Fox, as the Sioux desig nate him is after him, aud especially on lecouut ot fearnmg that Ins own people have been enlisted against him, will clear out and leave the country entirely. Others ;o so lar as to prophesy that we shall find Crazy Horse or some of his people, at Rjiio when we reach there, wautin g to surrender, while Crook stated at Fetter man that he expected to strike the vil lage four days after leaving Reno. What information he may have respecting the matter nobody but Crook knows, and he is good at keeping a secret. A generally expressed hope, however, is that in one way or auother this expedition may settle the Sioux question, the popular sentiment being that "glory gained on the held is but too dearly won." Idler. Who Are Our Antipodes? It is a popular error that prevailed fifty years ago, and is more or less cur rent still, that our antipodes are the Chi nese. .Now, the truth is, our antipodes, if we have any, are more than three thou sand miles from any part of China. A little reflection will show that if a straight line extend fiom any point iu the Xorth- ern Hemisphere and through the centre of the earth it must meet the opposite surface as far south of the equator as the starting-point was n.rth of that circle. Hence we should had our antipodes at about 40 deg. south latitude, and, of course, at a longitude aaienug irom ours by 180 deg. I said our antipodes, if we have any, for it so happens that the wfiole region antipodal to this we occupy lies in the southern portion of the Indian Ocean, with scarcely an island to hold an anti pode. The country most nearly antipo dal to this is Western Australia, and to make the location more definite, it may be stated that Albany, a town and seaport in the southwestern part of Wet Aus tralia, is antipodal to a point in the At lantic Ocean, about five hundred miles east of Xorfolk, Va.,aud that the island of St. Paul, lying midway between Austra lia and the Cape of Good Hope, is antip odal to a point in E tstern Colorado, not far from Pike's Peak, or Colorado City. The sea is the largest of all cemeteries, and its numbers sleep without monu ments. All other graveyards, in other lauds, show some distinction between the" great and the small, the rich and the poor, but in the great ocean cemetery the king aud clown, the prince and peasant, are alike undistinguished. The same waves roll over all; the same requiem by minstrels of the ocean is sung to their honor. Over their remains the same storms beat, and the same sun shines, and there, unmarked, the weak and the powerful, the plumed and the ua honored, will sleep on forever. it 3