{ title: 'Watertown re-union. (Watertown, N.Y.) 1866-1918, September 07, 1871, Page 1, Image 1', download_links: [ { link: 'http://www.loc.gov/rss/ndnp/ndnp.xml', label: 'application/rss+xml', meta: 'News about NYS Historic Newspapers - RSS Feed', }, { link: '/lccn/sn85054450/1871-09-07/ed-1/seq-1/png/', label: 'image/png', meta: '', }, { link: '/lccn/sn85054450/1871-09-07/ed-1/seq-1.pdf', label: 'application/pdf', meta: '', }, { link: '/lccn/sn85054450/1871-09-07/ed-1/seq-1/ocr.xml', label: 'application/xml', meta: '', }, { link: '/lccn/sn85054450/1871-09-07/ed-1/seq-1/ocr.txt', label: 'text/plain', meta: '', }, ] }
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WfKftfO'WN' RE.-TJ.NION. SEPTEMBER 7,1871. Sl\ ll XIio Weal Sandy IrrncJtay. BY ALBX II . WIKQFIIIDI), ? eaolita' and practice nrfl twn Wei-ont llijngs, lidtlioy're iiftcnplncodivlclsly iipnrt j \ anpuholn noticing whiles Hint w imt sittings 'rao tlio tongue hi)s JIUC rppt in tliulmiiM,. I 3 easy enouglinyoto gie guidetulvice.i tais6.\o' folks can do tlmt when tile? try, But i'ai tli wltlipn t wark Shows you'ro still (h the dm*, J'or it's no tlio real Sandy Ma clay. X\a De'll a' llipm Hint gang Bliuivlu' iii-uun' VV a,sweet,pleasant einiluon tl.eir luc,fc, .Aapfryin' at a: tjnioa to-rin .tin-rs doon,'' Tlllo tliey lcceptliemseUs oot o' diBgr»09i Tplillman is a knave and a rogue in hls ; heart, |T|it slanderSliis irtcnclj on the sly, '< \• • Keverspeaktohitamaiv, ; He's not worthy your euro, ror|ic's no the real Sandy 3t[aei.ay. , ( ;{icer may put a few pon'n> m Ms i<oueU 3ygl'eln, Hech wecht nowandMUMI ; iiSiyno'er he found oot till be maUiJ Jitaelf rich 3l|lt'sno dertlingjustlyhymcn, fo's Suy-.in toon (andit maybe thevetesome), Srtiqm these last lines would aiiply., Icttliem alter their ways, A'the restof th'eir days, j #5r t's.no tho roal'Sandy Mackuy, ' Api rgbant thai; niakes.liis ten thousau' a year, Tiij I yet thinks that he cannn pay , , \Jjts. len'that Xirorkfor him, perhaps $)hy mair, X^ n J U8t four m - nve:sliillins' a da*, AOWCB a' the time on the fat o' tlje land, . ft'lillathey gang baith nungry and dry,, i |' Toumaysay whationwili, \ | Butl.stlckvoitstill, H' '$no the real Sandy Mackaj. 1 Hi j.^andy Maouay lea donee :> cent man, And tliero'sinothingabout .'hnt'emean, \Ha'd'lcind. and warm hearted and luvnds oot his, \frien he sees yoa're in waut o' a trans' than' IfyqVinoet wl' a man thai i„ honest antlfuir, Xndthat does asdie woul.', ;••• ..no by, t Wearliinrnexttoy ;.-:..art, 1 Wi'his.lavenoveri ,-•, yofik'sthe real Sandy ll r- $mt mm ~w. B PEASANT HERO It is & pleasenfc place in srjrnmer, the vil- lage of Bogorodskee—to ihese, at least, who arqnot above plain liv ng, forneitber hotel nor refreslimeht-rooin has been heard of thore, Thewhole plac t is simply one of these' quaint, little clusters of rough- jhewh log-Luts, clanging limpets to either ' side of the high road, winch are nowhere f ieri in such perfection as in Sweden or ussial Some few of the houses are of a grander sort—actually tyb stories high,! \pith brigfitly painted roofs and -white-' iraalied'balconies in ftohf, that make them look as if-they had .white.ties on. These ate the-'Well\ mansions of the place, and iqok down, upon the p<|or little shanties kround them as a footman looks at a beg-, gas; bift, for the most part, our village is made up of little cabin&of the regular Rus- siarl ty|e, built with. 50 tool hut a short ax5r-6nc-storied, thatched with straw, containing two or atjmOst three rooms, and toyped by thej cock-hat shaped \Tckerdak\ or garretjin which the Rus- sian peasant stows away his hay, piles hig wood, stores his proviions, dries his clean linen (when he has iny), and, in a word, bestows everything lie cannot cram into the little kennel below stairs, where he, his wife, his children and very often like- wise his ox and his OHS, his pig and his poultry, an d everything that his, eat,- drink, sleep, and vegetate. \While the heat of the day lasts you don't see much of our Villagers. Here and there you may fall in with a stray one cieeping along the highway, or straggling about the fields f but, as a rule, the bulk of tlte, population don't show u p till towards evening. Then, as if by magic, the, whole place suddenly becomes alive •with all kinds Of queer figures ; bearded laborers in greasy red shirts, with baggy trotiserj stuffed into their high boots; shouting children, shaggy as hears, and brown as hazel-nuts, with nothing on but a panoake-colored night-gown, wel lined with diyt; short-skirted-woman, with scar- let hankerchiefs round their head, and round, |at, wide-mouthed faces, that look IL^e a penny with M. hole through it; sal- low students, with straggling, black hair, and an, earthy, unwashed look about them, ogling the brown-cheeked, bare- looted losses who come tripping by with their'palls of spring water; and'spruce village policemen hotted with brass but- tons, looking on with an vcith an air of fatherly Superiority. But it is beside the rickety p^ump in front of the village \shop of all sorts\ that the great assembly