Summerside Journal -- 1866-12-06 -- Page 1

ty

tied

DE

VOTED TOL

AND WESTER

N PIONEER.

ITERA TURE, SCIENCE, COMMERCE, AGRICULTURE, AND

NEWS.

Number 61

e, Prince Edward

No. 9.

Vol. 2.—Whole

Summerside Journal
18 PRINTED AND PUBLISHED RVERY
THURSDAY EVENING,

BY
BERTRAM & BARNARD,

AT THEIR OFFICE, CENTRAL STREET,

TERMS:
1 copy for one year, in advance, 6s. 3d.
wy ae half advance 7s. 6s.
Persons getting up Clubs of Ten
Subscribers will be entitled to
the Jownal for one year

RATES OF ADVERTISING:

One square for 12 months, £210 0
do ** 6 months, 110 0
do ** 3 months, 018 0
do first insertion, 05 0
do each subsequentin. 0 1 3

All communications should be addressed
to nrrTRAM & narNarp, andthe Postage,
in all cases, prepaid.

The following gentlemen have consent-
ed to act as Agents, and they are authori-
sed to receive monies, and give receipts,
an our account ;

Charlottetown—W. 1%. Dawson, Esq.
Henry Ilarvie, Esq.
Centreville—Major Wright, Esq
Upper Bedeque—Wm, G. Strong, Esq
7'ryon—George Muttart, Esq
St. Eleanor's—W. ‘I. Hunt & Co
Caseunpec—Benjamin Rogers, Esq
Margate—Reuben Luplin, Esq
New London—Pidgeon & Stewart
Malpeque—D & P McNutt
Southport—Henry Beer, Esq
Vernon River—Mr, George Vickerson
Georgetown—Andrew LeBrocque, Esq
Port Hill—David Ramsay, Esq.
Tignish—Benjamin Haywood, Esq
Miscouche—Joseph B. Perry.
Crapaud—Charles Collit.

JOB PRINTING

of evory description, performed with neatness
and despatch, and at moderate rates,
at the Jounnat Office.

Summerside Markets,
Summersipk, Dee. 6, 2866.

25 3da Qs 4d

38 a 3s Gd

- ls Sdiads 6d

Oats per bush
Barley per bush -
Potatoes per bush

‘Turnips per bush -- Isaleld
Butter per lb by ‘Tub - - - lg als ld
Lard per 1b --- $da lod
Tallow per db. ------------ 9d a 10d
Tigges per doz ---+-----°-- Md a 10d
Beef perlb -------------> 3da 4d
Mutton per lb - -- --- 3da 4d
Pork per lb by carcass -- 3da 44d
Geese each -+--- - - 1s 6da ls 9d

-- 50s a 60s
- 14s a lis
-- 508 a GOs

Flour per bbl -
Oatmeal per cwt. - -
Hay per Ton - - - - -

Straw per cwt. ------ - Is 6d
Pine Boards ------- 5 0a) e
Spruce Boards ------------ 4s 0 5s

ness Gards,

Busi

BANK OF PRINCE EDWARD ISLAND.
Corner of Queen § Water Sts., Charlottetown
President—Hon. ‘Tuomas H. Havinanp.

Cashier-—-WintiamM Cunpaun, [squire.
Discount Days—Mondays & Thursdays.
Hours of Business—Fom 10 a.m, to 1 p.m.,
from 2 p.m to 4 p.m.

UNION BANK.

Grafton St., Queen's Square, Charlottetown
President—Cuantes Parmer, Esquire.
Cashier—Jamrs ANDERSON, Esquire.

Discount Days—Mondays, Wednesdays,
and Saturdays.

Hours of Business—From 10 a.m to Lp m

from 2 p.mto 4pm

SUMMERSIDE BANK.
Central Street, Summerside, P. E. Island.
President—Ifon, Joun R. Ganpixen.
Cashier—TE. TL. Lypia Esquire
Discount Days—Tues: and Fridays.
Notes for Discount must be in before 11

o'clock on Discount days.
Hiours of Business—10 a. m., tol p.m.
from 2 p. m., to 4 p.m

: DR. PRICE,
Physician & Surgeon,

Ovricr-—At the SumMErsipr Drug Srorr,
next door to Bank, Central Street

SUMMERSIDE, ..... 2. B. ISLAND,
October 12, 1865.

to the inhabityyMe
ty, that he hy

(formerly J
may be cofsultyp
of his Profession, a’
Stanley Bridgh,
Oct. 18, 1866. —

JOHN HOMER, M.D.F. M.M.8.

