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DEVOTED TO NEWS, LITERATURE, AND THE BEST INTERESTS OF ORECON.
VOL- 11- . OREGON CITY, OREGON, THURSDAY, JANUARY 18, 1877. NO. 13.
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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