is held. Tiere fathers discuss things i n gen- eral, witft their mouth lull of black-bread and saltef cucumber; there mothers com- pare not s on family matters, or drive hard.bar;ains iimong themselves; and there chfdren of every age amuse them- selv«s with the national sports of roling in tao gi|ter and throwing dirt i n each other's eyes, varied by an occasional bout at kiucklf-banes, by' way of variety. Bit in Winter a sad change comes over Mery Bogoi'odskoe. Instead ot* the chaining 'little little Village, full of life and enjoyment, you see nothing but a clussr of silent huts, half buried i n snow peeffig above the great white desert that ^xt&ds on every side,, All round, the bare iesdate fields stretch their ghostly wastes ;o Tie horizon, while here and there a -soliiiy raven, disturbed by your ap- proah, flaps heavily away with a dismal sorepij like some belated spectre return* ing jo its grave. The few peasants still lingl ahout, muffled in their thick sheep- •skinfrocks, survey you with, an air of dis- dain^l astonishment, as if wondering whaijbusiness yon have here at-all; the : leaflss trees stand up gaunt and grim agaijst the cold, grey sky, litce an army of ' ions.; and over all broods a deadj v, ghostly silence broken only by the It harking of a dog, or the moaning •wind' through- the distant forest. rorse still, if yotthappen to strollbe-* |the village after dark, you-will, see pots of light, like the fame pf ahalf- hd coal, flitting among the trees— r *al» a long, melancholy howl, like M fAl 6t the' wind on a gusty -Whiter nigit flOihg 1 drearily Up through ithe still froalfslt—andsuddenlly 'and yourself face withk iuge, gaunt, grey wolf, as ga>ag« and bloodthirsty as hunger can make lunM \Wih it was oh a bitter January even- ing, fee whiter before last, that six men were kstotyM in one of theittts which I-nale dcac^l»ed» , It ^as*roomoftb*» coffltAft sort, ft big hed> with a patchwork coverfe, filling -tip, one side, th e usual huge fehest in. bhe cdrh«r, a pid'tare of the empe»i to elffl Wall, i picture of tHehom- oatdmtttof rie^tapol »n the other; and thd portrait 0 ?a saint as usual, beside the stove,' several 'clumsy wooden chairs, and a low. table, oh which stood a \samoverj\ or Eissian teaurn, with a teapot perched on th< top of, while around it stood half- a-dozen tumblers, full or empty : iorin; Russia^ yqn know it's, tlie- way to drink' tea out 'Of tumblers- instead of cups-^-a fashion which burns one's flngors shoek- ingly, if it does, nothing else. - ; Beside the tearurn stood 1 a small lamp • (gurgling; arid sputtering as if it had -a bad cold,} which had'a pale circfoof light usder aheavy crossbeelxis of the roof and the dark, :saHow, ! beardedi'acee of.the corn* pany.. They made: a very striking gjioup under the dim lamplight, these 'six ynen,. and all the more so from the. Strange man- ner in party of Russian peastthts you would have heard ceaselets talking and •laughing, boisterious jokes, Btorjes of rTeighlior\This'and HeighbOr That snatch- es of old song sung i n this very place by the,same kind of men in the days of letej thetG-eeat, and possibly, if the story-teller : •of J the villiage happened to be of the par- ty, an Old legand or two, banded- down' •iroiri gBneiiation to genei'ati'oa since.Rnssia first became a people; how Ilia JyftirOme- tz iought with the Nighingale Brigand, an [.how Alexy Popoyitch sleW'the|Ftying Tafter, But these men were silent and thoughtful • no jokes, no stories no; Jlaugh-' ex, every face clouded with anxiety, every eye fixed moodily on the ground. ] And what was it, thou, which made them iso gloomy ? Let us 1 eaten to their talk, and parhaps they may find 1 o)it. \It is a sore.juflgement on usl\|said one Who sepmed to'be tlie tost—a big. \burly man, with a. tt^ngled yellow beard. '*The like has not been seen since thefyear '61, : when the wolves eame right into the vil- lage, and killed *nine of our dogs i n one night, But then there were man f wolves, while now i t is only one who does the tnishiet; and yet we, as many is we are, can do nothing against him ?\ \ , \And; how the mischief can V a do any- thing,\ cried a second,, \againlt a hute that' scurries about as if\ he, had wings ? Pounce lie comes into the village, gobbles up the first thing that comes toliand, and oft again 1 and you may try w recollect his name !\ (This is the popular phrase tor titter disappearance.) I ' yWell, we m'ustjclo somethingfo stop it,\ said the third, tt grim old fellof who had had his nose taken off by a| frost-bite, •'Mother Avdotia's only cow|killed last week, poor Ivan Masloff tqrifto bits on Friday, Feodore Nickeetin's dfe snapped up last night, and our watchmen's should- er bitten through—brothers, mare wrong ] before God if we let this go 0 l!\ *Ah, it i3 all very well to saj tve must do something— but who's to do i I\ returned the second speaker emphatical ty. \When we turn out, three 0? four 1 gether, the cunning rascal marks it , an i keeps off; nnd there's not a man in the v ilage, I take iti that would venture uponfhim single- handed. \Who'll try it, thin' ye?