MEDICAL OFFICE
OVER GREEN & SCHURMAN’S STORE,
WATER STREET, SUMMERSIDE, P.E.1.
GHORGER ALLEY,
BARRISTER AND
Attorney-at-Law,

NOTARY PUBLIC, &C.

Telegraph Buildings, Water Street,
Charlottetown, ------- -----), KF, Island.

‘EB. D. STAIR,
CABINET-MAKER,

AND

Undertaker.

FURNITURE OF ALL KINDS MADE
TO ORDER,
Kent Street, - .-----+- «++ Oharlottetown.
Sept. 1666, 6m

. THOMAS KELLY,
Barrister - at - Law

AND
NOTARY PUBLIC, &o.
SUMMERBIDE,- - - - P, E. ISLAND
aug, 9, 1866 ly

*

Summersid

Business Gards,.
WILLIAM BEAIRSTO,
Commission Merchant,

Auctioneer & General Agent,

WATER STREET,
P. E, Island

Summerside,
Summerside, Oct. 12; 1865,

DAVID BERTRAM,
Saddle and Harness Maker,

Water Strect . . . . . Summerside.
October 12, 1865. ly :
James Greenough,

FLOUR

Commission Merchant,

No 47 Commercial Street
Corner of Clinton Street - - - - - BOSTON

J. F. HILL & 60.,

DEALERS IN
Potatoes, Apples, Onions,

Horeign & Domestic Hruits,
Cranberries, Beans, Green & Dried Apples

Stalls 107 and 109.
and Cellar No. 19, Faneuil Hall Market

SOULH SIDE BOSTON.
H. J. RICHARDSON,
COMMISSION MERCHANT

Auctioneer.

Flour, Groceries, and
Dry Goods.
Water Strect ...... Summerside.

CARVELL BROTHERS,
AUCTIONEERS,

Commission Merchants’
And General Agents,

BANK BUILDING, QUEEN STREET.
Charlottetown, - - - - - P. 2, Island.
WILLIAM DODD,
Commission Merchant,

And Auctioneer;”

QUEEN SQUARE,
CHARLOTTETOWN --- P. BE. ISLAND

THOMAS IANFORD,
AUCTIONEER

AND

Commission Merchant,
Si’. JOHN, N. B.
Novy 1, 1865 ly

J. I, GIBSON,
Plain ¢ Ornamental
HOUSE & SIGN

PALNTER,
Summerside, .... DP. #. Island.
October 12, ey ee

A CARD.

TYNHE subscriber having purchased the
STOCK IN TRADE of James L. Hotman

at St. Eleanor’s, the bugindss in fature will be

conducted by, him, ) AseEs his intention to

keep constantly.on hand 4 variety of goods

adapted for the country trade, he respectfully

solicits a share of public patronage,

ALBERT L, ANDERSON.
St. Eleanor's, April 10, 1866,

Dealer in

JOHN ANDREW MACDONALD, |
Importer of Dry Goods,
Hardware, Crockeryware, Groceries,
stoves, Furniture, &c. &e.

P. E. Island.
A. W. ANDRE'S
Marble Works,

Point Du Chene, Shediae,

Sumnerside,

Monuments, Tombs, Grave-
stones, &c.
American & Italian Marble con-
stantly on hand.

Sold at a less price than at any other estab-
lishinent in the Provinces.
718, 1865,

§.

TPHE Subscribe

60 Bbls,

Il.
Summerside, Nov 1,

London, A MAIAY
class. Speedy appli
the Subseriber.

By order of the

MAE Subscriber hay
alteration in his b

fA prompt Settleme
to him, would here,
persons indebted
or otherwise, to p
on or before the
are ready for delivery.

STE

____PORTRY.

(For the Journal.)

Summerside

Links composed by the Reverend Dr. New-
MAN, on a voyage from Palermoto Mar-
seilles, when becalmed in the Straits of
Bonifacio; and before his secession from
the Anglican Church :—

Lead kindly light, amid the encircling gloom,
Lead Thou me on;

The night is dark, and I am far from home,
Lead Thou me on!

Keep Thou my feet, I do not ask to see

The distant scene—one step enough for me.