\ \I Willi\ It was a very low, quiet vol», that spoke the last words; but there was i firmness in it which no one could inistak i \Ah Vladimir Mikhailov !ch 1\ cried the host, \what's this you're t iinking of ? You that have only heen |arried two months; t o go making wolf's|f yourself? Nonsense, lad I atay at hor p, and take care of your wife, and leave yolf-hunting to them that's got nothing h liter t o do 1\ \You say that Nikeotin th ibutcher lost a dog last night; did the wolf eat the whole carcase?\ asked \Vlaiimir of the -noiseless man, in the quick iommanding tone of one who knows that he must be obeyed. | \No; he hardly got a \bit « it, the ras- cal—that's one comfort\!\ aiswered the old fellow with a grim chucfl'e. \Feodore Stepanovitch heard the dogpelp, and out rushed he and his men w|h lights and hatchets and scared the brute away. As for the dog, it's lying there in tho yird now.\ I \60 one of you, andbiftigit, and if any one has a sharp wood-pife, let him give it t o me.\ I The host produces ahiigeravoad-bladed knife, which Vladimir swing round his neck without a word; and 11 few minutes later, th e carcase of Mkadin's dog was laying beside the door. Hethen drained his glass, and said: \Yw tell metM' brute generally comes hew about mid nighh; so between clever! and twelve, I shall take this carcase to tiic crossroads aud throw it there as a haiffo him, hiding ;and over they roll in the bloody snow, the wolf clutching at the thraat ol the man, the man hurrying his-knil'o in the side of the-wolf. 'Crushed to the uartlj beneath a. gtiilinggeight-—spent with his lung wateh and headlong run—with certain death glaring at him. from the yellow, murder- 1-p.uS.oyes of tlie savage brute, the stubborn lSussiau still fights doggedly ou. In the hot fury of that .mortal straggle, the fierce hunter-nature awakes, sweeping away all irnemosy of his'comrades, his v\ilu, his do- : votion, he feels'ou ; ly the longing to tear , and kill tingling to hu very finger-ends, imly the giirn enjoyment of plunging his knife again and again into that gaunt, .jnusouhir side where the life seems to be 'SO; deep. . See 1.those !iK'icile.-.s stabs are 'at length beginnhi-i; to iell; the tierce yel- low eyes are growing dim, the huge jaws quiver QOiivulively,- and Irom tlmir edges tjia from and blood drippt-d in hot flakes upon Vladimir's face. But now, with a jnighty effort, the wolf wrenched his head from the iron grasp of Vladimir's left arm and with one fierce crunch o! his tdiong. teeth, bleaks the bone butow the elbow.— Thelimb diops pou'erhws at his side. One more desperate stab in the quivering flesh ot his enemy, and then hu luuls the savage teeth fastening upon his throat; every- thing swims irround him, there is a rush- ing as of water n his ear?, a thousand sparks dsihoe before his eyes, and then all is blank, i • \God be piaised, brother, that you are still alive!\ said a gruff voice in Vladi- mir's ear, as he lejovered consciousness ; while, atjt.b'e same moment a sotfc arm was thrown round his ueek, and a fervent \ThankGod!'' muwnured by asweet voice that he knew well. \Where ani I?\ asked Kovroff, looking ytcantly round, and recognizing first his wife, and then his host of the evening be- fore, \Where are you?\ repeated Alexcy; \why i n my hut, to be sure, where you've heen. ever since we brought you in last night. You know, when you wentout, we followed a t a distance; and as soon as we saw you start in chase of the wolf, we set off alter you; but it's not everybody that ;Ciin run like you, so we didn't catch you Juntil ,'Uncle Greycoat\ was beginning to •g«t the best of it. Well, when we'd set- tled him with our hatchets, we carried you 'hack here; and Segel Antonovitchran all ;tlie way to Sakolaiki for the German doc» tor, and he's been and tied up your arm, •jittd says you're sure to recover if you only keep quiet.\ '.• Ana recover he did, sure enough; at JeastJ when Imet him at Bogorodskoelast luminer, he was well enough to run a mile Shoulder t o shoulder with me, and break a thick sapling like a stick of sealing-wax'. And after the race I went home to tea with him, and saw the wolf's head (its skin he had sold to a Russian officer) nailed up above tho door of his hut. ? Oswego County. i j\ OPENING- OF THE SYRACUSE NORTHERN R.JR. THROUGH THE VILLAGE OJF PULASKI.