I was not ever thus, nor prayed that Thou
Should’st lead me on;

I loved to choose and see my path, but now
Lead Thou mé on!

I loved the garish day, and spite of fears

Pride ruled my will—remember not past years.

So long Thy power hath led me on, it still
Will lead me on; :

O'er moor and fen, o’er crag, and torrent, till
The night is gone!

And with the morn those angel faces smile,

Which I have loved long since, and lost awhile.

ON READING THE ABOVE:

T once enjoyed the light, but now, no more
Jt shines 6n me;

The shades of night descend—the day is o'er,
And where is He ?

My gentle guide! who every care bestowed,

But, ill requited, left me on the road ?

Yor I was rash, and on myself relied,
Nor wished His stay;
And soon, bewildered in the trackless wild,
I went astray ;
And then, false lights alluring radiance threw
O'er mystic seenes—and I must needs pursue.

Far from my home, lost, and enwrapped in
gloom,
Jan I return?
Abandoned duties, yet again resume ?—
Ah no, they'll spurn
The fond companion of their efrly youth,
So fur estranged,—so long opposed to truth !—

Not s0, poor wanderer! by their Saviour taught
‘To pity all;
They will receive thee as good Christians
ought— >
Weep o’er thy fall—
Rejoice at thy return—and swell the sound

Of angel triumph, o’er a lost one found.
Charlotteown, Dee. 1, 1866. WATCRAA

~ Seloct Piterature.

KELETON ROMANCE.

BY MARION HARLAND,

‘Wuat have I been doing with myself,
all this long, hot afternoon?” Just what
you see meé doing now, ma chere—sitting
»y this apper window, and looking across
the yard and the lane, at the old mill.”

* Picturesque,” did you call it? Please
pick up my pocket lexicon from the table,
there; I never travel without it. One
likes to be accurate even in trifles of litera-
ture, you know. I want you to look out
the exact meaning of that word which
people have a fashion of loosing so loosely.

‘EExpressing that peculiar kind of
beauty whichis agreeable in a picture,
Whether natural on artificial!” Indeed!
Then, really and truly, my mill is a pie-
turesque object, devoid of pretension as it
is architecturally, with its square windows
and narrow eaves. Tor the elms meet
over the roof, mack you! and the water
above the gate, ndeep, dark mirror—a
Claude Lorraine reflector of the overhang-
ing foliage, the buildings, the sky, and the
nearest mountains; while below the wheel
it tumbles into angry foam, and rushes
madly away ont of sight beneath the arch-
way of the bridge, And the calinly-flow-
ing, bright river beyond looks well in the
sunset, does it not? and the background
of hills, rising row above row, into the
more distant mountuinridge, are, as the
Scotch critic said of Mrs, Siddons’ Lady
Macbeth, ‘‘na’ sae bad.”

But the mill! I always loved a mill!
Is not this delicious—the fragrance that
the bruised grain gives out, and which the
evening breeze trom the water brings
fresh and sweet into my window? TI pre-
fer it to the finest ottar of rose—the most
voluptuous breath of patchouli or mille-
fleurs. Shakspeare’s bank of violets was
insipid in comparison. When a child, I
used to sit, for hours, half buried in a heap
of golden maize or wheat, upon the upper
floor of «a mill belonging to our
unele, on whose farm we sometimes rusti-
cated for a month or sog and dream and
read to my heart’s content, undisturbed by
the jolly miller, who took me under his
especial protection, For I was a child
once, and believed in the reality of some
things in this cheating, lying, painted
world; such, for instance, as troth and
lriendship, and the joy of reciprocal de-
votion and constancy, through good report
and evil report, to the one beloyed—and
the like humbug, II »! how long it
seems since [left off dreaming! and yet
Lam not to say very old! Just: thirty-two
last month—and, thanks to the exeellent
eave Thaye taken of my physique, [might
easily be mistaken for twenty-five, Don't
you think so?) For my teeth are my own;
ditte my hair and complexion, which is
more than some belles can say.

“You begin to understand why [ en-
joy this window and the view of the mill?
It rejuvenates me”—you think ?

My dear, allow me to say that you were
never more ridiculously mistaken in your
lite, J feel as aged as Methusaleh, sitting
here, and staring down the tedious vista
of years lyiug between me and my child-
hood, It seems a hundred years and
more since L was twenty-one years old and
caine up to this very farm-house to recruit
iter my first regular winter in society.