—3?rom fee Oswego Press, we clip the following cor respondence: At 10:80 a.m., on Monday the 28th, the engine Pulaski crossed the new Sy- rlousa Northern Railroad bridge over the Sahnon liver, the engine was stopped in tie centre of the bridge a few moments and ma moved slowly forward over the bridge to too orossing about fifteen rods north of the badge. A largo crowd of citizens had con- gisgated t o witness the event and to hear the music dispensed by tho Cornet Band whioh. was aboard the engine. After one long, long whistle in honor of the feat, the engine slow- ly reerossed the bridge, the band being yet on board, The engine was alive with pas- sengers, even to the cow catcher. Again in the afternoon the Pulaski crossed the bridge and moved forward in rear of the ssone block across Lake street, and in a few moments after the Brewerton also came over with an immense train loaded with ties, the sound of both bells blended i n unison mak- ing glad music for the immense concourse that had gathered to celebrate this glad epoch in the village history. Orin Earl, vioe president of th§ road, was present all day, as was also J A Clark, one of the directors. Supfc. Grannis was also pres- ent, and well may our citizens thank him for * Tin c i the zeal manifested by Mm to further their myself behind the fence ha>l by. When , ate restsin eveiy respect inhispower. Some he comes up, I shall attacblim; and then 1 , xc iaime.l, \0 this is better than the Fourth let it bo as God wiCs. Bus jou, brother*, 0 f July.'' Many of the merchants closed their mind and don't say a woivtjof thin to any ] ,,hops in order to jnbdate. The day closed one, lest my Masha (Mary){should hear of: hy the Independent band going aboard the it If I \-et off, there!s no Iced for her to ' Pulaski engine and giving a grand serenade, about the matter at all; anil! it I'm killed I The Pulaski then blew one hoarse note and she'il hear of it soon'enojgh-God hdpj ^. t ^y ^ ^tir^^LTll her! And now, Alexcy MUolaiewtcli you can spare me your bed f take a nap, to freshen me ioi Midnight—cold, dreary' lie '..rl;'.\ j '.\v. A dead, grim silence'over thelniel'--- village and lonely high road. A fchap-K-s maps lying oat upon the hard snow '•>'- i] -- cn ^ roads, and a dark figure uu^-h' '.behind a fence hard by, with .-omtthiiiijin it? handwhich gutters as tl..-iii''on hills up on it, , « Hark ! was not that .11-w howl from the far distance? No, u »a» hut the wind moaning through the -.K-leW branches o the forest. Patience y-.il Hark,again, and this time there is no mistaking the sound; not the long melancholy howl Wherewith asitpperloss wolf may be heard bemoaning himself, on the outskirts of Moscow, almost any night in the week, but a quick snarling cry, as of one who see his food near at hand, and wishes to hasten its arrival. And there, gliding ghostly over the great waste of snowf, comes a long, gaunt shadow, straight, s.wift, unswerving towards yonder shapelessflump of carrion on the highway, upon which he pounces with a fierce worrying siiarl that makes even the brave heart of ihe listener stand still for it moment witW involuntary hor- ror. Now is Vladimir'! time 1 To rush oUt at orice might scare the beast away; he mustfirsetryto cripple It, The axe flies at the monsters head-wita the fores ot a catapult; but the dim %ht deceives his aim, and it hits tke loref boulder instead, tearihg i t open with a fOghtlul gash from Which .the blood gushls freely over the snow. With a sharp lowl Of pain, the wolf turnsand flies; br tthe swiftest foot in Bogorodskoe is hard it Ms heals. After his long, weary vigil,\** i breakneck chase, is like the breath of lifi to Vladimir, and over this hard smooth 1 row, his speed is a inatch for any wolf founded like this S ne. Already he has a iiost come up with lie game, and is rai aghis knuefora sMe stroke, when tho lying grey shadow in : front''df Mm sudd§lv wheels ifjund] ihoots up ffora ihe ea: falls right on the hp EojV»n|pea mail andi flying sh6W, while.ft si the silent air; lor-eVtoj of the \death grapple, \ found,time to coipie blood yours over his fi the'wounded side of lii 'adversary, An d »o, far out on the Ion* plain, with tho cold moon looking -*•--•\-Sleesly J *• it, begins, the tug of ffi i;o of hihorers. So ended .the day, and a t 1]^ I i-venfiill groups were gathered on many a treet corner congratulating one another about the snecessful completion of the Syra- cuse Nortkern Biilfo.id through the village of Pulaski. I like a rocket, and of its pursuer.— lif aniidawhiil Of ~lydl rings outon the Sudden shock jdiihif's* khife'has ome ahd 'the hot and breast from down upon and death. Over SEBIOUS ACCIDENT AT OENTBAL SQUAIIE.— The Oswego Advertiser states as follows :— Charles Breed, deputy sheriff at Central Square, met with a very painful accident a few days since. The excursion train which took tho operatives of the cotton factory t o the Oneida Community, stopped at Central Square, and Breed went on board with his wife and two children, intending to find them, a seat and then get oJCf himself. The train was crowded with excursionists, and he went through several cars without flnd-ing a Seat. In tho meantime the train started, and by the time h e was ready to get off, the train was goinsr at nearly full speed. He jumped from the moving train and falling on I his knees, pitched forward, striking with great force on his' face among the stones and gravel. The train was stopped as soon as possible, and most all of the men and hoys Went hack to see whathad happened. \When picked up the man's face presented a ghastly spectaole. HiB nose was completely gouged from his face, a small portion only hanging at b y a thread,, His lips were<Bplit wide open, and his eyes apparently scraped from his Head. In addition to this, several of hiftfin- gMB were broken and badly jammed. H e was so covered with bloodthat onr informant who was on the train could not determine the: eisctiortent of his injuries. It is not likely, however, that they will prove fatal, but iis f ice, when his wounds heal over, will bear hjtte resemblance to his former self, He was tiien as soon as possible to his home »t Cen- tal Square, his wife and' Children returning flttb. him, agonized by thoterribla occur- rfacet 1 -. « *• . • • tA. story istold of a father in a church, wlio when the marj;i»g6'service came t o tl epoint wheretheciergyjjaap.agksiffW'lio g fet\i tins woman to! be n\arried,to this, hfto?