“You did not know that I had ever
been here before?” Of course not! Who
was there to tell you this? Yet you must
have seen that the old farmer and_ his
wife down stairs saluted me as an old ac-
quaintance. They have lived here ever

j for your modest e)

Island, Thursday,

house so long! and I don’t think they have
changed ten articles of furniture or altered

December 6, 1866. |

“Tt is the healthiest region in the State!
said Mr. Milnor, in announcing to me the

jsudden that I had notime for retreat. He
came forward in a style that was neither

so much as a window about the place in all | plan he had conceived for my benefit, | boorish nor servile in its courtesy.

that time.

* You like that quaint old homestead !"
Did I intimate that [did not? Again, let
me say that you do not know what you
king about!

Yes! Jsee that you think me very cross
and sharp—actually savage, in Iact-—and
this phase of my character puzzles you,
for you have hitherto scen me gay and
good-humored, whatever might occur to
ruitle other peoples’ tempers. Don’t pro-
voke me, then, by asking questions! 1
hate to be catechized, :

No! I don't *t wish to be left alone,”
and I like to study you. You look inno-
cent and confiding, and as if you were still
the proprietor of a heart, and as_ I said of
myself, in my childish days—as if you be-
lieved in ** things.” What book is that
which you are opening as a resting-place
? A novel! Bah!
Why do people write them, I wonder
when eyery ons Who has ifved fo the age
of thirty ean revive the incidents of a reai
romance that will stir the depths of his
heart as no cold, printed page can eyer do,
however great and skilful inuy have been
the narrator who transcribed it? Pens
are not tongues, child, nor are words
heart-bents. Therefore, real heart-histor-
ies will never be either written or told.
And, as the slang comedians have it, there
is where the laugh comes in—inasmuch
as authors are perpetually trying to do
what is impossible, and their readers
fancying that they have succeeded in doing
it,

“Don't I read romances?” Another

uestion, you little interrogation-point!
But [will be merciful, and answer you.
[ do read love stories. [have been busy
with one this livelong afternoon. The
rumble and roar of the water-wheel ever
there is the whir of the machinery that has
unrolled a panoramic picture to my view.
The yellow August son-shine and the odor
of the bruised corn were accessories to the
representation,

Let me see! you are just eighteen, are
you not? Well! Iwas three years older
when, as I said, just now, I came up to
this beautiful valley to pass a couple of
months. I was the eldest of three daugh-
ters, and my father had no sons. It was
but right and proper, therefore, that he
should expect his girls to make creditable
inatches, that the family pride might be
upheld thereby. The next best thing to
having a distinguished son, is to having a
distinguished son-in-law—one whose pri-
yate life would become public property,
In the acquisition of this, a leading ques-
tion would necessarily be—**Whom did
he marry?” The answer—* A daughter
of Ralph Milnor,” would link together the
Milnor.neme and that of the celebrity.
Tuvois, mon innocente—iest-ce-pas 2? Now
if the truth be told, the Milnor pedigree
would bear a little more ornament than
had, as yet, embellished the P s of that
mythical volume. Our paternal grand-
sire was a plain farmer, You recollect
that I spoke of the mill which belonged to
his eldest son? Of my mother’s parents,
we know just nothing at all; but there
was 2 whispered tradition in the family to
the effect that a man, bearing the same
name as did her father, had lived and died
an honest boot-maker, in an out-of-the-way
street in the town wherein my mother con-
fessed to have been born; But Ralph
Milnor was one of the ‘* solid men” of the

honored as the place of his residence. By
solidity, [need not explain, even to your
unsophisticated comprehension, is signi-

fied wealth of dollars, rather than weight
of character or intellectual calibre. Added
to his worth in this respect, my father
possessed an oily fluency of speech, a
bland countenance, and manners which
superficial observers called polished, Un-
derneath this disgnise—but, never mind!
you have heard the story of the iron hand
and the velvet glove too often to care to
have me repeat « new edition of the same,
To his children he was indulgent—or, so
said lookers-on. Ife denied us no eduea-
tional or social advantage that money
could buy. Our clothing was handsome;
our home the embodiment of elegant com-
fort, and when I, the senior by four years,
of the second daughter, came out,” my
first party and my winter's wardrobe were
the admiring enyy of all our acquaintances.

If this solid citizen and model parent
had a favorite in his household) band, it
was I. In personal appearance—you will
excuse me for asserting it—I bore off the
palm from nine-tenths of my young
ciates. Tsang passably: talked easily, if
not wittily, and, to borrow another stage
phrase—** drew” well in higher circles
than those in which my parents had been

reared, My watehful guardian attended
me every where—an evidence of his regard

for me whieh T rather enjoyed for a whil
but found decidedly irksome, when invi-
tations began to shower upon me from
younger, and, to my taste, more attrac-
tive men. His persistency in this respect
was the earliest intimation I had of his de-
termination to retain the choice of a life-
partner for me in his own hands. 1 was
quick-sighted, aud I soon observed that he
exercised over my intercourse with mar-
riugeable gentlemen surveillance ceaseless
as stealthy, I hardly knew whether to be
most nettled or diverted at this discovery
for, among my swarm of adinirers, there
was not one for whom I entertained the
least preference, beyond that which a girl
may naturally feel for a graceful compan-
ion in the dance, or an amusing talker who
ean beguile away a hull hour at an even-
ing party. I liked to be admired. I like
it still—about as wellus Ido auything, I
belic But, even then, this very tond-
ness for the applause of the many was one
of the strongest dissuasives to concentra-
tion of the affections upon any one person.
Lloyed pleasure and I loved liberty too
well, L was wont to deelare, to think of
snerificing these while youth and good
looks insured my enjoyment of them,

I had a gay winter, and, so fir as popu-
larity with the crowd was concerned, a
very successful one. The next summer
found me a little fagged-out, and my
futher and mother, after consultation graye
and confidential, decided that neither
watering-plice nor mountain hotel should
be brightened by my presence that season,
An early friend and neighbor af my
father’s—Mr. Reynolds—still cultivated,
in peace and contentment, his patrimonial

since theirmarriage—-forty years, I believe.

acres in the immediate vicinity of what

Wonat a bore it must be to occupy the same | had been my grandfather's farm,

seen pene no Batate

** And you, who are so fond of fine scenery.
will enjoy the «di and walks among
the mountains, The seclusion willbe a
positive benefit to you in more respects
than one, You will regain your bloom
and enjoy city life all the more after your
return, wid your temporary loss will make
your society the more attractive to those
who haye missed you. Take plenty of
books, drawing materials, worsteds—or
whatever you young PS amuse your-
selves with in your leisure hours—for you
will tind few companions of your own
rank in that pareof the country. And
mind”—he naded, wiltlr his blandest smile,
Which f€knew always denoted a peculiar
firmnes® oPresolution—* that you do not
fallin love with any of the rustie swains
whom you happen to see driving the
plough and hoeing potatoes,”

Ile stopped there, but I comprehend
the full import of his prohibition, and con-
gratulated myself upon the extreme im-
pyebability of my ever committing an
Action so awkward and shsurd as that
which he forbade.

IIe escorted me up to the farm him-
self, remaining but an hour, howeyer,
with his boyhood’s friend, and hurrying
off to catch the return train to the city.
Mrs. Reynolds had served a luncheon for
us, we having arrived too late for the
twelve o'clock dinner, and alter I had
bidden my father farewell and sought my
chamber—the one in which we are now
seated—I drew up a chair to this window
and prepared to enjoy solitude and the
country, It was not dificult to admire
the latter, but the first lacked the element
which some Frenchman—Voltaire, T be-
lieve—siys is requisite to the perfect en-
joyment of the same, to wit, 2 companion
to whom one can exclaim, '* Qu’ elle est
charmante—la solitude !”

The farmer had two sons—one a young
married man, who, with his wife and
three children, continued to reside under
the paternal roof; the other a boy of
sixteen, who had shrunk into the amill to
e tvation, as we drove up to the
house door, ‘These, with Mr, and Mrs.
Reynolds and two hired servants, eonsti-
tuted the household in which L was to pass
six or cight weeks, It was no marvel
that I felt homesick, as hour after hour
went by, and the whirl of the mill-wheel,
the distant shouts of the older children,
the ery of a babe, and the cackle of a hen
who seemed never tired of exulting over a
newly-luid egg, were the only sounds that
refreshed my ears, while not asonl ap-
proached my room, Regarding these us
samples of rural enjoyments, I looked for
ward, with a sinking heart, to the weari-
some days in reserve for me betore the
term of my seclusion should be completed.
The lower rim of the great, fiery san at
touched the western ridge of moun-
tains, and I seized my hat, resolved upon
following the windings of the stream,
making it amy de in the exploration ol
the valley, the ities of which had ren-
dered even my prosale father eloquent.