\ replied, \Well sir, I'am called to. MISS KETtJJBAH'S YEAKXING. \I don't believe Ketury Would sell that critter for its- weight, in- gold. It's a cos- set brought up o n cream, I tell her, aud seeuing she's notional to keep her compa ny, it ain't a. wonder she sets such store by what she's raised. That's'just how the ease stands, Lisher!\ The man addressed as \Lisher\ was leaning pn a pair of bars that led into M-iss Keturah's pasture, doing just what the good book commands us not to do, viz: 'Coveting his neighbors' posses- sions.\ \I jocks,\ said lie, with his gaze fixed on a pretty, frolicksome young animal, clean of limb and straight of back, with sott bright eyes, like a girl's, \1 wish I could contrive to. get hold of that Alder- ney yearling; there ain't another like her in the ooiiuty, and I'd be willing to fork down anything Ketury might ask.\ '•You'd better not get your heart set on it,\ .said his brother Jabez, in the tone of deliberate emphasis, common to him, \I do believe Ketury would almost as soon give you herself,, as part- with* that yeurlins,\ .... , Just then the graceful creature m the lot, with her white feet buried m rich feed, and a wisp of grass dangling from her mouth, gave a little caper, and a frisk of the tail, as much as to say, \You'd better believe.\ Jabez, the elder brother, moved out from th e shade of. the butternut tree, where the two men halted' to look over the rail fence. \1 must be gettieg home,\ id he, \or m y old woman'will scold about my keeping the supper standing. You hain't got any wife, Lisher, t o fret if you don't come to time on meals.\ I Jabez, a sturdy, bronzed iarmer, went j trudging his way homeward with hm coat over his arm, and his checked shirt- Sleeves, and the red flannel back t o his vest showing. Lisha, however, lingered in the road. H e was a different build, from his brother, not so square and thick set, but-taller, with cheeks hollowing in a little about th e mouth, a bushy beard, and kind grey eyes. Be lingered behind half musing on the words Jabez had s o carelessly spoken. \X believe Ketury would almost as lives give .you herself.\ He knew his brother meant nothing, but the words were sweet to him. It seemed as though he had needed the assurance of their truth for a long time. There, down the road, which wotind a little, and clasped'a thicket of trees in the crook of its arm, was the old red farm house were Keturah lived. , It was a homely place, and no effort had been made t o lix it up; but its air of snugness suggested comfort and good cheer. The sheds and out-houses straggled to the barn. There was plenty of shade from cherry and apple trees, where robins and thrushes nested. The old eaves were swollow-haunted, and there was a roorny, old-fashioned garden, and a patch of green sward, sprinkled with white clover, where Keturah stretched her drying-line, and let her clothes flutter out Monday morn- ing earlier than, any of her neighbors. It was a tidy old place, and had Goine down to her from her father's estate, with a few outlying fields, well fenced and tilled; a bit of timber lands,, a good spring of water, and several : other blessings be- longing to this sublunary sphere. Keturah knew how to prize her inde- pendence, There were a few plain rules she never transgressed; t o deal fairly, to always live within her means, and make the most of blessings, seemed, pretty plain duties. She was not supposed to b e friendly to matrimony, and she did enjoy being her own mistress, with an unlimited scope for the exercise of that which is known in New England as faculty, She was a woman of middle height, With bright, frank, blue eyes, a face fresh, yet in. color, and dark hair, . combed smooth behind her ears, and twisted in a smallish knot at the back of her head. None of these chin-yarns, as Miss Keturah said, for ber. She was a world to.sensible to wear a false wad on her cranium. She had been out just at nightfall, to attend her chickens, and to see that they were all in the coops, under the feathers of the clucking hens. An invalid creature, a pretty ball of down, with a sprained an- kle, she brought and put in a warm bask- et on the mantel. There was a shrewish wind blowing outside, although it was May, with blossoms from the apple trees winning down to the grass. A small wood-fire snapped and cracked on Miss Keturah's hearth, aud th e lilacs wore in bloom, and the door-yard gay with jon- quils and dagy-down-dillies. The dog and cat, sleek and well-fed, as dog and cat need be, were lying on the hearth in their own appointed places, and there sat Miss Keturah, with a little round stand beside her, i n a circle at light from the genial lire, sewing away upon a pair of unmentionables, fur little Billy Shaw. Mrs. Shaw, his mother, was poor, always in hot water, with a dreadful want of cal- culation and good judgment in her upper story. It was either a feast or a iamine in the Shaw establishment all the time.— The juvenile Sbaws had to go without their crust buttered six days in the week; but if on the seventh their mother hap- pened to earn a dollar, just as likely as' not it was all speut for butter and eaten up at one meal. Keturah dispised such shiftlessness, but her hands never Stopped doing for the Shaws. Now, as she sat there, in her cheerful and contented loneliness, with the big clock ticking in the corner, there came a knock at the door. \Come in, Johnny Shaw,\ called out Keturah, without turning round. \There's the bag of potatoes I promised your moth er in the cellar way. You can helpjour- telf. I shall Churn to-morrow, and your mother may send over for a pail'of butter- milk.\ \Ahem!\ Keturah turned round suddenly, and there stood Lisha Bates holding his hat, | and looking into i t as it he expected to discovers the prdfoundest wisdom i n its^ depths. \Sakes alive!\ exclaimed Miss Keturah, \you gave me such a start, t thought, to be sure, it was Johnny Shaw. Take a' chair, Lisher, an|i draw up to the fire; Cold, ain't it, for this time of the year ?\ \Good for\ blue nosesj\ said Xiisner, hut he felt, as he expressed-it afterward, \Streaked much «8 a man feels when he is about to hreak the' ice, and plunge into a cold bath. However, he sa t down oi the edge of a chair,'oaf cfuily deposited his hat under it, took out his red silk hand- kerchief, and moppwj, his face ftll over. , There was 1 a p\feli;mihar^ clearing of the throat, and their Lisher said, with that cilcumlocution of speech habitual t o thel \I was squinting that way?\ returned. Lisher, hesitatingly, almost wishing he cOuld back put of the scrape, and go,to grass himself, but he gave a hitch to his chair that brought him a little nearer Keturah, on the other side of the stand. \Instead of seeding down any more, if I had your farm, I should put a few bar- rels of lime on the triangular lot and sow it with clover.\ \That's what I mean to do,\ rei-;>'uded Lisher, giving his chair another Mien,, ut- terly forgetful of St, Paul's command, \I suffer not wom,en t o teach.\ \Your pas- ture looks uncommon well thisspring,\ he added. \Yes the feed is good,\ said Keturah, sewing away calmly in the candle light. The chair hitched a little nearer. \Ke- turah, that's a mighty fine Alderney year- ling of yours.\ The tone was soft, per- suasive and melting. Keturah just raised her eybrows— \Umph 1\ she knew what Lisher was driv- ing at now. The chair hitched a little nearer, the tone became more coaxing and oily. \Ke- turah, wouldn't you, couldn't you, beper- suaded_to sell me that critter ?\ The small unmentionables dropped from Keturah's hand; the audacity of the request filled her with, amazement.. \How can you ask such a question, Lisher Bates ? You know I wouldn't part with that heifer for any money.\ Lisher had heard that \where there's a will there's a way,\ and another wise sayr ing; \\Paint heart never won fair lady.\— He determined upon a strike. ''Then, Ketury,\ said he \you must marry me, for I am determined to get alien on that 'there critter, some way or other.\ t If Lisher's unheared-of temerity had stopped here, Keturah would probably have thrown the small unmentionable at him, but he did not wait for such a disas- ter—he got up, made one stride over to where the bewildered spinster sat, and gave her a rousing kiss on the check. It is utterly impossible to predict what would have happened, if an unmistakable \snicker\ had not sounded through the room. The door had opened during the loving scene, above described, and admit- ted Johnny Shaw, just in time to witness the denouement. . He had come for \them potatoes.\ \Them potatoes\ saved Lisha's bacon, although I suspect Keturah had always a sneaking kindness for Lisha. At any rate, some months afterward she gave him the •yearling and herself along with it; and he being a good man, who knew the use of a door mat, was regular t o his meals, and was appreciative of an excellent wife, whose price is above rubies. I can safely say that Ketmah's last state has not been worse than her first; and as to the yearl- ing, i t has grown to be a famous cow, the best milker in the country, and lives in perpetual clover.