I s passing the mill just there—do
you see that tall clump of grass? IT eould
ay my hand upon that very spot—when
the sound of music within checked my steps.
A clear, powerinl bass voice was singing
the pretty little trifle entitled, * Nathalie,
the Maid of the Mill.” You have heard it,
perhaps, TIneyer did until then, Ever
sinee, the rushing beat of that old wheel
has kept time to it in any imagination,
Hark !if it does not!

“Down the stream, as cheerily
Beside the mill we row,
Where the echoes merrily
Their playful chorus throw,
Tra, la, la, la,

To the pretty Nathalie
A passing draught we fill;
Swecetly sings she there,
Where tic tae, tie tac,’ goes the mill.

There is nothing worth remembering in
either words or music, you see; a tripping,
sing melody, such as any country ee
100] master might teach his pupils
ecute with tolerable suecess, Jsut the
hat I heard had neither the rustic
drawlnortwang. It was sonorous, round,
pure, and the words were eccentuated as
no district schoolmaster could ever do him-
self, much less train others to imitate,
So, as L have said, my feminine curiosi-
ty got the better of my prudence, and 1
halted—nay, more—I leaned forward tar
enough to obtain a view of the interior of
the building. ‘The whole of the lower floor
was taken up by one large room, lighted
by four windows, ‘There were rows of
plethoric sacks along one wall; the great
cylinder beam, such as 1 had seen in my
unele’s inill, was turning in the middle,
and on cither side were the troughs slant-
ing down from the upper floor, each with
its stream of meal or flour pouring into the
boxes below. ‘The tloor was covered with
showy powder, which became yellow as
gold dust where the sunshine fell across it
through the western windows, and in the
broad track of these beams, the air was
full of glittering motes. ‘There was a back
door, looking out upon the river, and
against the post of this stood the unknown
i an, He was dressed in white—a

trowsers, with straw hat—such attire asa
gentleman might assume in the country,
yet which was not inconsistent with the
occupation of a Miller who had some re-
gard for his personal appearance, A
Miller I decided him to be, at a second
glance, for his curling beard, black by
nature as arayen’s wing, wassilvered with
the white dust that lay everywhere, and
he was the only tenant of the building.
The river danced and glowed behind
him; the sunlight stretched to his feet, and
the wheel beat an accompaniment to his
roundelay; and T stood without, spell-
bound, like a silly village-maid who had
never heard a fine voice or seen a hand-
some man before. For he was handsome,
my dear! Ihave seen him since, when the
glamour of a girl’s fervid taney no longer
invested him with a robe of its own weav-
ing, and [ say, dispassionately and frank-
ly, that Th: y, ever, seen amore
splendid specimen of manhood, He was
tull and deep of chest, erect in cariage,
and ebon-haired and @)
This much | had remarked, when an im-
pertinent swallow swooped across the Lront

| sunshine upon the floor caused the
|to tuge
door, and the swilt shadow cast 4 the
niller

ane Speak O1our uncle?”

* You wish to be weighed, I suppose!’
‘he said, in a civil tone, as if the service he
jimagined T required were a part of his ap-
pointed busine

And, luckily recalling a remark whieh
the farmer had made to my futher at Jun-
cheon time, relating to my supposed avoir-
dupois and the grain in flesh he anticipated
for ne in the course of six weeks subsis-
tence pon fresh milk and new-laid eggs,
Thad the wit to reply, ** Yes,if you please t"

without blushing more than was be¢Oming,
and to walk boldly into the mill, I had

never been weighed before in my life, and
I cannot but smile now, as I remember
what a nervous aperation I felt it to be;
how my limbs shook under me as I stood
upon the platform of the seales, and what
very shadowy ideas I had as to what num-
ber of pounds I was likely to tarn out,

** 120!" uttered the miller, who had not
participated in my flutter of feeling, but
had borne himself with the utmost equin-
imity through the scene.

(To be concluded in or next.)

The Working Women of England.

At the last social science Congress Kail
Shiultbury says: :
“T appeal to you on behalf of 1,000,000
children, woman, and young persons, still
under the slavery of cruel and oppressive
trades, who are, ut this hour without the
vile of legislative protection, But while
lenve the Peano I must dwell for #
moment on the abomination of the brick-
fieldS. Let the hardest heart that can be
found in England yisit those spots, and if
he be not moved, he must at least be
ashamed of his sex and of his country.
There the female seems to be brought to
the lowest point of servile ignorance and
degradation, Hundreds of little girls, fron
eight to eleven years of age, half-naked,
and so besmeared with dirt as to be barely
distinguishable from the soil they stand on,
» put to work in these abode of oppres-
sion, Bearing burdens of clay on their
heads and in their arms, they totter, to
and tro, during many hours of toil. When
I spoke to them, they either remained
hast with astonishment, or ran away
paAMing us though some eyil spirit had
Appeared to them. I could not restrain
my indignation, nor can I now, at this
wicked seorn of female rights, this wicked
waste of female excelleney and yirtue,
Mothers and wives they can never be in
the high and holy sense of those words;
and yet were they trained to decency and
truth, might there not be found some to
equal the priceless heroism of Lady Baker,
or the Christlan intellect of Mrs. Stowe.”
Ile describes the condition of the people
engaged in several other employments as
equally deplorable,

A Girl nine years old shoots a Robber

(rom the Quachita (La.) Telegraph, Nov. 1)

Few funilies haye ever been placed in
such circumstances as that of Mr. Cush-
mun’y, on Thurday night last, to be reliey-
ed so unexpectedly and by such an exhi-
bition of heroisin and self-possession as we
about to record, Some time about
i main was aroused by

nl dog. Getting out
of bed suid seizing a repeater which was at
the head of her bed, she w: vaiting de-
ypments When the noise ofa whispering
heard, ln a tew seconds efforts were
being made at three ditferent windows to
burst open the blinds. Mars. Cushman
twice endeavored to discharge the repeat-
er through one of the blinds, but it retused
to fire, Della, alittle daughter, nine years
old, had in the meantime been aroused,
and she lad gathered the other of the two
repeaters which had been placed at the
head of the bed. While her mother was
exchauging her refractory weapon tor a
shot gun which was in’ the roum, little
Dell had taken her stand at one of the
windows,—They were too slow for little
Deila, so forcing the muzzle between the
folding blinds and guessing at her aim, she
fired, ‘Lhe robber had received his re-
ward. Grows and mutterings took the
place of busy preparatious to rob, and pro-
bably otherwise outrage a peaceable fumi-
ly, ‘Lhe robbers gathered around their
wounded companion and bore him off, it
is not known whether dead or alive. Un-
‘ tely it is not known who the
: ven their color isunknown,

—One of the first
questions a stranger asks in this city is,
‘how many wives has Brigham Young?”
Ile says himsell, I believe, that he does
not know, as he has been * sealed” to very
many who are the wives of other men, It
is generally supposed. however, that he
has at least upwards of twenty, and many
say double thisnumber, Ilis children are,
on the same suthority, stated to number
about one hundred girls and eighty boys.
Ueber B, Kimball contesses to * about six-
ty children.” Brigham is getting to be
quite an old tian, and on his death an in-
teresting question is likely to arise concern-
ing: the division of his property, said to be
very large, ‘The children of his extra
wives could scarcely be considered heirs
inalegal sense, ‘The death of about a
dozen of these Mormon olticials would
make more widows and orphans than a
good sized battle, and mourning goods
will Strely 1 in yalue when Brigham
dies.—Lelter from Salt Lake,

Briguamw’s Wry

A SincuLak Custom Is Spa The sin-
gular formality with which executions in
Spain are accompanied, has just tak en
place in’ Madrid, Tn this instance the
criminal was a young man, an engraver,
named Sanz, who had been arrested for
pirticipations in the events of June last.
Phe gendarme who fulfilled that: mission
uppers to bave acted with a certain bru-
tality; and Sanz, on being acquitted re-
solved to tuke revenge, and Lying in wait
for the other, stabbed him to the heart,
Being arrested and tried he was condemn.
ed to die by the garrote, and the senteneo
was carried outa few days back.—Atter
the executioner has performed his offence
in Spain, he is surrounded by gendarmes,
loaded with chains and taken to prison,
and thence betore an examing magistrate,
when the following dialogue takes glace ;

“You are accused of having taken the life
| ofamuan.” ‘ Yes,” answers the exeeution-

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