—[The Revolution. A MOJDEI. I^.i'VE-I.UITEJa. A Breaclli o t Promise base—Tlio Kaj- tures of Cupid. \ rata,\ The regular. ,bom Yankee t don j t spose, Keturah, you've got any Myers vs. Harris. —This was one ol'those rare and peculiar cascsr—breach of promise marriage—and occupied tho greater part of the torenoon. From the evidence it ap- pears that the parties both live in or near Onondaga; that Harris had'been a fre- quent visitor tor about two years and a half at the house of the plaintiff—a widow woman nearly thirty years of age, with three children. I t seems to have been the opinion of the friends of the plaintiff (and no doubt she thought so herself), that Harris would marry her; but he (Harris) from some unaccountable cause a few months ago, suddenly dicovered that he loved another young lady better, and ver- ified this belief a short time since by mar- rying that other lady. Hence this action was brought by the plaintiff to recover damages, to apply as a salve to her wound- ed affections. The following tender epis- tle, sent by tho loving Bwain, will interest our readers, and we recommend it as a model love-letter: \MY DEAR Mits. M.—Every time I think of you my heart flops up and down like a churn-dasher. Sensations of unutterable joy caper over i t like young goats on a stable roof, and thrill through it like Span- ish needles through a pair of tow linen trovvsers. As a gusling swimmeth with delight in a mud-puddle, so swim I in a sea of glory. Visions of ecstatic rapture thicker than the hairs of a blacking-brush, and brighter than the hues of a humming bird's pinions, Visit me in my slumbers ; and, borne on their invisible wings, your image Btanda before me, and I reach out to grasp it, like a pointer snapping at a blue bottie-fly. When I first beheld your'an- gelic perfections I was bewildered, and my brain whirled aroud like a bumble-bee under a glass tumbler. My eyes stood open like a cellar door in a country town, and I lifted up my ears to catch the sil- very accents of your voice. My tongue refused to wag, and m silent adoration I drank in the sweet infection of love as a thirsty man swalloweth a tumbler of hot whiskypuneh. \Since tho light of your face fell upon my life, I sometimes feel as if I could lift myself up by the boot-straps to tho top of the church steeple, aud pull the hell-rope for singing school. Day and night you are in my-thoughts. When Aurora, blush- ing like a bride, rises from her saffron- colored couch; when the jay-bird pipes his tuneful lay in the apple-tree by the spring-houso; when the chanticleer's shrill clarion heralds the Coming morn; when,the awakening jrig arises from* his bed and grunteth, and goeth for his morn- ing's refreshments; when the drowsy beetle wheels t o droning flight at sultry noon- tide; and when lewing herds come home at milking time, I think of thee ; and like a piece of gum elastic my heart seems stretched clear across m y bosom. Your hair is like the mane of a sorrel horse powdered with gold; and the brass pins skewered through your waterfall fill me with unbounded awe. Yeur forehead ie smoother than the elbow of an old coat. Your eyes are glorious to behold. In their liquid depths! see legions of little cupids bathing, like acohortof ants in an old army cracker. When their Are hit mo upen my manly breast i t penetrated my Whole anatomy, as a- load of bird shot through » rotten, apple. Your nose is from a chunk of Parian marble, and your mouth is puckered with sweetttee* Nectar lingers on your lips like honey on a bear's paw; ! and myriads of\ unfledged kisses. are t^ere; ready* to fly out and light some- where, like blue birds out of & parent's nest, j Your laugh rihga in m y ears like the wind harp's strain, or the bleat of l« stray iarnb oh a barren hill side,, The dimples on ?6ur cheeks arb.like bowers iff hereof repeat, Or h6liows In cakes'Of honjefmatle sugar> ,. '.^iin dying t o fly t o thy presence, and pour,put the burning oloqence of my love, AS'thrifty Houifewives pour out hot coffee. ing down my back. Unc0U;th fears like .a \ thousand minnows, nibble «t uiy spirits; and my soul is pierced with doiibts like sin old cheeseis bored with skip/per^,' \My love for you is stronger than the smell of Coffey's patent butter, or the kick of a young cow, and more unselfish than a kitten's first catterwaul. As a song-bird hankers for the light of the day, the cau- tious mouse for the fresh bacon in the trap, as a mean pup. hankers for newmilk,, sol long' for thee. \You are fairer than a speckled pullet, sweeter than a yahkee doughnut fried in, sorghum molasses, brighter than a top, knot plumage on tlio head of a muscovy\ duck. YQU are candy, kisses, raisins, pound-cake and sweetened toddy altogeth- er. If these few remarks will enable you to see the inside of my soul, and rue to win your affections, I shall be as, happy as a woodpecker on a elierry-tree, or a stage horse in a great pasture. If you cannot reciprocate my thrilliug passions, I will pine away like a poisoned bedbug, and (all away from a flourishing vine of life,an untimely branch ; and .in the Oomihgyears, when the shadows grow from the hills, and the philosophical frog sings his cheer- lul eveninghymns, you, happyiu another's love, can come and drop a tear and catch a cold upon the last resting place of, ' . . Yours affectionately, \ H. \ , Verdict for plaintiff, and $500 damages. Alice Bowlsby. The following from tho New York Evening Post is all that is known of the history of the unfortunate young wo- man whose body was discovered i n a trunk i n the Hudson River Railroad depot a week ago: \Five years ago Miss Bowlsby, then a, girl of sixteen, came to Paterson to leam the trade of making fancy goods with her uncle, Charles E. Sanborn, who employed several girls at his store in Broadway, She worked here for,three years . diligent- ly, living at her uocle's house. All the time she bore an excellent reputation which inded she possesses to the last.. Two years ago, her father having mean- • while died, he r mother came with her lainily of two younger daughters to earn a living by dress-making in Patersoa. She took a small brick house on West street, where shestill lives. The daughters worked with their - mother except at short inter- vals, when they took work at 163 Main street, in the building where are the. offi* ces of Dr. Kine and Parker. Alice received occasional visits from young men, and being, preposessing, was soon popular with all. that knew her. Two years ag*0 a young man named Prank Tripp came to Paterson' from Massachusetts, and hired, the skating rink, opening therein a veloci- pede school. The rink is situated only a few rodsfrom Mrs. Bowlsby's house, Uhd frequent meetings between Tripp and Alice resulted in an acguniptanceship. Everything went smoothly with them\Un- til Miss Bowlsby's departure'for Newark, since which time Tripp has not been seen by his friends. He lias recently been em- ployed at the . Grant Locomotive works, butnothing could be learned of his where- abouts.\ s \ Tlio Syracuse TJulvorsIly. The cornor stone of the Syracuse \Uni- versity was laid Thursday with imposing ceremonies. In the forenoon the faculty were formally inducted into office. Rev. Jesse T. Peck, President of the Board of Trustees, delivered the inaugural charge, and the Rev. Dr. Steele, Vice President ot the Faculty, replied in a lenghty address, setting forth the objects and aims of the university. Students are not excluded on accounts of color o r sex. A classical course is recommended, but elective cour- ses are offered. The university is t o be religious, but not sectarian. Dr. Peck announced the election of Prof. George P. Comfort to tne chair of modern languages, and John H. Dursten, of Syracuse, teacher of German. The regular college exercises commence on Monday. The exercises at the laying of thecorne'r stone of the hall of lunguages at 8 p. jr., on University hill, attracted an immense throng. The preliminary exercises were participated in by the local clergy of the various denominations. Rev. Dr. Cum- mings, president of the Western university, Middlcton, Ct., delivered a prayer, and Rev. A. J. Phelps read an historical sketch of the university. Then followed ad- dresses by Rev. Erastus O. Haven, presi- dent of th e Northwestern university, Evanston, 111. Hon. Andrew D. White, picsideut of Cornell university, and Chief- Justice Sanlbrd E. Church. A poem was also read by Rev. George Lansing Taylor, of New York. Dr. Peck laid the corner stone with tho usual formality. The wear, ther was fine. At noon tho corner stone of the Demps- ter Methodist Episcopal church i n the Eighth ward was laid, and a n address de- livered by Rev. Dr. Lore, editor of the Northern Christian Advocate, aud a poem read by Rev, Dwiglit Williams, of Cuzenovia. to grass ?\ inquired Keturab, with 1 accent of disapproTftL .LX .&i m FALL.—We are now through th e last month of summer. Can it be? I t seenfs impossible. Tlio almost unparalleled changes trom heat to cold, and the severe thunder storms that have made the nights so pleasant for rest, have neutralized the stings of summer so completely that it seems unlike tho fact that we are so near on to fall. But time passes; and few of u a realize its rapid flight. AFJVTAL MOOTEC.—August, 1871. will- long be remember as a month of \hinder and sUden death\ without a parallel i n this country since th,c close of of the war* The mouth wa3 ushered by the Westfield catastrophe, from t h e effects of Which ov- er a hundred persons have died aud many others arestilisuffering in the bond train, ofthisealatoity came the bio wing up of' the. 6|iautauqUa lake steamer, killing and ' badly' Wo'undmg eighteen persons.; the breaking down of a bridge on the Maine Contrsl Railroad, killing.pr serious, y in-, luring over thirty jpersons * the collusion; neari iW&tpor.' Piv.,.on Saturday! morning killing'siqinen outright,, and, Seriously maiming lourteeii more: the collusion, ac • Reverb Mass., o'n tha evening of the same . day whilh killed iweat^otir persons al- ' 'r most instantly Wlitte si* more- have mpe died from their wounds, < and about fifty more are injouriously seriously,; and th e IWay^rom you I ala'as melancholy as a [explosion of the steamer Ocean Wave, to sick rat. Sometimes I can hear thef June 1 MoVbay.w * a ^°l t £Z x %T>% bugs ol despondency buying i n my ears, on board killing' «* W\^ \^ J& and feel the cold lizards of despair crawl-«seventy persons. Is Moloch yet appeared ?
